“He displays a perverse charisma fueled by avarice. Highly dangerous. Recommend civil sanctions.”
—Agmand Sarv, Azorius hussar

Goblins are eager to follow orders, especially when those orders involve stealing, hurting, annoying, eating, destroying, or swearing.

Formerly oppressed by the polis of Meletis, leonin occasionally “mistake” their old enemies for game.

Sudden vengeance, echoing fury.

Though less well-known than its army of soldiers, the Boros Legion’s mage-priests are as respected by the innocent as they are hated by the ghosts of the guilty.

His mission has become a grim pilgrimage, a tour of the Eldrazi-stricken outposts across Zendikar. But he marches on alone, stubborn as the daily dawn.

The fatal flaw in every plan is the assumption that you know more than your enemy.

“Those who have never ridden before the wind do not know the true joy of war.”

A skilled decoy can throw your enemies off your trail. A master decoy can survive to do it again.

When asked how many paths reach enlightenment, the monk kicked a heap of sand. “Count,” he smiled, “and then find more grains.”

“Only the weak imprison themselves behind walls. We live free under the wind, and our freedom makes us strong.”
—Zurgo, khan of the Mardu

Ogres are driven by passion, rage, and another ogre standing behind them with a whip.

The oni leapt easily from peak to peak, toying with its victims, its voice a purr from the rumbling depths of nightmare.

“Crispy! Scarback! Load another volcano-ball.”
—Stumphobbler Thuj, orcish captain