Card of the Week: Scavenger Folk

It's such a strange-looking piece of art. For a long time, I wondered if Scavenger Folk were humans or a lineage unto themselves. When the card was reprinted with new (and inferior) art, I decided that they were human after all.

Scavenging to Survive

Few records exist from the first decades that followed the violent end of the Artificers' War, when the last mortal act of Urza broke Argoth into pieces and melted its sands to glass. It was not only disastrous for those unlucky enough to be on Argoth to die in the blast, but for the rest of the world. For the devastation was so immense as to kick dust and debris high into the air above. The larger objects fell back to the earth soon enough, but the dust remained there for years—and in large enough quantities to block out the sun. Across Dominaria the land cooled, the crops failed, and the people suffered and died.

Fear and famine crowded people into the cities, huddled for protection. Without anywhere else safe to go, those who seized power were free to ruthlessly use it to consolidate power further. Even those rulers who spoke words of a higher purpose were no more than tyrants jealously holding onto what was theirs. But things were just as bad outside of the cities. In the wilds it was a white-line nightmare, where only those mobile enough to scavenge or brutal enough to pillage survived.

Hundreds of years had passed since the destruction of Argoth before I was born, and though the world had healed of the immediate trauma it was still gravely wounded. The pillagers persisted, both as highwaymen in places like the Scarwood and the priests of Tal that ruled the cities in all but name. Much has been written of these folk, but less so of the scavengers. Yet these, too, survived, and perhaps better than did the pillagers.

To be fair, I (and Pappagallo) consider Max Rockatansky to be a scavenger—and there are four movies about him. I guess they do tell stories about scavengers after all.

Perhaps the most well-known of these much-ignored people persisted into the times of my youth. The very same Scarwood that became a hideout for bandits also became a refuge for the destitute and homeless. The woods offered them a shelter from the terrors of the outside world. But it was not safe even discounting the bandits, dangerous goblins, hags, and other dangers also stalked the woods. The refugees first banded together for safety in numbers, and eventually managed to cobble together a society for themselves in towns of hovels and caves.

Perhaps the greatest factor in the survival of the Scavenger Folk was their poverty. They were disadvantaged one and all—the homeless, the farmers driven from their lands by goblins and raiders, the believers in faiths persecuted by the Church of Tal, and the like. Living on the corpse of the old world, making use of the broken and discarded, they tended to have nothing worth stealing. Even the most bloodthirsty of the pillagers tended to leave them alone, as they could often sate their bloodlust on richer victims.

And yet, the skills that the Scavenger Folk developed to survive made them into great thieves. To most of them, it mattered not whether a find was broken or intact, claimed by another or abandoned—they could take it for themselves if it could be used for shelter, fuel, food, or other necessity. Tales abound of their duplicity, where they steal great riches or powerful magical artifacts. It is only after such thefts that others would take notice of Scavengers—in wrath over or greed for the stolen items, others inevitably found a reason to attack the Folk. But even then it was almost always too late: once in the hands of the Scavengers, their treasures were lost forever.

Written Out of History

As mentioned above, the Scavenger Folk are mentioned very rarely in histories and tales. Even then, they are incidental—lurking about the margins of stories. Their unsavory reputation is notable, and perhaps the only reason they’re mentioned. But other than being unwelcome in cities and being rumored to be grave robbers, little is said. Perhaps those who recorded the tales assumed that their readers would already be familiar with the Scavenger Folk and felt no need to tell more. In this, they follow a well-established pattern—the powerful and successful tend to write the histories, and show little interest in speaking of the weak and powerless.

Aside from the card itself, this book contains what little information there is about the Scavenger Folk. It's only an incidental mention or two, so you'll be disappointed if you read it for that. I didn't like the book—it doesn't fit the feel of The Dark expansion at all—and was disappointed in any case.

Offensive Scavenging

It is rare, but not unheard of, for great mages to ally with the Scavenger Folk. Their skills in plunder are just as effective against a rival mage’s artifice as against an unguarded refuse pit. And while there are more efficient ways to remove a rival’s artifacts, not all mages are able to use them. Those mages who rely solely on green magic, unable to Shatter or Disenchant threatening artifice, sometimes choose to employ the Scavengers. Granted, they can also Crumble, but the ability to also send the Scavengers into battle is not to be overlooked—especially if they’re magically enhanced in stature beforehand.

Scavenger Folk: a 1/1 for 1 with an upside? Perfect for a Green Weenie deck!

Danatoth of Alsoor


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Card of the Week: Ironclaw Orcs

Ever since I discovered Tolkien and D&D, I've loved orcs. It's a shame that they never took off as a creature type in Magic.

From Prisoner to King

It was only a moment of weakness. I had exhausted my magic, and without it I was just another human. I was younger than I am now, but even then I was no paragon of strength. I had a sword and could defend myself with it, but I was no expert swordsman. And the Ironclaw Orcs that captured me towered above my height and looked far stronger. Without my magic I was no match for them, so I accepted their chains instead of dying in a futile gesture of combat.

