Magic: The Glossary - Foundations

Are you ready for some words? 

Man, I love words. They let me get across how clever I am. There's a word for just about everything in the English language, and if there isn't, we can just make one up. As long as the speaker of the word and the listener of the word agree on the information being conveyed by the made-up word, then it's not made-up anymore. If it's stupid and it works, it's not stupid - or however the phrase goes. 

Let's do it right now. Globspart. That's a word I just made up. Now we assign it a meaning. "Globspart" is a noun that describes the feeling you get when there's a pebble in your shoe but you're not in an environment condusive to being able to take off your shoe to remove the pebble. "I had a wicked bout of globspart today." Woof. Wouldn't want that, huh. 

Anyway, I'm not the only one who makes up random words, try halfheartedly to get people on the internet to adopt them before quickly giving up and forgetting I ever tried at all. Designers of Magic cards do that too, or at least the first part. Not so much the "giving up" part, or to the level where we can tell from our limited view of the made-up word design process. 

But like all fantasy, made-up words are most successful when they're grounded in reality. Will globspart catch on? Almost definitely not. But what if I said something like "shoemalgeo"? Like, shoe bad rock? Yeah, I doubt it too. But it's got a slightly higher chance, just like the words made up for Magic.

To make a good made-up word, you first have to have a strong grasp on the "official" words of English (here's where you say "but all the words in English are made up, bro," and I say "yes, now never bring that up again"). Foundations, as a Magic set meant to stand the test of time for the next half-decade, was likely even more carefully constructed than other sets in terms of words used. For all the made-up Magic words, there are even more dictionarial deep dives that we can soak in like a lexigraphical hot spring. I hope you brought your bathing suit.

"True wealth comes only through knowledge."

Exemplar of Light

In some minds, the word "exemplar" is more similar to "templar" than its actual meaning. I know this because for quite some time, my mind was one of those minds. I blame Sesame Street's insistence that rhyming is more significant to daily life than it actually is. 

In truth, "exemplar" simply means "a person who serves as a positive example." Like a paragon, archetype or a model. It's just the personification of an example, from an etymology standpoint, with "example" itself deriving from the Latin "exemplum," meaning "sample." 

In the context of the card, our angelic buddy is the most perfect model of light, which I assume is metaphorical.

Hare Apparent

I included this on the list mainly because I like to call out clever puns when I see them, and Hare Apparent is a clever pun, although it might inadvertently spark some mispronunciation of the word "heir." 

As for the word "hare," most people are aware that it's used to describe a rabbit-like (or leporine, if we're being fancy) animal, but did you know that it's also a verb? In British English, to "hare off" is to sprint chaotically away or toward something. Neat.

Oh, and I said "rabbit-like" because hares and rabbits are not the same thing. Hares are generally larger, have longer ears and bigger and stronger hind legs. They're also more solitary, while rabbits tend to live in colonies underground. Basically it's like the difference physically between a coyote and a wolf, except with a shared appreciation for carrots.

Which, come to think of it, goes counter to the card's implication. The art and mechanics illustrate a large family being central to the subject of the card, the "heir apparent." However, we just learned that it's rabbits who do the whole "giant family" thing. This is what happens when all must serve the pun. 

Luminous Rebuke

The word "luminous" has two main meanings, with the first being the likely one in terms of this particular card. There's the definition being "something that creates or reflects light in darkness" like that sick reflective vest you wear during night sprints, but there's also the meaning of "luminous" being "staggeringly beautiful." As much as it's obvious the card is employing the first definition, I would like to pretend it's actually the second one, and those bats fight off the big bird in the art with the power of sheer sexiness. 

As for "rebuke," its noun form, as used on the card, typically means in our less murdery society an expression of sharp disapproval. But in the context of medieval warfare, it means a forceful pushback against an enemy blow. So, basically the same both ways, but one definition for the pen crowd, and the other for the sword crowd. We'll have to ask Wizards of the Coast which is mightier.

Arcane Epiphany

"Arcane" is a great word to work into casual conversation, in much the same way using "esoteric" and "clandestine" makes you sound like a lit major. Speaking of, the art of this card illustrates what it feels like to have been a lit major.

It's that modern definition, "understood by few," that I enjoy, but in the context of Magic, "arcane" typically means "understood by few because it's some wizardy nonsense."

