The Colorado Phelddagrif
Recently, my very wonderful brother, not to be confused with you, the very wonderful reader (unless my brother is reading this, then you only get ONE very wonderful, you aren’t allowed to have both!), went on a trip to the state of Colorado. He insists that he went to Denver, not Boulder, although in my mind I still imagine him having gone to Boulder. It matters little. During this trip, my brother got me a unique gift, something that is so idiosyncratic to Colorado that it can't be found anywhere else:
The Colorado Phelddagrif:
My brother told me the story about getting this Phelddagrif: that he and his friend went to three different game stores, much like Scrooge was visited by three ghosts, only finding a Phelddagrif at the third and final store. After finding the Phelddagrif, my brother's friend wondered if this might lead to a blog post about the Phelddagrif.
Dear Reader, who is graceful in their movements and speech, I'm always down to take requests. And, honestly, after the slog that was the tetralogy of the MC:Atlanta recap blog series, I thought something lighter and quicker might ease your delicate palette.
I reached back out to my brother and gathered some additional details about how they found the Colorado Phelddagrif. While some details were sparse. (undoubtedly due to the parts of their brain being blown to bits by smoking all that Colorado Stanky Leaf aka Mary Jane.), I decided to just start making some stuff up. What follows is the factual account, except for the stuff that was made up, of how my brother and his Friend, whose names I’ve changed to make the story more interesting, found the Colorado Phelddagrif.
Denver, Colorado 6:45 AM
The heat of the American West is like no other heat in the world. The sun beats with freedom, drilling that freedom into your temples with a sensation that can only be described as visual tinnitus. Summer is ending, and soon it'll be fall in Denver, one of, if not the, most populous city in Colorado. While the days are still hot here in September, they keep getting shorter, and soon the government will steal an hour away from us only to give it back (without interest) on March 8, 2026.
The First Phelddagrif Hunter stood on the hotel fire escape chewing the butt of their candy cigarette, admiring the view of the Rocky Mountains in the distance. They didn't believe in the sublime beauty of nature, but thought that nature is violent, gruesome, and to be feared. And, while they were thinking about rewatching Grizzly Man that night, they thought this view of the sunrise over the Rocky Mountains offered a decent rebuttal to Herzog's thesis, even if it was naturally impossible.
The Second Phelddagrif Hunter stuck their head outside of the window. "Smoking's a disgusting habit."
"I agree," said the First Phelddagrif Hunter, crushing their candy cigarette against the brick facade in facsimile of putting it out and flicking it off the balcony. "Are you ready to go?"
"I'm ready. But the game stores don't open 'till noon. We've got some time to kill."
The Second joined the First on the fire escape for the view. The Rockies towering before them, taller than anything. Those Mountains just keep getting bigger, the Second Phelddagrif Hunter thought, glaring at the snow-capped tips. These Mountains keep getting bigger and one day...one day they'll fall. Fall all the way back down to the ground.
A Bald Eagle shrieked, and a coyote joined in with a howl. "The animals are stirring. They know something's up." said the Second Phelddagrif Hunter.
"Means it’s a good day for a hunt." said the First Phelddagrif Hunter.
"A Phelddagrif Hunt." They said in unison to end the scene.
To be me means to experience existence made for you. I cannot move, I have no means to exert my will on the world around me. I am positioned so there is only me and the environment, its various shapes and colors and other sensory data. As such, I wait. I wait for the environment around me to change and provide me my next place to continue waiting for the rest of my life.
Right now, I wait in a glass case and wait. I am a 2.5 inch by 3.5 inch piece of rectangular cardboard with a combination of inks printed on both sides. The ink is a mixture that mostly comprises greens, yellows, blues and a large area of purple on one side, while my other side is majority brown. There are inscriptions on me, but I do not know what they say. I cannot read myself.
I don’t know when I became me. Was it when the pulp from a combination of pine and fir mashed and dried on the screen to make the Corona branded card stock? Was it when the two layers of cardstock were put together, enveloping my blue core?
