Disclaimer: Magic the Gathering does not belong to me and belongs to Wizards of the Coast, as well as the card name/card art/flavor text of "Pavel Maliki." I make no money from this. I am merely expanding on his story, if he really even has one.
Summary: An inner monologue of the legendary-creature-turned-planeswalker, Pavel Maliki.
Flavor Text of Pavel Maliki that set the Basis of this Story: We all know the legend: Pavel wanders the realms, helping those in greatest need. But is this a measure of his generosity, or of his obligation to atone?
Author's Note: Once upon a time, I returned to playing MtG after a 6 year hiatus, and discovered this whole "EDH" thing. I love vintage card art, and discovered this one creature named Pavel Maliki. His beautiful artwork and short flavor text inspired me to write this inner monologue, let alone build a rather crappy first EDH deck with him as my general. I felt like he had the ability to be a planeswalker as he simply "wanders the realms." I feel like I can relate to Maliki and in a way, this story is something that is a part of myself. I have this urge to "wander" or that I want to wander. Where, I don't know, and neither does Maliki. The only difference is, he doesn't seem to know the reason as to why he is wandering. Neither do I know the reason, but I want to wander as well. I've had too many dreams in the past few months of transforming into a bird, whether it's a dove or an eagle, and just flying. Dream flight is quite odd, but I suppose it means that I need to wander somewhere, travel somewhere, pilgrimmage somewhere. Hopefully I'll find out one day, and perhaps Maliki will as well.
Enjoy, and please review. I might eventually do a slight edit to this. This is just a one-shot thing, unless people want me to write more. I do plan on doing a short inner monologue thing with another less known legendary creature, Jacques le Vert (surprise, he is also another general in my 2nd EDH deck).
The Meditations of Pavel Maliki: Of His Wanderings
A Magic the Gathering Tale, starring Pavel Maliki
The concept of time has no true meaning to me. How old I am or when I was born is nothing but an obstacle for me to think about. I avoid the thought. In a sense, I kill such a thought by choosing to decide-not merely pretend-not to think about it. I wander throughout all the realms. How many I've seen or have lived in is of little significance. Rather, what is significant is that I always end up somewhere else.
I am a voluntary refugee, forcing myself to act as a nomad throughout all these different planes. In a sense, when I feel that I have lingered too long in one plane, I die and find myself reborn, only to continue into the next realm. At least, that is what it feels like to me. I have no idea whether I am dying or am reborn, because I always feel the same. That wasn't always true for me.
Long ago (if I even can perceive what "long ago" is), I was someone that cared about the qualities of my fellow beings. My knowledge of these charities I gave out to people, are limited. Perhaps I never helped or cared at all. Perhaps I never wore the white robes or possessed that generous demeanor that everyone whispers in legend and myth. To this point of where I am right now, in whatever realm I am currently wandering, I still sport the ridiculous robes that once spoke of something greater, maybe patience, kindness, generosity, humanity, fairness, or courtesy.
Again, I don't know if I ever gave kindness and generosity to others. I cannot remember, possibly due to the fact that I am dead. Maybe this endless wandering is my death. I don't know either way. All I know is that it will never stop, whether I am alive or dead. I don't know if I helped others for generosity or because I had something to atone for, some specific sin.
What am I doing now? Still wandering of course, but I drastically try to remember who I am, or who I was. Every step, every movement, is me continuing in no direction. I move, but at the same time I approach nowhere. I want to know, I badly want to know who I was or who I currently am, whatever I am.
I will never know if I committed a terrible sin or if I truly cared about others. If my generosity is true, as I continued more wandering throughout various realms, I became angry and reserved. No longer was I the man that wandered the stark, white-colored plains. Instead, I became a man that trekked the blood-red mountains of anger and the black swamps where death plagued every being in any mode of existence. I wear the damn robes, but they have no meaning to me.
In this timeless existence, I await for some form of redemption, something that might trigger a memory of who I am or who I was. Is this my generosity or my atonement? The answer is neither, as of now, in this current realm. I anticipate for every new realm. I anticipate the day when I can return to a realm where I originally began as myself, where I will awaken and find a blazing sun in a field of ivory plains. I am ready to remember who I am. I am ready to drown my anguish.
I am ready to live again.