Until You Call on The Dark in Detroit (An MTG Underground Tournament Overview)

On Sunday, November 26th, I hosted an Oldschool (93/94) Magic tournament at RIW Hobbies in Livonia, Michigan.

We had a set of The Dark in the back of the store, desperate for a purpose. When I stumbled foolishly upon this information, I set the gears in motion. We would hold a tournament. But not just any tournament, we would hold an Oldschool tournament. All we needed were a handful of Scarwood Bandits to show up to make it worthwhile.

I could make that happen.

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The Sum of Your Achievements: MTG Underground at Eternal Weekend

Part One: Guerillas

On March 8th, 1994, just four days after the release of Antiquities, Nailbomb’s “Point Blank” record debuted. They were similar in many ways. Stripped down. Aggressive. An expansion and a side project. Unpolished. Unapologetic. And I knew nothing about either of them when they were introduced to the world. But that would change. Did I hear the music first? Or shuffle the cards? Either way, it was not long before I discovered both. And my life was forever changed.

I was not new to metal. The year prior, in March of 1993, I attended my first concert. I was thirteen years old and my life lacked any meaningful adult supervision. I was supposed to be at a sleepover but instead I was at the State Theater in Downtown Detroit.

I saw Pantera.

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Create Your Own Heroes, A Guest Post from Dave Wojtkowski

time vault

Time is the poison of mortals. I have seen all that was, all that is, and all that shall come to be. I am the Librarian. As time passes, trees grow, they shed their leaves, they die. As time passes, you learn, you age, and you die. As time passes, I write into the fabric of existence all of the possibilities that it brings into being.

-The Librarian of Leng, “From the Aeons Torn”

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There and Back Again: Adventures in the Pit

Assemble the Coven Part One


The darkest hour of night is often poisoned by moonlight.

But as the wan radiance threatens to reveal my secrets, the fog drapes about me like a cloak. It wraps itself around my activity the way the forest wraps around the hill upon which I dig. The leering moon above is no adversary for the clandestine work of the Librarian. As it watches on, it does so alone. It cannot whisper to the aeons. It cannot reveal in the absence of Eyes to See.

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The Last Bike from Gothenburg

Welcome back to the MTG Underground.

Today we bring you a guest post from Magnus De Laval, the face and voice of Oldschool MTG. Though it has been too long since I brought you words from my fingers, a crime I will remedy soon, it is a pleasure to bring you something equally brilliant, if not superior on every level. I promise you will not be disappointed.

If you wandered in too early, you may have seen an alternate cut of this piece. I spent a little too much time with this piece in my possession before posting it, and became a little too enamored. As such, I began dressing it up in my clothes and shifting its pieces around, unintentionally sculpting it into my likeness. And while my face may be a beautiful sight for your heathen eyes, it should not deny you the true form of this masterpiece.

So I have set things right.

I give you the Last Bike from Gothenburg in its raw, unadulterated glory:

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Argothian Daydreams: Hailing the Leaf in the Oldschool Underground

Part One: The Primeval Forest


“Things do not change. We change.” –Henry David Thoreau, Walden

My first encounter with green mana was an offering from a Verduran Enchantress. This taste of paradise was contrary to my nature, to my obsession with dark magic and rusted metal relics, but her emerald eyes captivated me. The temptation was too great not to succumb, and the floral sapidity was as sweet as salvation on my trembling lips.

As it filled my lungs, she filled my dreams. As it swam through my blood, she danced with my desires. I lost all correspondence with my gritty, jagged world of metal and violence, and let myself listen to the nuances of its song. She was teaching me of the serenity of nature. I was learning the savagery of the cosmos.

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