In response to the masterstroke I'm going to kill GenyusGuy. I'm pretty sure only one player can die per turn. (Cycling spark spray)
If I misinterpret this rule to be and it is YOU can only kill one player per turn I will not do anything because Chainer HAS to attack Genyusguy this turn if able. Either way, you HAVE to kill Genyus this turn, not me.
This second creature was even more strange than the dreadwing. It looked like your standard undead, but it was resonating with something Roger was sure he had felt before. There was something about it that struck home to him. Something twisted. The creature before him seethed with hate; Roger wasn't sure how he knew this, but there was something in the nature of the creature that wanted both him and the ogre dead. There was great power here, power Roger had once used very efficiently. This was true undeath.
There once was a time when Roger wielded undead hoards masterfully. He was able to, not long ago, efficiently summon, command, and empower these creatures to do his bidding. That was before the hunger. He was addicted to life itself, but his own life wouldn't sustain him. He, wanted, no, needed other's lives to satisfy the hunger deep in his subconscious. This hunger almost drove him to fighting a dragon-mage head on simply for the taste. This creature in front of him, however, had the power he knew all too well. This was a power Roger knew he could handle; necromantic energies unlike he had ever seen before. Although he didn't know it before, this was the power Roger had been searching for. The power of home, power had been born to use.
Another flash. Roger was standing atop the castle. Fear, anger, frustration; all these things had driven him to this point. "Why do you run from destiny? Surely you know that this will not let you escape it." A man in a black cloak stood about 5 arm's lengths away from him, his face shrouded by a hood.
"Silence!" Roger was getting more frantic. He knew he needed to finish this once and for all. "You don't know anything!"
"Oh, but I do. You're running away from you're life. You can't escape this."
"I said be quiet!" A sickly bolt of purple lightning blasted out of Roger's hands toward the cloaked man. Before the bolt reached him, however, it seemed to fade into a swirling void.
"Can't you see that I'm trying to help you?" The cloaked man said. There was something pleading in his voice.
But Roger only called him the liar that he was. And Jumped.
The last thing he remembered before the hit was the look on the cloaked man's face. Disappointment.
"NO!" Roger jerked back again. "Damnit! I'm not... I swear I'm not..." Roger kneeled forward, holding his head in his hands. I should be dead. Why the hell am I still alive? Why am I here? "That castle was my escape. But I didn't go there to get off of that forsaken plane; I went there to kill myself. Why am I still alive?" Roger tried to explain to Grol what he saw, but he couldn't explain what it means. "I think that... No. I know that I've seen that place before. It was somewhere safe, even though nothing was ever safe. For whatever reason the swarms seemed to avoid that place. I always found it to be very comforting. There was an aura to that castle that felt good. None of my friends would follow me there, they always said... Well I don't exactly remember. Everyone knew that this castle was bad news. But I couldn't find anything wrong with it. It was my sanctuary in hell." He stopped speaking for a moment, it seemed like everything was getting clearer to him.
"I think I can remember now. A bit more, at least." There was some sort of block in Roger's mind that had begun falling way. However, his thoughts kept returning to his death. "The day I died was the day I had given up. Everyone I knew was dead, I was hardly 19. My family... there was a hatred there that tore us apart. Yet I knew that I was a survivor. I knew the habits of every form of monstrosity, I had figured out the demons's patterns, and I even knew that the mana of our home was not as it should be, or at least I suspected. Yet that day..." He paused for a second, trying to organize what he was attempting to say.
"This doesn't make any sense. I wasn't sad that my friends were dead and my family was gone. I wasn't scared that I was going to die tomorrow. Those were thoughts from my childhood that I had long abandoned. I... I was strong, I was clever." Roger's eyes lit up, as if he remembered something important. "The day I died wasn't sad. That was the day I made my escape."
Roger took his broken dagger and stabbed the zombie in front of him. The creature fell apart easily as the dagger's blade snapped. "This creature. It is a manifestation of necromantic powers unlike any I have seen on Dominaria. You can bring it back simply by channeling mana into it's remains. But, it is not perfect, when it returns to unlife it can only survive for a limited amount of time before the mana burns through the body and the creature is destroyed."
The Ogre still stood, watching him. "The day I died I thought I had figured out a way to escape Grixis, using a similar method. Grixis is not perfect, it is lacking 2 of the 5 basic elements of magic. The plane, however, still tries to draw these magics to itself. The pull of life and nature to a plane of death must have some sort of nullifying effect, but that's not important. The castle, my safe haven, was a "hole" in Grixis. The reason I liked it so much was because it was here that other mana was able to leak into the plane. It was also here that I formulated a way of juxtaposing myself with the hole to escape. At least... I think I did. I'm not quite sure what I was thinking."
