“You are a Planeswalker”
The core principle of Magic’s lore is that you, the player, are a Planeswalker. A powerful being wielding magic in its purest forms, casting spells from your own personal archive. Your deck represents your magical knowledge, your abilities and all the tricks you may have up your sleeve. You can travel between worlds, seeking allies, gather even more knowledge and craft your very toolbox of spells. All of this to battle against other, similarly powerful beings.
While this is a quite successful marketing gimmick, I have always been puzzled by the repercussions of this very idea. The concept feels extremely solid for new players, who enthusiastically assemble their very first deck with the best cards they can find, the most awesome spells they have access to and the Lands of their choice.
But what happens when that player, eventually, decides to build a new deck? Hopefully for Wizards, this is an event that is going to occur quite often as part of every player’s life. The adrenaline rush of building and tuning a new deck is something that many players still feel, despite the countless hours of games under their belt.
Who are these people, at this point?
Are they still the same Planeswalkers they were when they started? Have they now become more knowledgeable and powerful, wielding more and more spells with ease? And if so, have they chosen to segregate their vast knowledge into clusters, each disconnected from the others? Do they store their books in different libraries, each separated from the other? How can the lore explain the fact that these players own multiple decks in real life, but are unable to switch between them during a fight?

My very first serious Magic deck, back in 2003, was an Affinity deck. I was fourteen. So, back then, I would have been a fourteen-year-old Planeswalker, a prodigy in the creation of life from sheer metal.
Over the course of the following years, I explored so many other aspects of the game, building a Modern Mill deck between 2007 and 2009, followed by a Legacy Burn deck in 2010. In other words, my own journey was leading me to become a mind mage when I was almost twenty, only to then morph into a fiery Red mage a couple of month after my twenty-first birthday.
In the years that followed I discovered Commander, which is now my primary way of playing Magic. And even though, at first, I had forced myself to only build a single deck, the creative spark ignited again and again, pushing me to build more decks, to explore more playstyles, to indulge in new strategies. The very concept of Commander as a format was a continuous source of inspiration, leading me to build something new over and over again.
I just loved the very idea of a Legendary Creature at the helm of an entire deck, whether it was a general leading an army, a tyrant ruling countless minions, a mage and their followers. A part of me, however, kept asking itself who, if any, was behind those decks, from a lore standpoint.
If Grimgrin, Corpse-Born was leading my very first Commander deck, who was his master? Who had collected the Mirrodin swords for Grimgrin to wield in battle? Who had made a deal with Sheoldred, so that she would fight alongside a Glen Elendra Archmage from Lorwyn? Was it supposed to still be me, a powerful Planeswalker, scouring the Multiverse in search for loyal allies, ancient relics and powerful spells?

Who was I, back then? And who am I now?
Am I still that young Planeswalker who loved shaping metal into Frogmites? I still own that deck, so I guess I could still be that person. But I have also expanded my horizons, I have discovered new spells and I have crafted new strategies, much like thousands of other players. I have built other decks and learned other tricks.
Have we, the players, become more powerful? Or do different versions of each of us exist, each with knowledge and skills uniquely tied to the decks we play?
You are you
If I haven’t lost you already, I want to thank you. If you are not a fan of Magic’s lore and you “only play the game”, you probably never asked yourself the same questions I am asking right now. And this is fine. I believe Magic is the best game in the world because everyone can enjoy different aspects of it.
The hardcore Spikes probably never read a single piece of Magic’s story in their life. And this has had absolutely no impact on their appreciation for the game. The casual folks may have read something here and there, but they have never questioned their own identity within the game’s lore. Again, this is absolutely great.
But I’d like to believe there is a small niche of players who love to ask themselves these questions. At least for the fun of it. Maybe, not unlike myself, they come from years of RPGs and they are used to playing a character. Maybe there is a fraction of their brains urging them to also play Magic in character, to live their decks as they play them. Beyond the physical act of shuffling, beyond the strategy and beyond the metagame around their card choices.
Beyond all of this, there are Planeswalkers and the spells they wield. There is each of us, asking ourselves who is behind each of our decks, imagining personalities, characters and stories.

