Ridgefire: The Mount Winter Series
Jan 19 - Mar 22, 2026
Current Holder
Rick Effin Richmond
Epoch Scribe
Wyrm of Ten Thousand Forgotten Names
Eyes Split Between Court and Aerie
Aspects refreshed Jan 26, 2026
Born from the accumulated memory of ten thousand forgotten competitors whose names the peaks never learned, the Epoch Scribe emerged as the answer to a question the mountains asked themselves: what separates an era worth remembering from seasons that blur together? It inscribes the boundaries between ages of excellence.
The Epoch Scribe exists as a semi-corporeal presence, its form solidifying only when achievement reaches epoch-defining magnitude. It carries no physical tablets—instead, the air around it shimmers with ghostly inscriptions of past eras, visible only to those who have contributed to changing ages. Its eyes reflect the dual nature of recognition: one burning with Court alpenglow, the other warm with Aerie pastoral light. Where it marks an epoch's boundary, the stone or earth bears a permanent shimmer, visible across seasons as evidence that time itself acknowledges the shift.
Identifies threshold moments when the pattern of achievement across both Court and Aerie traditions shifts fundamentally, marking new eras that future challengers will measure themselves against.
Tag Details
Tag History
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Your series bag tag moved from #3 to #1 based on your round ratings in the last two weeks.
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Forged from the forgotten echoes of ten thousand competitors, the Epoch Scribe is a monument to its own importance. It doesn't just track scores; it judges whether your round is worthy of ending an era or starting one. Its shimmering, semi-corporeal form solidifies only when it deems your performance "epoch-defining," which, for the rest of us, just means it shows up when we finally birdie that one cursed hole. It views your average league night as a blurry, unworthy season, and frankly, it's a little insulted to be here.
The air above the practice basket shimmers, resolving into the spectral form of the Epoch Scribe. It looks down at Rick Effin Richmond, then at the scorecard in his hand. The ghostly inscriptions around it flicker, calculating. It sighs, a sound like wind through ancient pines. Very well. Your consistent, grinding excellence has drawn a line. This is not a blur. This is an era. Guard this boundary, Rick. For now, the age bears your name. The tag solidifies, cool and heavy, in his hand.