Artists are weird.

Trust me on this; I went to art school.

We're constantly becoming caught up in the most bizarre ideas. Slaves to the muse, most sensible artists have given up on control and simply let themselves be swept up in whatever oddball notion takes hold. And so it was one evening at the grocery store, I asked myself a question that demanded an answer.

I've always been interested in the small moments. Wizards of the Coast has done an admirable job fleshing out the story of the soldiers, assassins, political (and actual) giants, spies, mages, and monsters of Ravnica. But what about the ninety-nine percent of the city of guilds? Typically, the only time we ever get to see the ordinary citizens is when they're caught in the middle of a brawl or are desperately trying to escape one of the many, many explosions that seem to rock the plane on an hourly basis. But if this is a city without limits, there must be millions, if not billions, who lead quiet, modest lives, tucked away from the insanity of Main Street Ravnica.

Walking down the cereal aisle, I wondered what the people of Ravnica ate.

It's the Vorthos talking, the same piece of me that was more excited to pull a foil copy of Knight Watch than the rare sitting next to it—just for love of the story the card tells. The Vorthos asked the question, and the artist answered:

"Guild cereals, of course!"

I stopped in my tracks; I knew that old feeling. There were already images of sugar-coated guild signets floating in my head. Aurelia was hocking Boros Charms, Trostani was backing an all-natural delight (most likely horse-chow), and Lazav was taking full advantage of the mass exposure to get a little help from his new friends. It had been two minutes, and it was already too late to turn back.

With the support and brainstorming assistance of my awesome wife Carolyn, the past few weeks have been filled with cartoon characters, philosophical discussions of cereal texture (would you say Rakdos is crunchy or crispy?), and many, many hours of drawing and designing.

It's been amazing; in fact, one might say it's been grrrrrreat!

Apologies.

Without further ado, I present the pretty . . .