Owing to my finite generosity, morbid curiosity, and jovial disposition, I have decided to gift 2 sealed Keyforge decks to whichever forum poster crafts the best or most entertaining origin story for their Archon's name. Posters must provide the name of a real Archon that they possess along with a narrative piece of fiction, in a post in this very thread, intended for public consumption. The selected winner must also provide, via email, photographic evidence confirming the existence of aforesaid Archon and actual possession of that deck. I will be the sole and final arbiter of who is awarded the prize for best short story, though I will take into account other posters' feedback, so please make your opinions known! The details:

Start date : Right now!

End date : January 1st 2019, 12 PM (noon) PST.

Requirements : 500-1000 words, not including a preface or title containing the Archon's name. I will not accept submissions via email or private message.

The prize will be shipped within a week of the end date, assuming all of the previous conditions (including photographic evidence) are met, and barring any local product shortages. If I've missed anything, or you have any questions, please feel free to ask them here. I look forward to reading your stories - good luck!

Bump.

Since I am having trouble using email on my phone, can I send you the picture via private message here?

If you win, probably. No need for pictures until it comes time to award the prize.

Neat idea! Better hope the winner isn't in some distant land, though... The shipping will probably come out to more than the decks. ?

Possibly. I stand by my obligation.

Daily bump.

Of the 86,000+ decks that have been registered to the app, 5 contain the words “Muscle Cars.”

I hereby ask that the owners of those decks participate. Please. Don’t make me beg...

12 hours ago, TheSpitfired said:

Of the 86,000+ decks that have been registered to the app, 5 contain the words “Muscle Cars.”

I hereby ask that the owners of those decks participate. Please. Don’t make me beg...

Bonus points for any reference to the Queen song “I’m in Love With My Car.”

This sounds interesting.

Will give this a shot once I've acquired a deck with at least somewhat an interesting name.

Do you accept multiple submissions per user?

Yup. I’m looking for entertaining stories. You put in the time and effort, you’ll get consideration.

Daily bump.

Should we post the stories right here on this board?

9 minutes ago, tsuruki said:

Should we post the stories right here on this board?

In this very thread!

Devoutly Glowing Yancy

Yancy came out of the Sanctum House having been looking for recruits for her squad there. They shared her devout beliefs and she thought that perhaps some would join her crusade in the Arena. Commander Remiel had been sweet and had promised her to seek out more recruits, though the names he had so far like Bad Penny and Sneklifter didn’t sound that holy. It sounded like he’d been scraping the bottom of the barrel in the shadows.

Yancy sighed and headed on through the city looking for more recruits. She spotted a little red bricked house with a cute sign on the outside. It was a Martian House of some sort and she traced the symbol around with her finger. It was yellow with what looked like a black rotor on it.

Oh it’s a cute old fashioned aeroplane shed. Yancy decided to herself. She tried to knock on the door and it mysteriously opened for her.

“Hello, I’m John Smyth. Can I help you?” The Martian behind the door said politely.

“Oh, yes I guess.” Yancy replied. “I’m looking for a powerful team. Lots of power if you know what I mean?” She gave the Martian a wink and he merely nodded in response with a knowing smile.

“Yes, we have lots of power here. Why don’t you come in and see?” He replied.

The Martian was polite and seemed like a nice person, though she strongly suspected that John Smyth might not be his real name. She liked old aeroplane and looked forward to seeing them, though as she followed John Smyth down a tunnel, she was less sure that they would hold aircraft so deep underground.

Finally they came out into a large chamber with a huge green glowing vessel in the middle and Martian scientists all around it going about their tasks.

“Blypp, this is my new friend Yancy. She wants to see the power!” John Smyth told one of the other Martians. He is turn went over to the cauldron and Yancy followed him, now curious. He lifted the lid on the vessel. Inside it was a bright green glowing substance seemingly near to boiling point. Yancy could instantly feel the effect of the substance burning into her as she was exposed to it and she quickly demanded that Blypp put the lid back down. However it was too late. When she looked at her hand she noted that it had started to glow a bright yellow colour. The same was true for the remainder of her body as well.

“What have you done to me?” She demanded.

“We have done nothing. Now you have the power too that you were seeking.” John Smyth told her. “With our help you can have a great team Archon Yancy.”

“I guess that my name is no longer simply Yancy anymore. I am transformed by the power of God through your work, and I am now I will be known as Devoutly Glowing Yancy.” She replied.

Silverther staggered through the entry way, the sun blinding as it fell through the open skylight, the cheers of the crowd deafening and pounding in his ears. The last Brob lite was probably the one that did him in. What was he to do, though? Last night was a raucous going away part for Tabris, the brews were flowing and everyone was having a grand time, but he had tickets to attend the games today and he wasn't going to pass these great seats for a little hangover. That little hangover, turned out to be a little bit of a problem, nothing the hair of the dog couldn't handle, so Silverther started early that morning with some brews he got from Charette hoping that would relieve some of the tension, but to no avail. The vendor served him his 5th, or 9th Brob lite, and by now the stadium was spinning. Fortunately this gave the positive impact of relieving the pounding in his brains turning his wise mind into Logos test goo. "pard'm me finm spur, bud, cerd you pont me in'd derectn of 103? I semd loss my place 'n I ned go back to'm seat".

