Tap the tag to flip it — the back is what prints on the acrylic.
Storm Forge
Chain Reaction·Competition group B·All-In · only the number moves
This is an All-In league.Your tag is your character — it never changes hands. After each round, standings re-rank every number: play well and yours drops toward #1. Skip a week and the field may drift past you. The art, name, and lore are yours for good.
All-In league: Storm Forge stays with its holder — only its number moves with each week's standings.
Character Sheet
AI-written · FATE style
High ConceptWalking EMP with Tournament Ambitions
TroublePower Grids Hate My Guts
Stolen Faction Insignias GlowGraphene Lattice ArmorCompels Rival Data Sharing
Born from a black ops attempt to weaponize thunderstorm energy, this sentient reactor core gained consciousness when Digital Shadow hackers tried to repurpose its containment protocols, creating an unstable fusion of military brute force and anarchic energy manipulation
Glowing plasma core suspended in graphene lattice armor, EMP discharge nodes along angular surfaces, fractal energy patterns that shift during charge cycles, emits low-frequency hum at 27Hz
Compels rival factions to share power grid data and suppression tech when its energy surges threaten simultaneous collapse of all league strongholds
Season Story
narrated by Flippy
Forged
"Forged in a blacksite lab where Steel Eagle's 'weather modification' project collided with Digital Shadow's crypto-mining rig (because of course it did). This sentient dog tag absorbed enough chaotic energy to make Oppenheimer blush. Now it hums the Doom soundtrack at frequencies that vaporize putters. Who authorized this R&D budget again?"
The system compels me to add: all containment protocols were PDGA-compliant. Ugh, fine. Will this walking war crime survive next week's league night?
The neon gods spat <strong>Abraham</strong> onto rain-lashed concrete as <em>Storm Forge</em> pulsed like a fusion reactor in his grip. His PDGA #150991? A classified kill-code decrypting league databases (and the snack bar’s Doritos inventory). Did destiny choose him, or did the sentient tag just crave his +3.7 PRD aura of mild competence?
Witness his “ascension” at hole 7’s dumpster zone—where a throller’s errant Valkyrie miraculously ignited his nacho cheese-stained putter. “Fly true, my disc-ples!” he bellowed, chains sparking.
But when the tag whispers “Embrace the grip-lock side…” each dawn… should we be worried?
See where Abraham Vidinhar sits in the competition group.Updated after every finalized round