The orc-folk led me deeper into the Ironclaw Mountains, squabbling all the way—“Gakul sanguth othgha makh!”  “Nar! Tur mok othghukh murn, kul glong sha ga gromnashk!”—and so on, their harsh gloating voices leaving little doubt to my fate even though I did not then understand them. For two days they dragged me along, allowing me no rest longer than enough to choke down the foul dried meat they gave me (never enough) or when an argument came to blows (brutal, but over quickly). Even when they slept at midday, those guarding me would mercilessly poke at me with their spears—an entertainment, no doubt, to make the time of their watch pass the quicker.

When finally we reached the caverns that served as their home, I was treated no more gently. The rest of their tribe gathered around to welcome the raiders, and they quickly took to jeering me. I was pushed into the dirt more times than I can count as the warriors showed me off as a prize, and pelted with offal and rocks by the women and children. But before I was hurt beyond recovery, I was shoved into a dark and loathsome cave—I assume that if the raiders wanted me dead they’d have killed me rather than captured me, and so I must have been meant for some other purpose. But despite the filth and discomfort, despite the incessant noise from the tribe outside, I was finally allowed to sleep.

I do not remember any dreams from that night, evil or otherwise, for I slept as one dead. I awoke all too soon to the prodding of my captors, and though I was far from well-rested I had rested enough to once again call upon my magic. I did not wait even for the Ironclaws to open the crude portcullis that held me in—with the green mana I drew upon, I Grew my own self to Gigantic size. With newfound strength coursing through my body, I smashed through the gate like it was kindling, then turned upon my captors. Flinging them against the walls of the cavern with ease, I advanced upon the rest of the tribe.

But as fierce as the orcs had been when I was weak, none now dared to stand against me. Each one I approached shrunk away, some throwing their weapons to the floor in surrender. And when I came to the leader of the warband that captured me—the leader of the whole tribe, as far as I could tell—he cowered from me too.

“Right!” I bellowed, even as the magic wore off and I shrank back to my normal stature. “Are there none who would stand against me? None who would contest my rule here?” I knew that for as long as the orcs remained intimidated, they would do as I say. To ensure that they did find new bravery in my reduced size, I called upon the Mountains and sent forth Lightning amongst them. As I suspected, they cringingly followed my orders thereafter.

I remained the ruler of the tribe just long enough to commandeer food and supplies for myself. I took only what I could carry—my own possessions returned to me, heavy clothing and a sturdy tent, and water and gray stale bread (I had no desire to eat the suspect meat that they fed me again)—enough to get me out of the Ironclaw Mountains and back to the relative safety of Sursi. I suppose that they were as happy to see me leave as I was—without their fear of me, they could return to their usual raiding and infighting. Perhaps they would be more careful in who they captured next time.

As for myself, I was relieved to leave them behind me. Sure, I could have stayed in the caves. I could have even been king. But in my own way, I knew that my rule would only be as secure as the fear I could hold over them. It would be no use being a king only to die to a knife in the back, and I am sure that the knife would have come sooner rather than later.

Orcs Across the Multiverse

Orcs are relatively rare on Dominaria, as well as most of the other planes of the Multiverse that are well-traveled by dueling mages. But on other worlds, this is not so. Orcs are populous or even dominant on many worlds all but untouched by planeswalkers—known mostly through legends and lore—such as Azeroth, Faerun, and the world of Bretonnia and the Empire. But the most famous of such worlds is Eä.

The orcs of Eä are, if not the literal progenitors of orcs elsewhere, the quintessential orcs. Though the orcish races are as diverse as the planes on which they're found, they all share characteristics of Eä's orcish folk. Quarrelsome and wicked on their own, they were most powerful when united under the domination of a greater power. Indeed, the greatest of these Dark Lords is said to be their creator. Several theories abound on their creation, though the most widely credited is that the great evil Power of Eä tortured and mutilated elves until they became a ruined and terrible form of life.

"The Age of Men is over. The time of the orc has come!"

The Narrow Usefulness of Orcish Allies

Ironclaw Orcs are rarely called upon in battles between mages. Though they are strong, their cowardice is a significant drawback. For the energy it takes to summon them into battle, there are many other beings that are more powerful, useful, or loyal.

However, some red mages have found a use for the Ironclaw tribe. These disciples of Sligh depend on the full and efficient use of all mana available to them, and it so happens that the mana needed to summon Ironclaw Orcs fits the requirements of such a strategy. There are very few other beings, at least summonable with only red mana, that require the same expenditure of mana. To the these mages, the cowardice of the Ironclaw tribe is not enough of a drawback simply because there is little alternative to summoning them.

Sligh decks are where you're most likely to encounter Ironclaw Orcs. Maybe the only place.

Danatoth of Alsoor


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Card of the Week: Strip Mine

Man, all I need now is an Anthologies printing. Then I'd have all of the (English) old-school legal Strip Mines!

This Wasted Land

In the years after I left Alsoor, I wandered far and wide across the ruined continent of Terisiare. In one of my journeys, I had just crossed the Kher Ridges into the west. Descending from the high passes into the drier climes bordering the Great Fallaji Desert, I came across a gaping wound in the land. It was the remains of a mine, a pit gouged out from the surrounding land. Perhaps at one time it was overseen by Mishra himself—for this was once his territory—but now it was abandoned, willfully forgotten by all.

