Kenneth Oetker #266426
Arcane Harvester
Golem Chronicles: Unleashed @ Art Dye
Wielding the power of Arcane Harvester (#1), Kenneth demonstrated exceptional skill by playing +0 points above their rating in this epic clash.
Creator's Clue
Ezra Katz and the Golem Guardians have raced to uncover the ancient Golem's secrets as Katarina Novak and her Arcane Seekers manipulate players into awakening its power. Through impossible shots by the ethereal Clayton Strayer and arcane symbols manifesting across the course, the battle to control the Golem's fate has begun. As Malachi Vazquez channels the Ritual Wraith's knowledge and Zack White unleashes the Arcane Chimera's tripartite abilities, the second seal has been broken, and whispers of the Golem's true purpose as protector of an ancient Jewish community echo through the mist. With the veil between worlds growing thin and forgotten rituals threatening to rewrite history, Ezra must rally his allies before the Golem's power falls into the wrong hands and a force beyond reckoning is unleashed upon the realm of disc golf.
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
The Golem Chronicles: Creator's Clue
"Ladies, gentlemen, and whatever we're calling Johnson after that last putt—" Ezra paused, dramatically consulting an ancient scroll he'd pulled from his pocket, "Ah yes, according to the sacred texts, that performance officially classifies you as a 'clay-footed catastrophe.' And I mean that literally—I've seen actual clay feet with better follow-through!"
The gathered players shifted uncomfortably as dawn painted Art Dye's fairways in sickly shades of amber. Something was different this morning—the usual morning dew had formed into perfect spheres that hovered inches above the grass, each containing what appeared to be tiny, swirling scripts.
"Oh, you think that's weird?" Ezra gestured at the floating dewdrops, his voice carrying that familiar blend of mockery and mystical wisdom. "Just wait until you meet our newest player. Speaking of which—" he pointed to a spectator in a perfectly pressed polo shirt, "You there! You're clearly a descendant of the Third Rabbi of Prague's second-favorite baker. I can tell by the way you're holding that breakfast bagel like it contains secret Kabbalistic knowledge. Which, by the way, it doesn't. That's just cream cheese, my historically-confused friend."
From the edge of the gathering emerged Kenneth Oetker, a slender man whose wire-rimmed glasses seemed to reflect more light than they should. His bag tag—depicting an ethereal entity composed of swirling voids and reaching tendrils—pulsed with a hungry darkness that caused nearby tags to dim slightly.
"Ah, the Arcane Harvester arrives!" Ezra announced, pulling out his scroll again. "Let's see what the ancient texts say about this particular fashion disaster... shuffling papers According to the scrolls, wearing khakis that pressed while attempting forbidden magic is considered a Class Three Violation of Mystical Dress Code. But hey, at least your form is consistent—consistently draining the life force from everything around you, just like your putting technique!"
Katarina materialized from the morning shadows, her midnight-blue coat adorned with freshly drawn sigils. "The Harvester represents progress, Ezra. The ability to extract and preserve knowledge that would otherwise be lost."
"Lost? Like Johnson's disc in that bush?" Ezra retorted. "Some things are meant to stay lost. Speaking of which—" he turned to another spectator, "You! With the matching socks! Your great-aunt twice removed once borrowed a Golem-building manual from the Prague library and never returned it. That's why we're in this mess! The late fees alone could have funded proper containment sigils!"
The tournament began under increasingly strange conditions. As Kenneth approached his first shot, the Arcane Harvester manifested partially—a semi-corporeal form of swirling voids that reached out with ethereal tendrils. Nearby, the three other entities—Revenant, Wraith, and Chimera—stirred restlessly.
"Oh great, it's a family reunion of forbidden entities!" Ezra called out. "I've seen better supernatural gatherings at a discount séance! At least there they serve refreshments. Though I suppose the Harvester's already having its fill of our course's protective wards. Real classy, Kenneth. Real classy."
Kenneth's drive cut an impossible line through the morning air, his disc trailing streams of absorbed magical energy. Where it landed, a perfect circle of grass withered instantly.
