Skar, shaman of the Blazing-Eye Clan, looked down upon the district below. From the hill, he could see neat rows of shops, manicured trees, faint winding lanes that lead to the other, more built-up districts in the surrounding area.

Pathetic. Disgusting. Skar knew these things for what they were, affronts to the savage nature that ought to rule Ravnica. The people down there were worms, and ought to have their flayed skins painted with the Blazing-Eye sigil and hung from the trees as banners. But this is not what Skar would do. Not entirely. There were worms, and then there were wurms who simply didn’t yet realize their station. As much as Skar hated those pleasant angles and perfect, squat little homes, he did not hate the people within, who did not know any better.

He and his clan would help them to see. Some would open their eyes and survive. Others would die. That was the way of nature.

Shiina, his favorite (and for the time only) mate, sauntered up beside Skar.

“What an ugly place.” She sighed, “They will not heed the beauty of nature. We should go elsewhere, where the lands are closer to wild.”

Skar laughed. Shiina was an exceedingly good mate and an even better fighter, but she had not a drop of a leader’s sense.

“They will heed it, or be prey to it. Either way, better to cut to the heart of Ravnica’s disease.”

“Mmm,” Shiina muttered, “When do we go to war, then?”

“When the sun touches the horizon.” Skar replied. The day was dragging on and his clan was assembled, but twilight suited the hunt best, and night the revelry that would follow.

“There’s some time before that.” Shiina replied, and from her posture and the look in her eyes, Skar caught her meaning.

“Let us not spoil our appetites.” He replied. There were plans he needed to make, warriors he needed to speak to. No doubt amidst the worms or wurms there were the betrayers, Boros and Selesnya and Orzhov and all the others, who had the power to fight back. They, he thought, were the true enemy. And Skar knew that they would put up the greatest resistance. As the most cunning of animals strategized their hunts, so the fall of this neighborhood would have to be planned carefully, lest it fail.

As it happened, Skar needn’t have worried. The Gruul poured down from the hills as the sun touched the horizon, and it was not long after it had sunk below entirely that they were in control of the region, ripping down the edifices of the other guilds and smashing them upon the stones of the streets. Skar did not fail to appreciate, when he came to the cathedral of the Orzhov, the seat of ‘civilization’, that the windows had already been smashed, and around his warriors who howled in victory over the broken forms of thrulls many of the guildless scurried, ripping at the golden idols and prying off what they could

They struggled for a pointless, soft metal, perhaps, but they could learn. Soon they would show the same eagerness for food and furs. Soon, they would be Gruul, and for the meantime this would make an excellent place to camp, the shattered pews providing good firewood, the grand tapestries a night’s soft bedding

Shiina went before Skar, but she knew as much as he did that the fighting was over. Any who lived now would not take up arms against the might of the Gruul. She tore down one of the heavy tapestries and cast its folds over the low altar, then stabbed her blade into the ruffled mass and laid herself back upon it. Skar needed no other invitation to begin the celebration of his victory.

In the aftermath, as Skar lounged on his bed of tatters laid upon stone, his warriors, those not feasting or mating or otherwise in celebration, came to Skar. They brought with him a lean young man in the torn robes of an Orzhov, and shoved that man down in front of the draped and defiled altar.

“This one wants to give you tributes.” One of his warriors said with a loud scoff.

“For my safety,” the boy muttered, “Yes, I will give you gifts your… um… shamanness?”

Skar drew himself up.

“Show me.”

And they brought forth a platter of gold, which Skar scattered at once, and he demanded what else the Orzhov would give. And the boy scurried, and brought another platter, this one heaped with spices and other things that smelled well. Skar grabbed a few of these, and passed a flask to Shiina, and tossed the spices to one of his warriors and told him to take it to the fire pit, and demanded what else he would be given.

To this, the boy brought out a robe of white and violet silk, and handed it, trembling to Skar.

Skar looked at the thing – shimmering, useless, with loose threads where orzhov marks had no doubt been pulled from it. But then he felt the thing, its smooth surface, and began to think a little better. He pulled on it this way and that, and at least the seams did not tear away.

“Bah,” Shiina growled, “A thing for milksops who eat from the hands of Selesnya.”

Skar frowned at her, “It is a prize of victory.” He said, throwing it about his shoulders and clothing his nakedness in the fine fabric, “A thing to be used as long as it lasts, by whoever has the strength to hold it.

Thus clothed, and somewhat displeased with his lover, Skar stalked out to survey his new domain

By the second week, it was clear that the other guilds did not care about this little slice of Ravnica, and would let the Gruul have it. Perhaps the Selesnya sent missionaries. Perhaps the Izzet sent builders below their feet to keep the toilets running, and certainly the Golgari collected something of the dead and the garbage. But by in large, it was Gruul turf now, and the people fought and hunted, and rested their heads beneath roofs that nature would reclaim. The pretty, manicured trees grew wild, and the walls were broken and pitted with mayhem.