Silverther couldn't be bothered by the rudeness of this silent amigo, regardless of the fact that it was an easily recognizable cutout of Noddy, he gave it a hard shove as he walked away. "Fine, 'f you be no hep, then I'fin my way onmyown"

Silverther wandered down one aisle, and then the next. He found the restroom, fortunately just before it was too late, unfortunately it was also the concessions stand and he had defiled all of the remaining assorted cooked meats.

At one point, one of the attendees of the game pointed out that Silverther was breaking the rules. Although he had tried his best to make sure he wasn’t bothering anyone, he still missed the sign on the entry that stated that all guests need to adhere to a strict 500-1000 word minimum and maximum so as not to be escorted outside. Silverther paid the sign no attention, and before the day was up he was just short of the word count by nearly 200 words! Although this wouldn’t have been much of a problem under normal circumstances, this was a championship game, and the stakes were much higher. When someone pointed out to him that he was far too short on words, he decided that he would correct his actions so that he could enjoy the game further, if he could ever locate his seats.

“Thak you s’much mr. Awyn, I ha no idea I wuz breakin’ a rules, an I cood ‘ve missed out on this great fun time. I din mean to ruin anyons day, jus tryin a have good time. You tryin have good time too?”

Mr Awyn moved along. He meant no harm, he simply wanted everyone to enjoy their time at the championship, and everyone to have fair access. Mr. Awyn was a good man, or person, or however Awyn identified theirself.

Alas he was unable to identify his seats before the game ended.

When the security found him passed out cuddling one of the giant stuffed Niffle apes in the merchandise booth they kicked him out and gave him his now prominently known name:

" Silverther, the Navigator of the Stadium "

The Grunting Locksmith of Tartacore

There once was a traveling locksmith who journeyed far and wide making the strongest locks imaginable. All townsfolk and city dwellers hoped for the chance to meet this mysterious locksmith, as well as purchase one of his legendary locks. The problem for these fine people was the locksmith could not be tracked. He would appear in one town and disappear the next town. People who tried to follow him ended up confused and lost, but the locksmith was nowhere in sight. Only a few people knew the locksmith’s secret. He was actually an Archon! This mysterious locksmith, this Archon, had fallen from glory and turned to the only craft he knew: lock making. He travelled to distant lands in order to learn new techniques from other great locksmiths. He experimented with different metals and combinations until he had the perfect lock. Thus, he went out and little by little improved the safety and security of people he would never again interact with. That is until he reached the tiny hamlet of Tartacore. With a population less than 100 it was an odd stop for this archon. Very few people would be able to afford his locks. As he set up his stand he was approached a ragged looking man. The man asked the locksmith about the price of a lock. When the locksmith said nothing, as he always did, the man tried to hand the locksmith some money. The refused. The tried again, this time with more money. The locksmith shook his head once in agreement and handed the man his lock. The man thanked the locksmith and went on his way. It was then that the archon realized why he had come to this backwater place: he was drawn to it. The stink and loud voices, the cobbled together buildings, the wavy streets. He soon set up his shop on the outskirts of town. He soon started grunting a hello to the people who visited. He would grunt to a tune no one else could hear. He would grunt when he was happy. He would grunt when he was in Tartacore. From then on he was known as The Grunting Locksmith of Tartacore.

"Life is like an ocean. The waves will ebb and flow, they will recede and fall away from shore. It is so now, it was so before you, I, were born, and it will continue long after we are gone. It is th-" "DAD! PLEASE, stop it with the cryptic lessons, we don't live next to the ocean anymore, now stop giving me lectures about patience!!"

Laurel stooped over the gushing river water, feet buried in the riverbank, makeshift spear in hand, makeshift basket on the bank, empty of any fish. The unkept landscape towered over our tiny elven selves, we were but specks of dust here.

Anders had been a fisherman all his life, he'dd maneuvered shallow rock studded crags and deep blue wastelands with ease, ropes and wheel in hand whilst barking commands at fellow seamen. He had seen waves tall enough to drown cities, he had seen shadows beneath his ship, vast, larger than the cloud banks far above. He had never seen the massive grassy plains his daughter squatted in now, desperately trying to catch dinner.

A huge storm had broken on their town just two days before, bringing with it tidal waves of water that had driven his houseboat so far inland, miles upon miles. So far that now, on this peaceful steppe where the strange river seemed to flow away from the ocean, he was stuck and lost. He had lost his wife to the sea just a few months before, but Laurel had stuck with him in his floating home, they had outlasted the storm, the strange tide, but the crucible was a dangerous place. Especially for the lost and hungry. We had been here for just a few days, but already Laurel was adjusting.

"Yeah you're right, I've rested long enough, gimme the spear." "No, you haven't rested enough, stay off the foot, it's still red, I'll catch dinner dad, just lay off the philosophy a bit. Talk about.. about... Astronomy! Refresh your memory, maybe your sailing skills can help us figure out where we are?"