"Would you look at that!" Ezra consulted his scroll yet again. "According to these ancient putting instructions—which are absolutely not just my grocery list written in Hebrew—that shot ranks somewhere between 'cosmic disaster' and 'why we can't have nice magical artifacts.' But hey, at least you're consistent in your destruction of both the course and centuries of protective magic!"
By the fifth hole, the Arcane Harvester's effect was impossible to ignore. Ancient wards hidden in trees and rocks flickered and faded as Kenneth passed. The entity's tendrils reached out greedily, drawing in streams of magical energy that had helped contain the Golem's power for centuries.
"You know," Ezra addressed the gallery, gesturing at a particularly drained oak tree, "I had a great-uncle who used to say that proper disc golf form was like creating a Golem—all about the follow-through. Of course, he also thought pickles were tiny cucumbers cursed by a dybbuk, so maybe take that with a grain of salt. Speaking of salt—" he turned to another spectator, "You! Your cousin's roommate's dog once peed on a protective circle! That's why we have to renew the wards every lunar cycle!"
Katarina gathered her supernatural quartet at the ninth hole—Revenant, Wraith, Chimera, and now Harvester. Each entity responded to the others' presence, creating a swirling dance of arcane energy.
"The pattern completes," she announced with satisfaction. "Four aspects of power, each serving its purpose. The Revenant to witness, the Wraith to uncover, the Chimera to understand, and the Harvester to preserve."
"Yeah, yeah," Ezra interrupted, "and my aunt Sadie's matzah ball soup could raise the dead. Which, by the way—" he pointed to another spectator, "Your grandfather once tried her soup and actually did see a Golem! Turns out it was just indigestion, but still more legitimate than whatever this supernatural potpourri is cooking up!"
The back nine unfolded under increasingly ominous conditions. Kenneth's shots now left trails of drained magical essence, the Harvester growing more corporeal with each absorbed ward. The ground occasionally trembled, as if something massive stirred in response to the weakening protections.
"Oh, that rumbling?" Ezra called out after a particularly strong tremor. "Either the Golem's getting restless, or it's just Johnson trying to read his scorecard. Both equally catastrophic, if you ask me!" He paused to consult his scroll again. "Yep, just as I suspected—according to these ancient texts, we're officially at DEFCON 'Oy vey' on the supernatural disaster scale!"
As twilight approached, Kenneth stood over his final putt. The Arcane Harvester had grown to massive proportions, its void-like form containing swirling fragments of all the magical knowledge and energy it had consumed throughout the day.
"Well folks," Ezra announced, pulling out his scroll one final time, "According to these sacred putting instructions—which I definitely didn't just doodle during lunch—we're witnessing what the ancients called a 'Complete Clustermess of Cosmic Proportions.' But hey, at least the khakis are still pressed! Because if you're going to help awaken an ancient clay colossus, you might as well look business casual while doing it!"
Katarina gathered her followers as darkness fell, the four entities creating a swirling symphony of supernatural energy. "The wards weaken," she proclaimed. "Soon, we journey to Creekside Woods, where water crosses stone thrice, and the forgotten dead remember what we seek to reclaim."
"Yeah, about that," Ezra called after her retreating form. "I've seen better expedition planning from a dybbuk with directional dyslexia! But what do I know? I'm just the guy with the actual ancient texts—" he waved his scroll, "—which, between us, might just be last week's takeout menu. The mysteries of the universe, now with extra MSG!"
As players departed, Ezra stood alone on the darkened course. The remaining protective wards flickered weakly, drained by the Harvester's endless hunger for power. He pulled out his scroll one final time—but this time, the humor fell from his face as he read the genuine ancient text within.
"Well," he muttered to himself, "if anyone needs me, I'll be at Creekside Woods, trying to prevent a complete supernatural catastrophe. But first—" he turned to the last departing spectator, "Your second cousin's former roommate once used a Golem for moving day! That's why we have weight limits on rentals now! These are the consequences of poor life choices, people!"
In the distance, thunder rolled across clear skies as the Golem stirred beneath Art Dye, its ancient protections weakened by the day's events. The path to Creekside Woods—and the second key—now lay open, marked by the trail of drained magical wards left in the Harvester's wake.
Flippy's Hot Take