Skar was still enjoying the fruits of his victory, sometimes literally. Amidst the conquest they had gained spices, and sweet wines, peaches pickled in honey and slivers of other, strange fruits dried and brought here from other lands. Of course, there were other sorts of fruits as well, and Skar enjoyed the reams of silk and scented oils. He also enjoyed his new weapon, and the prospects for his children in this new land.

Not everyone, though, shared his enthusiasm. Shiina saw him approach as she was trying to show their youngest how to hold a knife, and scowled.

“What is that thing?” she asked, looking intently at the weapon.

“This,” Skar declared proudly, “Is a halberd.” And to demonstrate its weight and balance, he spun it about. Shiina did not care much for the show, sent their child away, and put her hands on her hips.

“It is an ugly, unnatural thing.” She said, “Where is your good axe? Stone and bone are all a true warrior needs.”

“All I need,” Skar said, “But not all I can use. This thing will be better until it breaks, and then I will have the stone and bone again.”

If, Skar thought, he needed to. The weapons of the enemy were very powerful, and their metal very durable. Some of his warriors had very old metal, salvaged from the wild lands where the flagstones of the city were half buried beneath roots. They filed those bits and bobs into proper blades, good as any stone for the Gruul. If he kept this new thing, bright and shining, and cared for it well it could last him his whole life, and become a relic for his sons and daughters to spar over the inheritance of.

“It is wrong to keep it.” Shiina said.

At this, Skar’s blood began to boil. “I am shaman!” he declared, and so he was – he had the authority, and the magic, “I decide what is right and what is wrong! I take this from my kill, as you took the great teeth that make your knives. Therefore, I will keep it, and use it as I see fit.”

And Shiina seemed to be mollified, if not entirely accepting.

“Well,” she said, “If you would have another child, keep it away from me. I do not like the cold touch of metal on my skin.”

And that Skar was willing to accept. He really needed only one weapon.

On the fifth week, Skar held a meeting with representatives of some of the other guilds. They knew the neighborhood was Gruul turf, but wanted to set a treaty for relations within it. Words, so many senseless words, but many of the things they said made sense. The stench of their garbage was becoming very much, festering against stone, so why not let the Golgari clean it out? That was fine. And for the Izzet, they would run waters through, and make the rivers in the pipes flow again. And that would be as good as the real rivers, for the ruins.

The rest of the guilds, Skar was concerned, could probably rot. But they had talked and talked, and “treaty” negotiations dragged on for hours, and Skar longed to plunge his halberd into the head of the Azorius delegate. But he restrained himself. They needed to respect him. They needed to see the power of the Gruul.

And soon after they had paper, and corpse haulers, and water, and fools with other signets prancing about. It would have to do, but Skar was frustrated. He needed comfort. He sought out Shiina.

She was alone, mercifully, looking over one of the izzet work crews and their incessant building. Skar tried to feel better, to praise himself on not giving too much to the others, and for once Shiina nodded her head in appreciation. She seemed to have regained the willingness she had on the first day of the raid and before, and Skar was more than happy to avail himself of the same.

As he lay back, though, and availed himself of her second greatest skill after warfare, her demeanor changed.

“You used to be a great man.” She muttered between sighs. Skar only groaned, but he saw her frown despite herself. He did not, however, see until it was too late when she grabbed her fang dagger from the side of the bed and drove it into his chest.

“But there is no wildness left in your heart!” she spat, and sprung away as nimbly as she could in the circumstances.

Skar tried to stagger up from the bed, to his feet, and somehow managed. But he knew his moments were numbered, felt the blade that had pierced his racing heart. He drew it forth, and made one desperate slash for Shiina before falling to the ground.

And then, as Skar lay dying, he saw her smile. Not sultry, or impish, but once as she had long ago honest and full of appreciation.

“At least you die like a man.” She said, and put her hand to the shallow cut across her breast that Skar had made, a trickle of red oozing up from it. “Our children are still Gruul. I will take them, and the clan, away from this place. We will go where the Old Ways hold strong. They will be safe, untainted by this poison of Civilization that claimed you.”

“Goodbye, my love. We’ll meet again when I go to join you in Agyrem.”

Skar closed his eyes to the world, and life fled from him. And Shiina took his old shaman’s necklace as a trophy, and clothed herself, and commanded the Gruul to do as she said. Many followed her, old Gruul or new, and others stayed, whether they had been Gruul once or no. None but the Golgari gave a second thought to the cooling remains of Skar, who had once been shaman of the Burning Eye.