Planeswalker
The Grigori meets his master, the Restorer of the Laws, in open field, for he is in the middle of a military campaign against the tribes of the desert. The talk takes place whilst dining inside his pavilion, which is red, the color of his party, and somehow impervious to the horse smell permeating the whole encampment.
The Restorer is a man about forty, tall and blond, and is as perfect a listener as he is a horseman. Better than a centaur. He marvels, laughs at the right places and asks important questions about the details of peoples and places he knows very well he will never meet.
And as the Grigori speaks at length about the many planes he has visited, he cannot help to think how the army encamped outside waiting for battle is so insignificant compared to the Mardu hordes of Tarkir. How the greatest trees in the Restorer’s estate could be the roots of a zendikari bush and how the first city he saw -the party’s bitterest enemy- could be a Golgari Slum in a district of Ravnica. And how feeble the Laws Restored next to the Azorius Codex!
And the Restorer must think: why does the Grigori travel so much, and why does he always return to his native plane? What riches does he expect to get if he knows planes where wealth does not matter or what prestige at the service of a corner of the Multiverse almost nobody knows or cares about? What is there in any given plane for a planeswalker, why would they be a servant of anyone, bound by any law or master? What love could be fulfilling knowing for a fact that somewhere in the vast multiverse, by sheer number of people living in it, there is a partner so perfect is unimaginable and unfindable?
The Grigori returns to a listener who is aware of all these problems of scale, but never talks about them. He just shares a meal with him, laughs at the right places, asks questions and marvels at the wonders of the Multiverse.