I hadn't been able to think straight last night from the pain of a broken heel, an unfortunate sideffect of a dumb attempt to steer the boat away from a tree, twice the boats's size. All we knew about the field we were in was that it was seemingly no-ones estate or farm, there were no structures around, the boat had been driven here into the bottom of this peaceful dale, with this strange river that flowed, quickly and in reverse, in the same direction the flood had been moving.

Something glimmered in the grassy knoll, just across the river. Rapid movements disturbed the tall yellow grass. Metallic armor.

"LAUREL, MOVE, COME!" the 16 year old didn't pause or wait, she knew better, on the sea she had learned to obey her captain. She darted quickly over the slower moving water on the bank. The world turned red and green with streaks of lights, LASERS.

"DAD!!" Laurel ducked into the river, thankfully the shots weren't being aimed at her. "KEEP YOUR HEAD DOWN" I shuffled as fast as my foot would let me, my instincts told me to flee, other, stronger instincts, wouldn't let me.

Two iron people ran roughshod into the river, sure footed and spindly feet that extended as needed carried them safely and quickly over the dangerously rapid river, water splashed over them only to evaporate in the energy beams that zipped past these invaders into our peacefully derelict lives.

"Correct again Mister YL398y5092316. it was the Martian who initiated the Aquous collider MK23." "Outrageous but correct Lady HKH8760293f35, even I did not predict that it would-- duck two decimeters towards 34¨°" The first machine seemed to do as bidden, moving at a strange angle, moments later another red beam passed through where it's head had been seconds before. "ANOTHER quantum prediction HKH8760293f35! Will your luck at this EVER run out?" He said just as the pair made it to my side of the bank, just meters away. "Calling it luck is an insult, i have logged 1328087 hours in the temporal laboratories at Crysthillyja 7, I can tell one probability strand from the other as easily as you read binary YL398y5092316!"

"LAUREL, LAUREL WHERE ARE YOU!" I had lost sight of her in the moment that I lost myself in amazement, witnessing the strange beings that strode ever so carelessly through weapons fire, ceaselessly discussing some complex science as they went.

"Da-d"

She was in the river, I could barely make out her head and hair, thundering up the river at breakneck pace. Caring not for anything or anyone, I drove myself forwards, leaping, ignoring the cracks of lightning pain arching up my leg. And then I was in the water, I could barely struggle against the crushing force of the unnatural river. If I was helpless, what of my daughter!?

Then I saw her, soaring above me. Carefully plucked into the sky by the metallic claw of one of the strangers.

"Got the young one, HKH8760293f35 can you secure the other?" "Negative YL398y5092316, the aquous current carried it less predictably than my graspers calculated."

"SHIELDS MADE OF BYSTANDERS STAND NO CHANCE AT RESISTING THE MIGHT OF MARS!!!!" Yelled a little green man. Who continued his tirade but I heard none of it. This was not a first for me, being underwater, but against the strength of this river I was helpless, moreso than ever at sea. It was happening again. Live or die, the stream will carry me from this place, so far that my weary, wounded feet will never find the way back. My daughter will be lost to me. The water was unnaturally bright, not like the ocean, which ebbed and subsided, the river flows endlessly, monotonously, I would die in this unfamiliar place. Gods help me.

The unnatural light intensified, as if in response to my sorrow. it enveloped me. Was I dying? Then it was past me, at my back. My wounded leg blitzed with pain, the water was slowing to a crawl. The flow seized and I found I could stand in the dregs, the riverbanks loomed around me like a canyon and a scintillating rainbow glimmered in colossal splashes of water that fell all around.

For a moment it felt like I was standing in the frozen scene painted on a bourgeoise portrait, river-rocks at my pained feet. I could hear an incredible din at my back, the moment seemed to end. Water splashed agressively around me, I finally could bring myself to look at the strange blue light behind me.

The metal people cowered before it. My daughter lay on her back, her stare transfixed on it, the martian stood ashen faced.

A massive being of light, an Archon, stood in the riverbed, one upraised arm kept the river in it's entirety at bay, like a massive shield. The water broke in it and was carried into the air by the power of it's collision, forming sort of a dome of arching water, inside of which we all now stood.

"And that," I told the listeners at my little shanty bar, "Is the story of how I gave it it's name, the Archon, The Spirit that Opposes Rivers ".

Just a reminder...

On 11/16/2018 at 7:01 PM, WonderWAAAGH said:

Requirements : 500-1000 words  , not including a preface or title containing the Archon's name.

None of the stories posted so far fall between 500 and 1000 words.

The point I'm making isn't trying to ruin the fun of this, but if the rule wasn't enforced, it would be kind of unfair for people who will put in the extra effort to follow the word count requirement.

Mine is 502 words (not including the title). I checked with word count in Word.

Eh, what's an extra 200 words? Even teachers let that one go :p

4 hours ago, tsuruki said:

Eh, what's an extra 200 words? Even teachers let that one go 😛

Well, yeah, but are teachers going to argue a spin down die is not a die and therefore legal? I don’t favor your odds 😂

2 hours ago, Palpster said:

Well, yeah, but are teachers going to argue a spin down die is not a die and therefore legal? I don’t favor your odds 😂

I teach social science for a living.