"I saw... It's hard to explain." Roger tried to explain to him what he could about the castle and the dreadwings. However, his memories seemed to be slipping away from him as he spoke. "It is difficult. Almost like trying to remember a dream."
Roger leaned forward to get a closer look at the creature, it was clearly undead, had wings, and claws fit for pouncing and gliding. It did not, however, look like it could fly unaided. There was a resonance that he could sense with blue mana in the creature, along with something else he couldn't figure out. Perhaps this was what he wanted?
Roger almost reached out to touch the creature, but pulled back. The thing was... alien, that was the word, yet it didn't have the same sort of feeling that Deraxas, whom he knew was alien, had on him. He began to wonder what this sort of thing was capable of, or what it's home might look like.
A flash of memory: "I see...A Dreadwing swarm. Must escape. Can't go home. All of us won't make it. Split up. Watch Jonathan get ripped to shreds, overwhelmed. "
Roger's back shot back, his eyes wide. No, can't stop now. This time Roger did reach out and grab the thing, it reacted by trying to bite it's hands. "Tell me what you know." He muttered to the thing.
Another flash: "Fire everywhere. Have to get through the smoke. Everything smoldering. Everything dead. Why? Nothing is right here. Or maybe it's that everything is wrong."
"Damnit! Why do I know you?!" Roger's grip tightened, the dreadwing was locked in place inside Roger's grip.
Again: "I was back atop the a crumbling stone surface, it was the castle of my nightmares. I was alone. These days I was always alone, not even my family wanted to see me anymore. How long I had been living like this, surviving of the barest of supplies and what little magic I could use? Was it weeks? Months? Years even? My childhood, my family, my life even, all of these things I wanted to get away from." Archdemons, zombie hoards, fire and smoke, twisted creatures and even more twisted people. Roger was sick of it. This was the worst life imaginable; yet this was HIS life.
Roger knew this place. Damnit, what is this?
"I had escaped to this place, knowing... something. I had to get to the tallest place I could find because... because."
Roger finally broke his concentration. The dreadwing's claws were digging into his arms. Roger got frustrated with this, dug deep into the creature and ripped the thing apart as best he could, then tossed it aside. "What the hell was that?"
"I will do my best, is there any place you would like me to start?" Roger began to think back to as early as possible, for some reason he kept having glimpses of what he could only think of as nightmares. Hellish landscapes, swarms of undead, fear. However, it was nothing he thought was useful. What could he possibly know that could help them return to... Grixis?
Roger felt that there were better ways to contact him than morbid things like this. He channeled a bit of black mana into the hand, hoping it would shrivel and die.
If I misinterpret this rule to be and it is YOU can only kill one player per turn I will not do anything because Chainer HAS to attack Genyusguy this turn if able. Either way, you HAVE to kill Genyus this turn, not me.
There once was a time when Roger wielded undead hoards masterfully. He was able to, not long ago, efficiently summon, command, and empower these creatures to do his bidding. That was before the hunger. He was addicted to life itself, but his own life wouldn't sustain him. He, wanted, no, needed other's lives to satisfy the hunger deep in his subconscious. This hunger almost drove him to fighting a dragon-mage head on simply for the taste. This creature in front of him, however, had the power he knew all too well. This was a power Roger knew he could handle; necromantic energies unlike he had ever seen before. Although he didn't know it before, this was the power Roger had been searching for. The power of home, power had been born to use.
Another flash. Roger was standing atop the castle. Fear, anger, frustration; all these things had driven him to this point. "Why do you run from destiny? Surely you know that this will not let you escape it." A man in a black cloak stood about 5 arm's lengths away from him, his face shrouded by a hood.
"Silence!" Roger was getting more frantic. He knew he needed to finish this once and for all. "You don't know anything!"
"Oh, but I do. You're running away from you're life. You can't escape this."
"I said be quiet!" A sickly bolt of purple lightning blasted out of Roger's hands toward the cloaked man. Before the bolt reached him, however, it seemed to fade into a swirling void.
"Can't you see that I'm trying to help you?" The cloaked man said. There was something pleading in his voice.
But Roger only called him the liar that he was. And Jumped.
The last thing he remembered before the hit was the look on the cloaked man's face. Disappointment.