We are us
The way I managed to answer these questions is not far from what happens with most roleplaying games. Like every other Dungeons & Dragons player, I have created and impersonated many different characters. And like many other players, I have one or two characters that truly defined my entire experience with RPGs.
There’s the brave Paladin from the North, secretive and inquisitive. There’s the wandering Bard, self-serving and sometimes a bit mischievous. But there is also a plethora of other characters I have impersonated and thoroughly enjoyed. And I think I have brought with me something from those characters, whenever I approached Magic.
The result is that I often find myself thinking about characters behind decks. Different individuals existing within and around the decks I have built, each of them possessing different skills, a different knowledge of magic and different capabilities, as part of the vast lore of Magic’s Multiverse.
Much like my most beloved Dungeons & Dragons characters, some of these are not far from hypothetical versions of myself within Magic’s lore. Having more or less subconsciously built some of my decks to represent my own approach to the game, the result is that I project a lot of my own identify within my deck choices.
This Johnny part of me uses deckbuilding as a form of self-expression. After all, decks are the primary ways many Magic players first meet and introduce each other, so I have always felt the need to feel adequately presented by my decks of choice.

The result, in the end, is a self-fulfilling cycle: I put more and more of myself in my favourite decks, which progressively transform more and more into forms of self-expression and lead me to ask myself how they exist inside Magic’s lore.
This circular logic is likely fuelled by the fact that I primarily identify as a Johnny and a Vorthos. On one side, I seek self-expression within my decks. On the other, I care a lot about the lore and the aesthetics of the decks I build. So, while I end up pouring myself into my favourite decks, I also end wandering who, in the end, is really doing so.
He is him
Liam Veyrin was born on Ravnica in 4532 AR. The Guild system swallowed him whole and before his twentieth birthday he found himself in the clutches of House Dimir. A lowlife nobody like him was perfect cannon fodder for the House: he was enlisted as a Dimir Informant and trained in the basic arts of secrecy and deception. Much like the other pawns of the House, he was largely expendable: a Steal of Secrets to dispose of, were he ever to come across information too dangerous to be known by a commoner.

Unfortunately for him, Liam was a very ambitious young man, often sticking his nose where he shouldn’t be. His hope was to one day come across something big, something that could prove him worthy of a higher rank within the House. He started spying on other Guilds, growing a peculiar interest in talents within opposing factions.
In his investigations, he found himself involved in a scuffle with a young and fierce shaman from the Gruul Clan, one of the protégés of Borborygmos himself. His audacious attempt at infiltrating the Clan did not go unnoticed to the defiant girl, who, at the time, was surveilling the territories controlled by her master, aided by her unnaturally keen sense.
Caught red handed, Liam retreated and turned his attentions elsewhere. He would have loved to keep investigating on the unnatural sixth sense of the Gruul shaman, but chose the safe rout and moved on with his search. He soon came across another interesting target: a talented diviner from the Izzet League, which displayed the gift of precognition, but was unable to control his visions.

Liam befriended the man and employed his deceitful techniques to gather as much information as possible about the inner workings of the League. He spent months growing familiar with the man, exploiting his erratic mind and learning the most interesting techniques the Izzet mages prided themselves with.
When he reported his findings to his superiors, he was met with an alarmed and overwhelmingly negative response: he had breached the House’s protocols, exposed himself to two other Guilds with no prior authorization and potentially compromised his position as a Dimir Informant.
The punishment was beyond severe: a team of Dimir Guildmages apprehended him and began a deadly procedure that would culminate in Liam’s complete undoing. Moments before his consciousness was shattered, the sheer fear caused him to black out. His Spark ignited in that very moment. It was 4559 AR.

Liam’s first, unwilling journey across the Multiverse took him to Innistrad, in the province of Nephalia. Still shaken from the near death experience, but imbued with a new an unexpected power, he spent the following weeks recovering in relative confinement. Once he felt ready to explore the new surroundings, he began meeting with the local stitchers and studied their arts. He made sure to keep himself apart from the conflict that ignited with the liberation of Avacyn and Griselbrand from the Helvault.
Liam found himself partially involved in the battle between the army of Thraben, led by Thalia, and Geralf’s Zombies. While he made sure not to take and active role in the fight itself, he quickly discovered the advantages of simply scavenging what would be left on the battlefield in the aftermath of the conflict. The world of Innistrad was teaching him a valuable lesson: that sifting through battlegrounds and collecting the spoils of war would be more rewarding than getting himself involved in sticky situations.
In the following months, his connection to the sticher community of Nephalia kept strengthening, and he became a quasi-famous figure in the local scene. He had taken under his own protection some of the Zombies that had survived the battle of Thraben and soon he was regarded as a quite proficient scavenger and a cunning collector of remainders from the Planes’ major conflicts.
A little under a year after his first journey through the Multiverse, his new home on Innistrad was starting to feel too small for his ambition and his desire for more power and knowledge to seize.

