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Opium And Poison | Lurrus of the Dream Den

Commander / EDH Aristocrats Casual Group Slug Lifegain Multiplayer WB (Orzhov)

Hexapod

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Creature (40)

Land (33)

Sorcery (3)

Instant (1)

Commander (1)

Commander: foil Lurrus of the Dream-Den

Enchantment (12)

Artifact (10)

Maybeboard

Instant (3)

Sorcery (2)

Creature (2)

Land (1)

Enchantment (1)

Artifact (2)

The fog slowly dissipates around you as you advance, but your vision remains hazy. Your limbs are heavy and keeping your eyes opened requires effort.

People are congregating around the burial ground, dressed in black or white hooded robes. A ceremony seems to be under way, and ritual chants are filling the air, though you can’t make out the words. Suddenly, you are at the front of the assembly, and the High Priest and High Priestess are performing a sacrifice. You are strangely calm despite the hot blood pouring on the stone altar.

The stars above are shimmering, and the light reflect off scintillating dust, forming the shape of a celestial feline. You wake up in your bed, feeling heavy and tired. You feel silly having been so scared of the dream, until you notice the blood stains on your sheets.

As you sit up, the room feels colder than usual. The shadows in the corners seem to move, whispering secrets you can’t quite hear. You shake your head, trying to clear the remnants of the dream, but the feeling of unease lingers.

Days pass, and the dreams become more vivid, more disturbing. Each night, you find yourself back at the burial ground, witnessing the same ritual, but each time, the details become clearer. The faces of the robed figures are now familiar, their eyes hollow and filled with a dark purpose. The chants, once unintelligible, now echo in your mind, their meaning seeping into your thoughts.

One night, the High Priestess approaches you, her eyes glowing with an unnatural light. She places a hand on your forehead, and a surge of energy courses through you. “You are chosen,” she whispers, her voice echoing in your mind. “Prepare for his arrival.”

You wake up with a start, your heart pounding. Your hands are covered in dried blood. Panic sets in as you realize the line between dream and reality is blurring. Determined to find answers, you seek out the burial ground from your dreams. To your horror, it exists, beyond the scrubland, within the tainted field. While rotted furniture covered in candle wax and ashes seem to indicate this is the correct location, it seems to have been abandoned years ago.

As the days turn into weeks, the dreams no longer feel like dreams but memories of a past life. The celestial feline, Lurrus, appears, guiding you through the darkness. You realize that he is not just a symbol but a guardian, whispering secrets of power and control, urging you to embrace the chaos.

The cult’s influence grows, spreading through the city like a plague. People begin to lose their minds, their dreams twisted by the cult’s dark magic. You stand at the center of it all, torn between your humanity and the power offered by the final ritual.

You are standing on the edge of town with a small group of citizens, yielding a torch and a rapier to ward off the cultists. This is your last stand, and despite the impending doom, you are feeling brave and proud to have held fast in the face of evil and to die a hero.

As the remains of your sanity disperse, so does the heroic dream, and you reel as you are flooded by the memory of the last few days. You did not in fact rise to defend the city, but rather butchered the innocent in what has already come to be known as the Meathook Massacre.

This moment of clarity does not last however, and soon the Elder God’s hold slithers over your mind once more, bringing you back into their fold.

I. The Land and the Light
A frozen expanse of purity.
A vast expanse of purity.
Darkness cloaked in frost.

Where light and dark converge, the land weeps.
Where the land meets the sea, secrets lie.
A barren land, yet rich in potential.
Endless paths, infinite possibilities.

The path is there; I just have to find it.
The seat of the High King, where hope is born anew.
It is not a palace. It is a prison.
Let the blood of the unworthy cleanse the land.

________________________________________

II. The Faithful and the Fallen
She’s trained in the ways of the old guard, she fights with honor and precision.
Her will shall banish the shadows. Her might shall punish the lawless. Her beauty shall restore the light.
She watches over the living and the dead.
She mends the soul as well as the flesh.
She sees the future in the entrails of the past.

Her sacrifice is her strength.
In solitude, faith is tested.
Light guides the way, but shadows reveal the truth.
Walls of spirit guard the living from the dead.

Your debt is due.

________________________________________

III. The Court and the Hidden Truths
In the court's light, truth is revealed.
It is not that you will go mad. It is that you will beg for madness.
It spins dreams into nightmares.

Home is where the heart is, in a jar on my shelf.
Secrets kept under lock and key.
Trade your wares, or your soul.
Celebrate the fallen, for they paved our path to victory.
Your pain is my gain.

________________________________________

IV. The Dead and Their Keepers
We have a proud history of self-sacrifice.
But it is easy, in these bleak times, to find one among us who is eager to die for any cause.

Each death fuels my vengeance.
The dead rise to serve once more.
It returns, again and again, a shadow of its former self.
The presence of death rides on his coattails.
She leads the lost to their final rest.

Death is not the end.
Death is merely a pause in the eternal dance.
Even in death, the bones remember.
Even in death, the halls whisper.

What was once whole is now scattered.

________________________________________

V. The Agents of Power
Greatness, at any cost.
Knowledge at any cost.
He carves his path with flesh and bone.
He spreads disease with every step.
He summons demons with a whisper.
She serves powers long buried.
He rules the swamp with an iron will.
Her strings pull at the very fabric of life.
In life, he was a champion. In death, he is a legend.
________________________________________

VI. The Tools of Resurrection and Ruin
A glimpse into the future, at a cost.
A cathedral to no god, only ambition.
A promise unfulfilled is still a promise.
A new dawn breaks, casting away the shadows of the past.

They hunt in silence, striking as one.
Swift as thought, silent as death.
Each bloom a fleeting burst of power.

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98% Casual

Competitive

Revision 94 See all

(3 weeks ago)

+1 Norn's Wellspring maybe