Although it was undoubtedly ancient—decades or centuries of rare rainstorms had cut deep gullies into the terraced slopes and water had collected into a deep pool the bottom of the pit—it still festered amidst the surrounding hills. Aside from the odd scrub, nothing grew here. Though the water looked clean and clear nothing swam in it, for it was toxic and acid. The contrast with the surrounding mountains was severe: though too dry to sport lush vegetation, they were bursting with life compared to the pit.

As severe as it was, the mine’s damage did not end at the physical boundaries of the world. The spirit of the land all but cried out in pain, and I could sense the wrongness of its ley lines without even trying. The mountains around felt alive in their usual way, with barely controlled impulsiveness and chaos. But the pit felt like nothing—or more accurately, the absence of anything. Both shocked and curious, I decided to stay and study the mine and so bind its ley line to my soul. The Fallaji Desert could wait.

For the better part of a week I walked the paths of the pit. I climbed up to the highest point of the rim, down to the water line, and to all the terraces between. I crumbled the ore-laden dirt and the discarded tailings in my hands. I tasted (but did not drink!) the poisoned metallic water. As I studied, the tragedy of the place became clear. Here was a place that had blighted its surroundings for hundreds of years, and would continue to do so for countless more. Though the tainted water was low now it had undoubtedly spilled over the edge of the pit many times when the rains came, and each time it had spread its poison to flood the lands beyond. The bones strewn about the pit spoke to flocks and flocks of unsuspecting birds seeking shelter in the caustic waters but finding death instead. I could not imagine the place ever healing again, no matter how many years passed.

After I had bound the Strip Mine’s ley line to myself, I was only too happy to leave for healthier lands. When I came to them, even the most barren stretches of the Fallaji Desert seemed more alive than the pit. And as I traveled farther away from it, the trauma of the pit faded to a dull ache in my memory. Only then did I experiment with its ley line.

At first the ley line was a mere curiosity, only good for supplementing other ley lines or powering artifacts. The mana I drew from it was entirely devoid of any feeling: not the soothing calm of the plains, not the furious excitement of the mountains, not the deep strength of the forests. But there was something else about it, something just beyond my reach. It took me months of tinkering with it to discover its true power, but it finally came to me. I had woven it with other ley lines to shape a spell, but did not complete the casting before I pulled on it just so...and the spell collapsed! The Strip Mine’s ley line was gone, as was one of the other ley lines I had woven. Understanding came in a rush, and I imagined that I could use it the same way against a foe, deactivate another’s ley lines just as I had deactivated my own. I had discovered a new weapon to take into battle, one more subtle and insidious than I had previously known.

Wounds that Do Not Heal

People have mined the planes since there have been people, but Strip Mining is a relatively recent activity. Surface mining—quarrying away stones or minerals from at or near the surface of the land—seems to be the oldest form, followed by shaft mining where veins of minerals are followed into the earth. Strip Mining, which involves removing a large amount of overlying earth or stone from a seam of mineral before digging it out of the ground, requires more effort than simple surface mining or shaft mining—usually in the form of machinery like that employed by the Artificiers.

Berkeley Pit just outside of Butte, Montana, is an abandoned strip mine. The water that's in it is extremely acidic and has so much copper dissolved in it that the metal can be mined directly by precipitation. The water level keeps rising, and when it reaches the surrounding water table it'll poison the rivers and groundwater in the surrounding area.

With the greater effort expended in Strip Mining comes a greater effect on the lands about it. The scale at which it is practiced can be far greater than simpler methods of mining, and as such even the physical damage to the land is greater. Moving such great amounts of earth and stone wreaks havoc on the local streams, and the tailings and ores washed away choke the remaining rivers with pollution. When abandoned, water collects in the pits and leaches minerals from the remaining ores, and the caustic results poison the land further. Even decades or centuries do not heal these wounds, and the effects of these mines will be felt for generations to come.

Mining for Victory

The utility of the Strip Mine in sorcerous combat cannot be overstated. It is so effective that it is used whenever possible by almost all serious strategies. Not only can it deactivate any ley line—from cutting off the knowledge contained in the Library of Alexandria to just destroying a second Island to ward off a Counterspell—it does so instantaneously and unstoppably. So great is its power that most convocations of dueling mages, even many of those of the oldest school, restrict its use to just one instance per spellbook.

The ever-popular land destruction strategy. I distinctly remember a Stone Rain deck (more than four Stone Rains because we were barbaric kids who ignored tournament rules, no Sinkholes or Ice Storms because we were poor kids that started playing during Revised) as being the first deck that I just couldn't beat.

While most mages bind as many Strip Mines to themselves as possible, a few go further and make its feared ability the focus of their spellbooks. Combining their Strip Mines with spells such as Stone Rain, Ice Storm, and Sinkhole, they seek to cut off their opponents’ mana before they can use it to threaten them, and then keep it cut off while they summon threats of their own. And assuming that the Strip Mines and destructive spells keep coming at a steady pace, it is a strategy with results that cannot be denied.

Danatoth of Alsoor


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