What have you done?

As you enter the Antechamber, the door slams shut behind you. A charred stone archway opens before you, etched with the words “Abandon all hope”. The cold air carries the smell of burned flesh, and as you carefully inch your way across the hall that opens into the vast skyless opening, you can tell the mounds bordering the path are but pieces of what were once living creatures, riddled with vermin.

Horrible beings soar overhead in worrying silence, gliding on leathery wings. Derelict buildings and unusually shaped stone constructions flank the road on either side. Against the gloomy light in the distance, a taller, more sinister fortress stands tall, echoing with cries of terror and pain.

There is no more will in you, yet you are pressing forward, as if compelled by unseen forces. As the dark stone walls come into view up close, you can make out a balcony, where a silhouette is standing. Getting nearer, you can tell the tall elvish woman is calmly sipping from a wine goblet, and smiling. Surely, she will help you get out of here.

Abandon All Hope | Ayara, First of Locthwain

You exit the doorway through a majestic tree. The small cabin is filled with natural remedies and grimoires. It sits beside a lovely brook in a luxurious forest.

A joyous band of craftsmen and artisans are gathered, trading goods and exchanging tales. This is clearly an enchanted place, and everyone important is either a Cleric, Druid, Shaman or Wizard. The woods are filled with wonderful and strange creatures that lead you into wondrous adventures and magical discoveries.

The trees and flowers grow at a fast pace, and there doesn’t seem to be a limit to where the forest spans. Having earned some repute through your battles with invasive Goblins, you are granted an audience with the spiritual leader to be rewarded for your courage. You ask for a return trip home, to which the ruler laughs with a dismissing gesture. “Look around you; the forest is your home now.” You return to your cabin, cradling the hot pumpkin pie you were awarded for your bravery.

Dana's Tribe | Kinnan, Bonder Prodigy

A carpet of clouds unravels beyond this door. You step lightly until your foot reaches a solid slate underneath. As you make your way forward, a scintillating white marble tower rises on the horizon, and in a blink, you have reached the door.

Although everything is silent, there are people bustling around, carrying card: Hammer of Nazahn weapons and card: Shield of the Oversoul armor pieces, seemingly converging to a great hall. Curiosity draws you toward the large door from which you think you can hear a faint choir. Bright light pours from the room and as you near it, a sturdy hand on your shoulder stops you. A voice echoes in your mind: “Have you brought an offering?”

As you shuffle around you pockets and bags, looking for a suitable gift, you are flooded with memories of a past long forgotten. You were once a great warrior, but your armies were betrayed and vanquished. As a final punishment, your mind was erased by the enemy War Mage. All you have left of your former self is a dirty, broken sword.

Hesitantly, you present it, and the guardian smiles: “That will do nicely.”

As you cross the threshold, the warmth of nice summer day seems to envelop you. Although you can feel disapproval in the eyes of the servants, you resolutely march towards the altar and lay down your sacrifice. Only then are you compelled to look up at the source of the light and warmth, hovering before you in all her grace, surrounded by a choir of angels, the Legendary Defender of Selesnya.

Legendary Defender | Sigarda, Host of Herons

The fog slowly dissipates around you as you advance, but your vision remains hazy. Your limbs are heavy and keeping your eyes opened requires effort.

People are congregating around the burial ground, dressed in black or white hooded robes. A ceremony seems to be under way, and ritual chants are filling the air, though you can’t make out the words. Suddenly, you are at the front of the assembly, and the High Priest and High Priestess are performing a sacrifice. You are strangely calm despite the hot blood pouring on the stone altar.

The stars above are shimmering, and the light reflect off scintillating dust, forming the shape of a celestial feline. You wake up in your bed, feeling heavy and tired. You feel silly having been so scared of the dream, until you notice the blood stains on your sheets.

As you sit up, the room feels colder than usual. The shadows in the corners seem to move, whispering secrets you can’t quite hear. You shake your head, trying to clear the remnants of the dream, but the feeling of unease lingers.

Days pass, and the dreams become more vivid, more disturbing. Each night, you find yourself back at the burial ground, witnessing the same ritual, but each time, the details become clearer. The faces of the robed figures are now familiar, their eyes hollow and filled with a dark purpose. The chants, once unintelligible, now echo in your mind, their meaning seeping into your thoughts.

