Once, winning was everything when playing Magic. I don’t mean only for myself, as the heated and healthy competitive scene of the aughts and early 2010s had tournament grinders scouring forums for insight and an advantage in the current meta, committing to ritualistic nights at an LGS, and traveling across the country if they wanted to make a real go at Pro-level play. Then shifting priorities and expanding profit margins swayed WOTC’s view from constructed competitive formats to the casual, more lucrative Commander landscape we have played in for the past decade. In this shifting of the scene, I generally stopped meeting up for Friday Night Magic— playing with the stalwarts who took up the same tables week in and week out— and I found a playgroup of my own.

We’ve all dabbled in sixty-card formats of one sort or another. Some were curious to understand this fondly remembered chapter of the game’s history, while others retain a preference for twenty life and smaller deck lists. I’m glad to sit down with any commander pod, though Limited has become my format of choice; especially when I want to recapture the pulse-spiking, card flicking impulse to win. Otherwise, the competitive spirit has left me, not only when I play, but it has shaped my deck constructed as well.

Driving back from the cottage at the end of May a good friend, Kenny, and I were passing the time on a tedious stretch of Ontario highway by chatting about the state of the game. Kenny is a stalwart of kitchen table play, with finely crafted decks that don’t align with any single rule set, though they are a blast to play and meticulously designed. Six decks in all, each with an eye-watering price tag and play patterns that better reflect Dragons or Takri rather than Dragonstorm.

Power creep is a consideration, but one easily ignored if it makes a deck’s theme richer. I’ve seen cards cycle through Kenny’s decks, but at a far slower pace than if optimization was his primary concern. These are decks meant to be played amongst friends, marveling at the Avishkar treatments for every artifact in a Dwarven Boros deck, instead of placing at a tournament. Current trends in card design appeal to optimization and frictionless play, leading to cards that feel discordant between their flavour and effect. When flavour and theme are the aim, however, the Badgermoles can slot into a trade binder rather than a deck list.

I’ve tried to keep this ethos alive in my deck construction. Bloomburrow brought me back to Redwall, a childhood favourite that I hadn’t read in decades, though my dogeared copy of Mossflower was easy to find when visiting my parents. In honour of the series, and the quick-witted, courageous Long Patrol, I built a deck for Selesnya rabbits. It’s reasonably easy to pilot, has only received two upgrades since 2024 — courtesy of the Lorwyn shock lands and Mystical Archives — and feels like a cohesive, authored deck. I would be absolutely thrashed if I put it against the landfall and Izzet dominant meta of 2026, but thematically it shines.

Adhering to theme narrows your focus, blocking out the roar of announcements, and battening your mind against FOMO. Not only have entire sets passed me by, but it has stoked my excitement whenever I find a card that fits in the handful of decks I keep in my rotation. The act of playing Magic the Gathering is divorced from the necessity of buying new cards. When I first found the game, I got by with a single theme deck and the occasional influx of new cards courtesy of the holiday season. I can’t fully revert to spartan and naïve understanding of the game, but I can orient myself toward player expression beyond a web-sourced, optimized list.

Despite my affection for the sprawling lore of the game, I had been missing a deck built around an iconic character. Thanks to a collector sample pact, I pulled a foil full art treatment of the Draconian Ravnican, Nic-Mizzet Guildpact. It felt like kismet.

As I brainstormed possible approaches to a celebration of Ravnica, I landed on a showcase of the ten guilds undergirded by the iconic gates of the plane. Each guild leader earned a spot and accompanied by a lieutenant in the colour pair to reflect Ravnica’s culture and story. I kept the costlier patchwork five-colour mana base in my collection, opting for guild gates and a potential win with Maze’s End. Cards entered my brewing list only to be tossed out if they felt too far outside the traditional fantasy of the cosmopolitan plane. Over months of curation, I had created a hundred card exhibition with little details and flourishes as an ode to Ravnica; gilded and pretty rubbish.

Of all the iterations of Niv-Mizzet, the Guildpact is the worst. He is too much effort for too little payoff, and any competitive-minded player would have chucked him from the list ages ago for another take on the dragon or a different commander altogether. Yet the more I got into the theme, the more convinced I was that no on could lead my Ravnican deck quite like the Guildpact.

Despite the understandable notion that I spent too long combing through the history of Ravnica when building my wonderous, mediocre machine, I haven’t lost my mind entirely. I’m under no delusions on the strength of the deck, but it is damn fun to play.

Niv-Rav, as my playgroup affectionately calls this whirligig of cardstock, has become my preferred choice for the long-haul games. When my opponents opt for a durdling Flubs or made-to-be-broken Toph the First metalbender, I’ll fetch my canary yellow deck box and settle down with Niv. The deck has win-cons, albeit languorous lines toward Maze’s End or combos telegraphed like a transatlantic message. The only tutors in the list are for lands that allow the deck to fit under the broadest definition of ‘playable’, yet I’m thrilled whenever I get a round in. I have bundle boxes filled with the detritus of decks that I played until they were solved — do the thing, win the game — but the focus required to make Niv-Rav work has kept it sleeved and together. A clean victory with the Guildpact is not guaranteed.

My friends joke that Niv-Rav exists outside the limiting confines of the bracket system. As terminology introduced shortly before I began brewing, I was aware of how it would be classified though I still struggle to relegate it to a step along the ladder. I guess that means it’s bracket 3.

Instead, Niv-Rav gets to the core that Rachel Weeks outlined in her illuminating summation of player intent and its place within the bracket structure. When I play the Guildpact, I don’t care about winning; I care about my friend’s first pre-release for War of the Spark, about where Teysa Karlov may turn up after her change in fortunes during MKM, which guild we feel aligned with, or the multitude of references and memories elicited by a well-loved plane.

This isn’t a call for deoptimization or a radical shift in deck building philosophy. Plays will still want to jam lists like they on their way to the Pro Tour, though there is a nagging voice in my head saying maybe everyone should have a theme deck or two. It makes you a better brewer when you can take another view of a card beyond the optimal line.