If you want to be particularly fancy, you can use its even more arcane form in arcanic. Maybe someone who restrings the cornhusk fibers of a witch's broomstick is an arcanic mechanic.

I should also mention that the other word at the top of this card, "epiphany," describes in popular parlance a "moment of sudden insight," a la shouting "eureka!" while playing with your toy boat in the bathtub, especially on January 6 of every year.

Clinquant Skymage

Pronounced "clink-int" in my midwestern US English, "clinquant" is an adjective meant to describe any object infused with the elements of gold, silver, or other precious metal. When you wrap a bunch of tinsel around your Christmas tree, congrats, that tree can now be described as clinquant. Subjectively, "clinquant" has a slightly negative connotation, usually understood as a bit of a synonym for garish or ostentatious.

This card is the only time in Magic's history that this word has appeared. This is just one person's perspective, but I would have liked to see the art lean further into the "shiny baubles" aspect of the word, and decked the bird out in the finest holiday tinselry.

Erudite Wizard

"Erudite" simply means "really dang smart." Obviously a person can be erudite, but so can ideas, theories, or discussions. 

As many fun words do, "erudite" comes from Latin, in this case a combination of the prefix ex- and the root rudis: literally, "remove" (ex-) "rudeness" (rudis). Basically, an erudite person has had their uncouth rudeness sandblasted by the sheer transformative power of learning stuff.

Loot, Exuberant Explorer

We get a glimpse at Loot's personality here, as the furry lil' guy is considered "exuberant." So, we know that Loot's a good time, as "exuberant" describes someone stuffed to the gills (I don't know what Loot is exactly, he might have gills) with bubbly, fun-loving energy. Puppies are exuberant, people in a doctor's office waiting room are not. 

There's another definition of "exuberant," meaning something that is growing profusely, implied to be out of control like kudzu, but I'd wager that we're supposed to assume the former definition rather than the latter. But can we say for certain? Is Loot going to grow exuberantly, eventually assimilating whole planes into his girth? Is this a clue we should notice, so when it comes to pass, we can say "See?! We knew all along!"?

Ashroot Animist

This one's on the list mainly because I like the word "animist," but first thing's first. Referring to something as "ashroot" implies that ash trees are canon in the Multiverse, which is mildly interesting if only to think that maybe in the world of Magic, there's no such thing as an Emerald Ash Borer, and the Multiverse's ash tree population isn't decimated like ours is here in North America. 

As for "animist," it's a person (or anthropomorphic lizard) who believes that everything in nature, from the pebble causing your shoemalgeo to the forest of ash trees, has its own intrinsic spirit. Everything has a soul, even mosquitoes. Nissa's probably the most famous Magic animist, which might go counter to her original canon storyline.

REPRINTS: "Riding the goat"

Since I've only been doing this Magic: The Glossary series for a few releases, Foundations gives us the opportunity to check out some fun words provided to us via reprint. Maybe one day I'll go back to Alpha and start this series from the beginning, but I've got enough stuff to do without making extra work for myself. But what if...no, I can't. Or can I? 

No.

Well...

Anyway.

Regal Caracal

To most, a "caracal" is just a cool cat, and if we're being honest, that's a good enough definition. But a caracal is more than just your average tabby. Pronounced "care-a-CAL" (as opposed to "care-a-CULL"), it's a wild feline native to the Middle East and Central Asia, distinguished by those pointy tufts on its ears. It's the ear tufts that give it its name, as "Karrah-kulak" in Turkish means "black ear."

It's somewhere in size between a ocelot and a leopard, comparable to a lynx. You could probably fit two to tree caracals inside a lion, should you have the desire to do so. Despite what Magic card depictions of a caracal might have you believe, it is inadvisable to keep one as a pet.

Self-Reflection

Self-reflection is the act of realizing that your stomach ache isn't an isolated event without cause, but rather the direct result of ordering Taco Bell because you were too lazy to cook dinner. 

Exsanguinate (see also: Sanguine Indulgence)

"Exsanguinate" seems like a fun made-up Magic card word, but it's actually a real medical term meaning to drain blood, or to render bloodless, like the PG era of World Wrestling Entertainment. A perfect word for a perfect Magic card, I think we can all agree. We learned a few entries ago that the Latin prefix ex- meant to remove, and we can extrapolate from there that the "sanguin" part comes from sanguis, meaning "blood." 