One night, the High Priestess approaches you, her eyes glowing with an unnatural light. She places a hand on your forehead, and a surge of energy courses through you. “You are chosen,” she whispers, her voice echoing in your mind. “Prepare for his arrival.”

You wake up with a start, your heart pounding. Your hands are covered in dried blood. Panic sets in as you realize the line between dream and reality is blurring. Determined to find answers, you seek out the burial ground from your dreams. To your horror, it exists, beyond the scrubland, within the tainted field. While rotted furniture covered in candle wax and ashes seem to indicate this is the correct location, it seems to have been abandoned years ago.

As the days turn into weeks, the dreams no longer feel like dreams but memories of a past life. The celestial feline, Lurrus, appears, guiding you through the darkness. You realize that he is not just a symbol but a guardian, whispering secrets of power and control, urging you to embrace the chaos.

The cult’s influence grows, spreading through the city like a plague. People begin to lose their minds, their dreams twisted by the cult’s dark magic. You stand at the center of it all, torn between your humanity and the power offered by the final ritual.

You are standing on the edge of town with a small group of citizens, yielding a torch and a rapier to ward off the cultists. This is your last stand, and despite the impending doom, you are feeling brave and proud to have held fast in the face of evil and to die a hero.

As the remains of your sanity disperse, so does the heroic dream, and you reel as you are flooded by the memory of the last few days. You did not in fact rise to defend the city, but rather butchered the innocent in what has already come to be known as the Meathook Massacre.

This moment of clarity does not last however, and soon the Elder God’s hold slithers over your mind once more, bringing you back into their fold.

---

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_**"This door won’t open under the current stars. Come back when you have more experience."**_ Karador, Ghost Chieftain

Haunted Kingdom | Karador, Ghost Chieftain

In the walled city of Eldergate, nestled within the lush greenery of its surroundings, stood a bastion of defense and wisdom. The guardian of this city was none other than Arcades, the Strategist, a formidable and cunning dragon who possessed not only immense strength but also unparalleled tactical prowess.

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting hues of orange and purple across the sky, a looming shadow crept upon Eldergate. A coalition of enemy forces, driven by greed and malice, sought to lay siege to the city and claim its riches for themselves.

Arcades, ever vigilant atop the city walls, surveyed the approaching threat with a keen eye. With a flick of his majestic wings, he summoned forth his loyal allies, each a master of defense and cunning in their own right.

First to heed the call was Angus Mackenzie, a wise and venerable druid whose connection to the land was unmatched. With a wave of his hand, he called upon the very earth itself to bolster the city's defenses, entwining roots and vines to strengthen the walls of Eldergate.

By his side stood Shalai, Voice of Plenty, a radiant angel whose presence instilled courage and hope in all who beheld her. With her protective aura enveloping the city, fear fled from the hearts of its defenders, replaced by an unwavering resolve to protect their home at all costs.

As the enemy horde drew nearer, Arcades orchestrated his forces with precision and skill. Along the battlements, walls of stone and magic stood tall, manned by a diverse array of creatures, from towering giants to nimble faeries. Each wall was a testament to unity and cooperation, as disparate beings fought side by side in defense of their shared home.

The defensive line was further bolstered by the enchantments woven by Kira, Great Glass-Spinner, whose magic shielded the defenders from harm, and by the mystical presence of Thassa, Deep-Dwelling, who called upon the ocean's depths to lend their strength to Eldergate's cause.

But perhaps the most crucial aspect of Arcades' strategy lay in the formation of his forces. With High Alert echoing through the city streets, creatures that once stood as simple defenders now became formidable warriors, their strength magnified by their unity and coordination.

As the enemy assault crashed against the city walls like waves upon a shore, Arcades and his allies stood firm, their resolve unyielding in the face of adversity. Though the battle was fierce and the losses great, the defenders of Eldergate held fast, their unity and determination proving stronger than any force arrayed against them.

And as dawn broke over the horizon, casting its golden light upon the city's battered walls, Arcades knew that though the battle had been won, the war for Eldergate's future was far from over. But with courage in their hearts and unity in their ranks, he was confident that together, they would emerge victorious, for as long as the walls of Eldergate stood, so too would its defenders.

