'twas the last night of Hanukah When I first learned about the 10 guilds of Ravnica It was a new beginning for me And it brought me great glee For I finally found a game that challenged the brain When it came time to choose my guild There were a lot of cool builds But I have to much cheer to be in Dimir And Selesnia was a bit to goody two shoes It was a difficult task to choose I like Azorius and their controlling But I hate how they are so boring Golgari was evil the symbol of life and death But I just couldn't face the trolls deadly breath Boros was too strict and proper While Izzet was mostly just for Pauper Rakdos was simply too hastey While the Orzhov were just too lazy I seriously consider Simic But I was very confused on how to play Progenitor Mimic So the last gild was Gruul I loved the bloodrushed effect, it was so cool! When I tried it out it was good but not great Then I learned of a way to get my dorks to be and 8/8 With the help of my Beastmaster I would create a brilliant disaster On turn 3 I'd routinely swing for 34 And that's quite the score So for me the decision was easy I would be Gruul and make my opponents uneasy My deck is unexpected yet beautifully made So the next time you see me watch out for my Domri Rade.
Happy belated birthday brother. I have a little flow here that I wrote a few months ago. I consider it poetry, most music is poetry. Either way, here we are:
"I turn glass into lightning with the blink of a socket;
Increase my nine lives with this pen in my pocket;
Cross out the old and leave it behind;
Revolutionize the use of intellectual mind;
Inspire those blind to think highly inclined;
Give keys to locked doors and study my finds;
Climb 14,000 to the summit and toke;
Accomplish my goal without the use of a rope;
Fight through the middle ages with dragons and spell pages;
Give thanks to the elite whom pillaged others for raises;
Tweak the strings of the brain, fix those who think sane;
Take the pulp of the slain, flush the rest down the drain;
Wrong minded or not, down the left path I go;
You can wait in line forever, I'm backstage at the show;
Skeletons are breakable, leave crushed bones where they lie;
Life's a game, f*** it, play on hard 'til you die."
I.D. - a.k.a. Eschelon
Last Edit: July 16, 2013, 11:59:08 PM by InfinitiveDivinity
(Note: this poem is in the style of an epic, a la "Beowulf" or J.R.R. Tolkien's "The Fall of Arthur")
Two brothers brave there were Brave, courageous, A sun that shone like molten gold upon their breasts. Blessèd with strength uncommon, Unmatched prowess in spear, axe, and sword; Two brothers brave there were, whose past laid in the heat and rage Of a godly being, A specter from the days come before, A beast of death and fire, With cold intellect- sharp claws like daggers. A dragon, with scales like burnished gold. Great halls and the company of friends the brothers had known; Now their halls laid in a barren waste- charred beams like accusing fingers were all that remained, Now their friend's blackened bones were food for the carrion-birds that aimlessly wheeled; Following the path of fire the dragon left in its wake. Two brothers brave there were, whose bravery knew no bounds, Two brothers who, stol'n upon the smoking cave of the dragon, Prepared to be revenged on the beast; That marrow-cracker, That flame of primeval fire incarnate, Lay sleeping deep in its mountaintop cave. Treasurers and trinkets surrounded it, An acrid stench of burnèd flesh was about the lair, The dragon slept, Scales like rubies, with beauty beyond compare. Two brothers brave, venturing near, did enter the lip of the cave, Heedless in their anger, fear burned away by white hot vengeance, Ignored trinkets- Ignored the fatal fumes surrounding, Two brothers brave, their lances gleaming, struck true, Piercing the foul wyrm betwixt wing and neck, Fatal blows, and cunningly struck. But lances are no match to dragon scales, Forgèd in the depths of hells, Unnumbered aeons ago For what mortal can match the bastard child Of nature and fire? Two brothers brave there were, their tomb sits upon a high peak, Sealed away in blood in flame, Their golden crests cloven; Their lances cut; Their swords melted In dragon fire, the punishing flame, Smokes tree, burns bush, sets the strongest metals to running, Two brothers naïve there were, to tempt a dragon so, In cunning or in force, a dragon is not so vanquishèd- Heed this warning; In anger or in spite, in righteousness or deviousness, We mortal husks are but twigs underfoot, Where idle gods and rampaging beasts do tred; Let the burnèd bones of these brothers remind and warn, Upon the smoldering peak do they lie, The bones of two brothers, brave they were.