"NO!" Roger jerked back again. "Damnit! I'm not... I swear I'm not..." Roger kneeled forward, holding his head in his hands. I should be dead. Why the hell am I still alive? Why am I here? "That castle was my escape. But I didn't go there to get off of that forsaken plane; I went there to kill myself. Why am I still alive?" Roger tried to explain to Grol what he saw, but he couldn't explain what it means. "I think that... No. I know that I've seen that place before. It was somewhere safe, even though nothing was ever safe. For whatever reason the swarms seemed to avoid that place. I always found it to be very comforting. There was an aura to that castle that felt good. None of my friends would follow me there, they always said... Well I don't exactly remember. Everyone knew that this castle was bad news. But I couldn't find anything wrong with it. It was my sanctuary in hell." He stopped speaking for a moment, it seemed like everything was getting clearer to him.
"I think I can remember now. A bit more, at least." There was some sort of block in Roger's mind that had begun falling way. However, his thoughts kept returning to his death. "The day I died was the day I had given up. Everyone I knew was dead, I was hardly 19. My family... there was a hatred there that tore us apart. Yet I knew that I was a survivor. I knew the habits of every form of monstrosity, I had figured out the demons's patterns, and I even knew that the mana of our home was not as it should be, or at least I suspected. Yet that day..." He paused for a second, trying to organize what he was attempting to say.
"This doesn't make any sense. I wasn't sad that my friends were dead and my family was gone. I wasn't scared that I was going to die tomorrow. Those were thoughts from my childhood that I had long abandoned. I... I was strong, I was clever." Roger's eyes lit up, as if he remembered something important. "The day I died wasn't sad. That was the day I made my escape."
Roger took his broken dagger and stabbed the zombie in front of him. The creature fell apart easily as the dagger's blade snapped. "This creature. It is a manifestation of necromantic powers unlike any I have seen on Dominaria. You can bring it back simply by channeling mana into it's remains. But, it is not perfect, when it returns to unlife it can only survive for a limited amount of time before the mana burns through the body and the creature is destroyed."
The Ogre still stood, watching him. "The day I died I thought I had figured out a way to escape Grixis, using a similar method. Grixis is not perfect, it is lacking 2 of the 5 basic elements of magic. The plane, however, still tries to draw these magics to itself. The pull of life and nature to a plane of death must have some sort of nullifying effect, but that's not important. The castle, my safe haven, was a "hole" in Grixis. The reason I liked it so much was because it was here that other mana was able to leak into the plane. It was also here that I formulated a way of juxtaposing myself with the hole to escape. At least... I think I did. I'm not quite sure what I was thinking."
ABILITY Each opponent loses one life, target player gains life equal to the life lost this way. (I gain 4)
My play, play Prophetic Prism, cycle Scion of Darkness, play vesuva (Copying Vitu-Ghazi, the Tree-City)
Wizards of the Damned
: ErickC
Life: 42 (+4 -2)
Hand: 0
Battlefield: Prophetic Prism, Vesuva (Tree City)
Graveyard: Scion of Darkness
Exiled:
I lost life due to the game rules...
Roger almost reached out to touch the creature, but pulled back. The thing was... alien, that was the word, yet it didn't have the same sort of feeling that Deraxas, whom he knew was alien, had on him. He began to wonder what this sort of thing was capable of, or what it's home might look like.
A flash of memory: "I see...A Dreadwing swarm. Must escape. Can't go home. All of us won't make it. Split up. Watch Jonathan get ripped to shreds, overwhelmed. "
Roger's back shot back, his eyes wide. No, can't stop now. This time Roger did reach out and grab the thing, it reacted by trying to bite it's hands. "Tell me what you know." He muttered to the thing.
Another flash: "Fire everywhere. Have to get through the smoke. Everything smoldering. Everything dead. Why? Nothing is right here. Or maybe it's that everything is wrong."
"Damnit! Why do I know you?!" Roger's grip tightened, the dreadwing was locked in place inside Roger's grip.
Again: "I was back atop the a crumbling stone surface, it was the castle of my nightmares. I was alone. These days I was always alone, not even my family wanted to see me anymore. How long I had been living like this, surviving of the barest of supplies and what little magic I could use? Was it weeks? Months? Years even? My childhood, my family, my life even, all of these things I wanted to get away from." Archdemons, zombie hoards, fire and smoke, twisted creatures and even more twisted people. Roger was sick of it. This was the worst life imaginable; yet this was HIS life.
Roger knew this place. Damnit, what is this?
"I had escaped to this place, knowing... something. I had to get to the tallest place I could find because... because."
Roger finally broke his concentration. The dreadwing's claws were digging into his arms. Roger got frustrated with this, dug deep into the creature and ripped the thing apart as best he could, then tossed it aside. "What the hell was that?"
Roger followed the scurrying hand into the alleyway. He supposed that he best get this over with.