Sometimes, I think how strange it is to know what is inside of me, but I have no reference for understanding what makes it strange, and that eerie feeling vanishes through that logic. I’ve seen others like me, although different, and I’ve seen their blue core, often when emotions run high and the atmosphere of the environment is intense with anger and frustration. Other times we’re torn open through neglect, merely forgetting we exist as the environment wrecks us.
Maybe I became me before I became me? Maybe I was created before myself? I’ve heard from the environment, the large doughy parts of it that touches us the most, I have an interesting pattern. I’ve seen others like me, although none were me. Maybe I became myself when my artist drew me, or my designer designed me? These are words I’ve heard, although I’m not sure what the differences between them were. Are they not both my creator? Does an illustrator not design their artworks? Does a designer not illustrate ideas that become illuminated in the mind?
The environment shifts around me again. I remain the motionless center of the universe as one of the noisy-doughy parts of the environment, so soft and yet so much stronger than us, moves into the glass case and gently clasps me between two fingers. The glass case retreats, along with the rest of the world, below me. It becomes difficult to see as the environment continues to change, moving in a blur of colors, until I am placed in the pages of a plastic binder. The last thing I see is an environmental feature, the face of a “store clerk” as the environment is closed upon me. I feel the world move around me, but I am encased in darkness.
Denver Colorado, West Hampton Avenue, Level 7 Games
Level 7 Games in Denver Colorado was a game store that “13 years ago…started with an idea between a couple of friends at a skatepark.” Now, it’s grown so much further beyond anyone has imagined. Once a small store, now there’s four locations, a major success in the card shop industry given how often game stores fail. While Level 7 Games sells trading card games, they also sell vintage games, pop culture merch, video game console repair, and have a cafe
According to their own site, they are well reviewed. With “ThePhenominalNerds” saying “Great store in Colorado for trading cards and video games, employees are friendly and welcoming.” Another stunning review, from Christian Brannon on Google Reviews, says “Very reasonable prices so I’ll be coming in again. Store is also very clean and organized. Staff was nice as well.” A clean store is certainly something to boast about, as the Phelddagrif Hunters will soon find out.
There’s an art gallery on the Level 7 games website. It’s the standard nerd affair, homages to The Legend of Zelda, Dragonball, Pokemon, Mario and, even, Magic: the Gathering. Some of the art is nearly pornographic.
The Phelddagrif Hunters walked into Level 7 games and they immediately detected a shift in aura. This was no normal game store, this store knew how to do customer service.
“We’ll be with you in a second, after we finish helping this customer!” said one of the sales associates.
“This place knows how to do customer service.” said the Second Phelddagrif Hunter.
The First Phelddagrif Hunter nodded their head. “I agree, they’re very professional.”
The Phelddagrif Hunters wandered through the store, perusing the wares. They knew it was unlikely that a Phelddagrif would be laying around the store with the playmats, but it’s always worth checking. If there was one there, it would make a great story about finding Phelddagrif in the playmats.
The First Phelddagrif Hunter noticed that there were a lot of playmats from the famed non-commercial Magic fan-artist Gold Sabertooth at the store. They were being sold for a good amount. “These are good playmats,” said the First Phelddagrif Hunter, “high quality, thick stitching. Last a good long time.” They drummed their fingers on the ViVi Ornitier Gold Sabertooth playmat, noticing that most of the playmats were Gold Sabertooth playmats. Maybe not all, but most of them.
The Second Phelddagrif Hunter came over, holding an Amy Rose funko pop. “I didn’t find any Phelddagrifs in the Funko Pops, but I found this.”
“What is that?”
“An Amy Rose Funko Pop.”
The First Phelddagrif Hunter looked at the Second Phelddagrif Hunter with a stern, no-nonsense expression on their face.
“I thought your brother was into Amy Rose too.”
“He’s never played a Sonic game in his life, but he may like the Funko Pop! Anyways. Let’s bring it to the counter and check the glass display cases.