Fun fact: a person is considered suffering from "critical blood loss" from losing half to two-thirds of their blood, or, for full-grown Imperial-measuring adults, around three-quarters of a gallon (or roughly the size of a family-sized tub of ice cream). 

Macabre Waltz

This one's a word that we often hear mispronounced and misunderstood out there in the wild. For starters, "macabre" is pronounced "muh-CAHB" (if you're American) or "muh-CAHB-ruh" (if you're European); either's fine if you want to add a little flavor to the end with that "ruh." Just don't say "muh-CAAB-re" or "MACA-bray," both of which I've heard before. 

For the definition, the art is a pretty big hint, but the original Dissension art courtesy of Jim Murray is an even bigger one:

Anything that is gruesome and disturbing can be described as "macabre," especially if death and/or dismemberment is involved. No one really knows how the word came to be, though scholars claim it's likely a direct descendant etymologically of the Maccabees, a topic for which I do not have time to write a dissertation, but it involves a Jewish revolt in around 200 BCE. 

Then there's also the phrase "danse macabre," or "Dance of Death," which is an artistic motif from the Middle Ages used to symbolize the inexorability of death and usually depicted exactly what you'd expect, a handful of dancing skeletons, much like Jim Murray's original art. Seeing these spooky scary skeletons is meant to remind the viewer of their own fragile mortality, an allegory that I feel is lost with the current Liliana-centric art. 

Gratuitous Violence

Many people think that "gratuitous" means "too much" of something, but that's actually not accurate at all. "Gratuitous" describes something that is "unwarranted." Something gratuitous is something not justified in the situation.

It's often paired, as it is on the card, with the word "violence," and it's grown to be misunderstood in modern parlance as "extreme" violence, when in reality it actually means "violence that is uncalled for given the context." Punching a person who broke into your house is not gratuitous, no matter how strong you are, but punching a person because they accidentally bumped you in a busy hallway is certainly gratuitous, even if you have weak little baby arms that won't leave a mark. In other words, it's not the level of violence, but the application.

Guttersnipe

We're not talking about a bird in a sewer drain, here. 

A "guttersnipe" is actually a dirty street kid with a bad attitude and is a word you can use if you're really into Mark Twain. Twain's the writer credited with pushing the word to prominence when he used it to describe "young hoodlums" in The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn. Synonymous with "guttersnipe" is "waif," "urchin" or "ragamuffin."

How it has come to describe a goblin that throws hot things is uncertain.

Obliterating Bolt

Another fun Latin puzzle, we get the word "obliterate" by combining the prefix ob-, meaning "erase", with littera, meaning "something written." That's where "literacy" and similar read-y book-y words come from as well. Once upon a time, "obliterate" traditionally meant simply to strike something from written record, or to blot out text. Eventually, it grew to become more conceptual, extending its definition to reducing anything to nothing. 

Bushwhack

People of a certain age probably relate this one to a tag-team in early-90s WWF, but there was a reason they went by that name. 

Generally, it means simply to kick it atavist-style, living rough in untamed lands. As with many delightful-sounding words to describe objectively awful things, we get this word from Australia. To "bushwhack" is to traverse the wilds, often in the name of exploration or meandering. 

But that's only one meaning of the word. There's another, and thankfully, the card itself actually seems to embody both definitions. The second one, and the one that the second of the card's two modes implies, is "to ambush" or "strike at an unaware victim." This might be one of the only cards in Magic that illustrates two meanings of the same word via multiple modes, and frankly I'm impressed at the attention to detail. 

I think it's clear, however, that Goblin Bushwhacker is a little less layered, but what can you expect from a goblin.

"He's so intent on his study that others think him frozen in place"

I think, given ample space for reflection, that Foundations will be considered a bright spot in a tumultuous year, both in the game and beyond it. It was a pleasant surprise, and offers a glimmer of hope for 2025, a year that's shaping up to have a dearth of it. 

Regardless, there's no telling what next year'll bring us, other than even more words to discuss. I hope you come back for a visit, and if time allows, maybe I'll sneak in a Foundations Jumpstart article in before December ends. Maybe.