---

---

Sweaty and exhausted, you are curling on a damp tree trunk, your tattered clothes trailing in the dirty water below. As you struggle to stay awake, you remember passing through the door, several days ago. Your eyes slowly getting accustomed to the light. You recall the emaciated man perched over a peculiar assortment of instruments, and the body parts piled around the strange device.

In the coming week, you routinely burglarized the laboratory for supplies and food. But tonight, it is an eerie sound that brought you back, a demented, low rhythm with screeching pitches. And then you saw them again. Those same guards that are chasing you now, that you have killed over and over again.

A tall, dark figure looms behind them in the shadows, then lightning crashes, revealing the shape of its insectoid head squirming in silence. A feeling of impending doom runs through your spine as your blood feels like it is turning to ice in your veins.

Sometimes They Come Back | The Scarab God

As you cross the threshold, a sparse mist rising from below makes you close your eyes in reflex. As you open them, the eerie brightness of the sun makes you close them again, then squint as you raise your hands to filter it out. You are caught off-guard when the floor rocks and you fall on hard, wet wood.

“Hey landlubber! Find your sea legs, the Captain will see you now!”

The Goblin merchant standing before you signals impatiently while you struggled to secure your footing and follow them. Apparently, the vessel you are sailing on is high at sea; there is no land insight, and not a single cloud in the sky. A large bird is circling you from a great altitude, and its odd shape troubles you. The sailors are polishing life-sized golden figures adorning the railings around the bow.

In front of the cabin, a tall and bulky Orc is standing guard, obviously a lieutenant. He does not acknowledge your presence, but opens the door for your guide. Inside, a curious-looking goblin runs nervously from the door as you enter the room. Your eyes are struggling to accommodate to the darkness. Blinking, you see the table upon which navigation equipment is strung across an ancient-looking map  ^Flip. A large red lizard is shuffling across the floor and unto a wall. You hear the man before you can see him.

“Ah, very well, I was hoping you would come aboard. You see, we are headed to the Guild’s marketplace, hoping to conduct some fruitful business. A skilled individual such as yourself is an invaluable asset for this delicate acquisition  ^Flip. Have you brought the weapon?”

Although he is lurching over the table, the old man easily stands higher than you are. He seems vigorous, and oozes confidence and power. Secured to your back in a detailed leather scabbard, the ancient blade is calling for you. You nod silently as he raises his eyes to register your response.

“Great, have a nap while we approach the coast. At sundown we land, and by dawn we will have remade the world.”

Malcolm, Keen-Eyed Navigator &Breeches, Brazen Plunderer, Esquire

The Crimson Permanent Assurance | Malcolm&Breeches

_**"This door won’t open under the current stars. Come back when you have more experience."**_ Nekusar, the Mindrazer

Drawing Your Last Breath | Nekusar the Mindrazer

As you are walking towards the horizon, the warms desert sand around seems to call to you.

_”We have been waiting for you.”_

You exit a stone doorway, startled by the calm but loud, heavily accented voice of a welcoming gentleman. As he leads the way, you struggle to assess your bearings. You are standing outside a military tent, at dusk. Remnant of a blood red sun is carving the outline of a surreal landscape. You turn slowly, and find yourself facing a handsome Warlord, seated in a large wooden chair, polishing a large blade.

As the sun sets completely, you feel shifting behind you, and without looking you know you are surrounded. As a sharp pain erupts from your neck, a beautiful woman in an ornate dress glides towards you, offering a warm, thick drink.

_”It is an honor to be welcomed into our family. Now let’s get you suited up for this battle. Welcome to The Partnership!”_

The Partnership | Edgar Markov

Nothing lies beyond this door, but the infinite void of space. Panicked, you mean to pull away from the portal, but there is nowhere left to return to, as the outer space seeped into the maze. Emerging from the darkness, basked in colorful lighs a radiant man is smiling with an extended hand.

_“You have unraveled the very fabric of the Multiverse. Now I will teach you how to weave it into life anew, and eternal.”_

Mesmerized by his shimmering gemmed gauntlet, you emerge in a beautiful cavern made of clear gemstone, wondering how you got there, but ready to learn the ancient mystical arts of conjuration.

Music of the Spheres | Jodah, Archmage Eternal