Phelddagrifs are rarely in the glass display case. While the card is valued above $5, which is the minimum for most Game Store’s display cases, because retail space is so limited and there are plenty of more expensive cards out there, it’s unlikely that Phelddagrifs are kept in them. The influx of high value secret lairs, serialized cards, and powerful mythic rares has pushed Phelddarif out of the crystal halls and into binders kept in the back of stores. Still, if a store is new enough, or maybe they don’t know what they have, or they recognize Phelddagrif’s beauty, it may be found in a display case every once in a while.
That wasn’t the case for Level 7 games.
An associate from behind the counter asked the Phelddagrif Hunters if they if they were looking for anything in particular. They said that they were looking for the card Phelddagrif.
“Oh yeah, that’s like some sort of purple cow, right?”
“Something like that.” The hunters waited in silence while the associate checked the store’s inventory. “No, doesn’t look like we have any Phelddagrifs. Also, it looks like a hippo, not a cow, why didn’t you correct me?”
“ We…try not to interfere.” the Phelddagrif hunters said. “Does it really matter anyways?”
“Well now I look dumb, you two standing there giggling while I try to find your trading card. It’s not too hard to expect decency in people, is it?”
The Phelddagrif Hunters, professionals in every domain of Phelddagrif Hunting, had no response to this.
“Fine. Was there anything else I could help you with today?”
“We’d like to buy this Funko Pop! We think it’s Amy Rose.”
“that’s not for sale.” The associate grabbed the Funko Pop out of the Second Phelddagrif Hunter’s hands and placed it behind the case. “You can leave now.”
I’ve been in binders before. I’ve spent most of my existence in binders and I suspect that’s the last place I’ll end up. I wonder if this will be the last binder I’m in?
There was a time when I was rarely in a binder waiting to move into another one.
I used to lead armies. I marched across the battlefield, others deferring to my command. I trampled over others and left ruin in my wake.
But I was no mere brute, I was a cunning enemy. I fought through deals and political machinations. I observed from above, taking in the battlefield and creating favorable positions for others. I boosted the weak, allowing them to fight my battles for me as I built up my defenses. I gave gifts, I wined and dined with the enemy and had them hanging on to every word I said.
And when the battle was over, and I emerged victorious, my enemies couldn’t believe how they’d been had, how devious I was, how little they thought of me and how I used that to lead them to their own end! How I toyed with them, the game I was playing was so different from theirs.
That’s what these battles were, games. These were events created by the environment for enjoyment, to manifest play. Rarely was any real damage done, other than an occasional burst of violence leading to seeing another blue core. I used to be greeted with cheers and laughs, a promise of a fun game for all involved.
But the atmosphere shifts, the environment changes, and I saw the battlefield less and less. Soon, I was greeted with groans and icy glares. I wasn’t “cute” anymore. My tricks and deceit were not clever but annoying. I was recognized and targeted when I did make a rare appearance.
I was moved off the battlefield, into the case, then back into a binder.
Denver Colorado, Ghost Events and Gaming on Holly Street
Unlike Level 7 Games, Ghost Events and Gaming does not have multiple locations. They don’t have their own. Some reviews of the store say “Great store if you’re into Yugioh” from Faris Wellspring, and “Ghost events and gaming. Great card shop. Only downside is, you can’t personally look thru the cards. You have to have staff do it which could be a pain if you have 450 cards needed for collection and they have a tournament in progress” from J. Travels.
The Phelddagrif hunters walked in and noticed three things. First were the brick walls painted a shocking Lime Green. The visual sense wasn’t the only one being assaulted, as the store reeked of cigarettes, immediately causing both hunters’ eyes to water.
The third-immediate thing that the Phelddagrif Hunters noticed was the source of the smell: a cute puppy dog smoking a cigarette.
“Cute dog.” said the First Phelddagrif Hunter.
“I agree, seriously cute. Smoking’s a disgusting habit.” said the Second Phelddagrif Hunter.
“Come up here and say it to my face.” The dog said, or perhaps coughed. The puppy lifted his paw up and took a long drag of his cigarette. The Phelddagrif Hunters, not startled by the talking dog but still reeling from the smoke, went up to the counter. All they saw were Yu-Gi-Oh cards in the case, but perhaps…
“You’re an absolutely adorable dog.” Said the First Phelddagrif Hunter to the puppy. ‘You’ve got big eyes and soft fur. Basically the Platonic ideal of a cute dog for whatever the reader wants to imagine.”