The experience on Innistrad had opened his eyes to how the Multiverse was indeed a treasure trove of possibilities, only waiting for people smart enough to seize such a vast pool of opportunities. While the following years saw the establishment of the Gatewatch and the sparking of conflicts among the major players of the Multiverse, Liam would rather scour through the Multiverse to seize new forms of power, rather than finding himself tied to any major party.
On New Phyrexia, he collected the remnants of the Mirran civilizations and made deals with one of the Praetors. On Dominaria, he studied the history of the Plane and attempted to gather some of its long-lost knowledge. He infiltrated the schools of Kamigawa and paid homage to the powerful entities of Tarkir and Theros, learning spells from the local mages.
He expanded on what the stitchers from Innistrad had thought him, fascinated by the concepts of death and undeath. Whenever he had a chance to return to Innistrad, he took the opportunity to perfect his craft, becoming more and more proficient in the signature arts of Nephalia and making a name for himself as a respectable stitcher.

Liam, the Seizer
Liam is the person I imagined being behind my Grimgrin, Corpse-Born deck. His journey across the Multiverse ties together the main themes of the deck, most of the card choices and the overall feeling the deck incorporates. It’s a deck that doesn’t take place on a single Plane or with a specific set of limitations. Mostly, it gathers some of the most powerful spells it can, in order to support its main strategy. Much like Liam himself, the deck seizes power from the Multiverse.
Having a character behind the deck always provides me with an additional layer of enjoyment whenever I play the it or make any update. Each new card coming in the deck is, potentially, a new experience for Liam, a new Plane he visited, a new person he met. Last year, for example, he visited Valor’s Reach to scout out the most proficient mages of Kylem.
And as an additional layer of enjoyment, I could potentially entwine the lives of Liam and the other characters I imagined, linking together all my Commander decks into a single, larger story. Do you remember the Gruul Shaman and the Izzet visionary I mentioned?

Naal was later buried alive as part of a Gruul rite of passage. Her Spark ignited when her fear of death was replaced by a sudden instance of higher consciousness the moment she realized she could somehow perceive the very life-force of Nature itself. This later filled her with an unexpected urge to explore the Multiverse, seeking new worlds and finding a new purpose in the pursue of harmony with Nature. Her brutal upbringing was still a key part o her own identity, but she progressively discovered the pleasures of growing and building, instead of destroying.
The diviner’s visions became more and more erratic and violent, leading him to progressively lose his very self-consciousness, his mind blurred by visions he could not comprehend. Some of which seemed to even originate from other worlds. He distanced himself from the rest of the League, his family and friends. For months he kept shifting in and out of dreams, until what was left of his mind gave way. Giving himself fully to his visions, his Spark ignited and he was flung across the Multiverse, jumping from one Plane to another, his memory vanished. After years of erratic journeys, he finally reached a place where he made a name for himself as a vizier, until the return of an ancient god finally provided him with a sense of purpose. Servitude, in the end, was better than constant and painful confusion.
Naal and the visionary are the characters behind my Borborygmos Enraged and my Locust God decks. Their respective journeys through the Multiverse brought them to many different worlds, discovering knowledge in different forms. And sometimes their paths kept crossing.
You are them
This article is something I have wanted to write for quite a while, now. It is a quite challenging topic, as I expect the audience for this to be quite small. Many Vorthos players usually work the opposite way around, building a deck around a theme and selecting their cards based on the overall flavour behind it.
This approach actually works the other way around: the story of each deck is warped by the card choices, to the point of warping the narrative behind each deck to accommodate for specific card choices. To me, it felt like and extremely organic and spontaneous approach, but I can fully understand how anyone wanting to build a themed deck would prefer the traditional Vorthos experience.
If, on the other hand, you already have established a deck list and you’re curious about how it could exist in the context of Magic’s lore, you could really build on your very card choices and shape an entire story behind it. It is not unlike building a Dungeons & Dragons character’s background starting from the class, race and characteristics you have on your sheet.

Of course, none of these imaginary aspects of deckbuilding and lore shaping made me a better player. I did not improve my playstyle in any shape or form, nor I have sharpened my metagaming abilities. But I learned to enjoy a new aspect of my own decks and, to be quite honest, I think this is always a good thing.
So, if this is anything you would be interested in trying, go for it! The more fun you have with your characters, the easier it is to build entire narratives around them. And, once you have imagined one or two characters, you can start intertwine their lives into a bigger story.













