Canal Dredger

A tiny family of cards operates on the draft itself rather than on anything that happens once the game begins, and this construct is one of the purest examples. Its real function is the pass clause. Every booster's last card, the one a table usually treats as leftover, gets routed to whoever drafted a copy of this card, redirecting the discarded supply of an entire pod toward a single seat. That is an axis no ordinary creature touches: it manipulates the pool you choose from before the body ever blocks. The 1/5 does little to move a board, and the tap ability is similarly modest, tucking a card from your graveyard onto the bottom of your library, a slow recycling that thins nothing and returns nothing quickly. The gap between those two halves is the whole design. One line is a near-blank wall with a polite second-life button; the other reshapes the card economy of the table around it, and only functions inside a specific way of playing. Strip away that context and the pass clause is inert text, the recursion is a trickle, and what remains is a five-toughness blocker. That contradiction, a body that barely matters wrapped around a rule that rewrites the supply chain, is the identity.