“You should really quit, you’ll look awful when you get older if you keep smoking.” Said the Second Phelddagrif Hunter.
“I agree, it’s not good for a cute puppy to smoke so much. Or at all.” The First Phelddagrif Hunter chimed in. The Puppy Dog put out the cigarette he had smoked down to the butt. He then lit up another cigarette.
“I don’t care,” the Puppy dog adorably said, “I don’t want to live a long time. I wanna die young, like James Dean, and leave a sexy corpse.” The Puppy lit another cigarette and started to double fist them, puffing from one and then the other while muttering “Just like James Dean.” under his breath.
A sales associate approached the Phelddagrif Hunters and asked what they were looking for. They were then informed that they only sell Yu-Gi-Oh cards and have never heard of Phelddagrif before.
“Well, keep a look out for one.”
Denver, Colorado Denver Central Games on Hampden Ave.
Denver Central Games sets itself apart from the previous two game stores in that it’s in the suburbs of Denver, not the city. The store does have its own website. The website opts for a minimalist style hostile for nighttime users.
Most of the website is unpopulated. The calendar is empty, the “Buy & Sell” tab gives minimum prices and defers to Cardkingdom’s prices. It’s difficult to tell if the “specials” or “Weekly Schedule” ever changes. Although I shouldn’t be one to critique websites. It gets the job done. Reviews for the store are mostly positive, with maddox ramsarran saying that “Every time I call to ask about a single I am interested in purchasing and the owner answers the phone he looks it up and always says “oh yeah that’s an awesome card.”” and “Dope place, guy with the ponytail behind the counter can be rude as hell and it makes me not want to go there. It feel like anytime I ask him for something he seams annoyed and that everyone is bothering him. Customer service is bad.” by Gerardo Delgado-Sanchez. Most complaints seem to be people registering complaints about typical card game customer service, I suspect they are newer players.
The story of this place is simple. The Phelddagrif hunters came in to a typical game store and asked for a Phelddagrif.
“Isn’t that some sort of purple pig?” said the clerk looking for the card.
“It’s a hippo actually,” said The Phelddagrif Hunters. “Well, it looks like a purple hippo with wings, at least.”
“Looks like we have one.” So the The Phelddagrif Hunters bought the card and walked out of the store, viewing the last vista of the Rocky Mountains one more time. What a beautiful day, they thought, simultaneously, but without knowing the other one was thinking it. A beautiful day to spend inside various game stores. They then summarized the themes of this story/fanfiction and it all ended.
As for me? Well, I was packed up between the pages of a Dickens’ novel (Bleak House), used as a bookmark until I was gifted to a blogger, who wrote down my story. Yes, the narrator of this tale was I, the Colorado Phelddagrif themself. You see, every story requires a good twist, and this string of words, sentences, and paragraphs, resembles something like a story so it should have something resembling a twist at the end as well.
The blogger now keeps me in a binder with many other Phelddagrifs. It smells a little less like weed, but I feel a sense of appreciation. I’m taken out of my binder occasionally, left to frolic on playmats with other Phelddagrifs. It seems that my life has turned around, that, instead of giving the gifts, being given as one and treasured has been the greatest gift of all.
Wow, my brother and his friend sure are badass! And what was up with the Phelddagrif, why was it so detached and distant? It was difficult getting into the mind of a Magic card, seeing as they don’t have minds and I would have to assume a sort of panpsychism if they did. I don’t really like writing fiction, I like to write about real things that definitely have happened or will happen, but I had to do a lot of guesswork on this one. I’d prefer to write literary criticism, but no Phelddagrif fanfiction writers have turned up on the scene and I think it’s unlikely any will that are up to snuff for my exacting literary standards.
Well, I hope my brother and his friend enjoyed this. It was requested, and everyone got what they paid for: the story on, as far as I know, how the Colorado Phelddagrif came to be. Next time I'll wrap up my thoughts on MagicCon: Atlanta.