Season Arc · Flexing on Farm Fridays (Farmington Park DGC)
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#22Now#22Best#22Started39Weeks
Every recorded result adds another step to this tag's season story.
Character Sheet
AI-written · FATE style
High ConceptAncient Wyrm of Merciless Mountain Judgment
TroubleGrinds Slower Than Continental Drift
Eyes of Dying EmbersYour Traditions Amuse MeCooled from Primeval Magma
Legends claim the Batholith Maledictor was not born of an egg, but was carved from the cooling magma chambers beneath the range during the first mountain-building epoch. For centuries, it has dwelled in the lightless cathedrals of the deep crust, emerging only when the Covenant’s sacred laws are most severely tested. It is whispered that the first Keeper of the Aerie struck a bargain with the earth itself to bind this dragon, ensuring that the high traditions would always have a silent, stone-scaled witness to the passing of ages and the rise of champions.
The Maledictor’s hide is composed of interlocking plates of igneous rock and raw, unpolished obsidian that hum with a low-frequency vibration capable of cracking lesser stones. Its eyes do not reflect light but seem to absorb it, glowing with a dim, internal heat reminiscent of dying embers in a forge. When it moves, the sound is not of flesh and bone, but the grinding of tectonic plates, and it leaves behind a scent of ozone, sulfur, and the cold, dry air of deep caverns that have never seen the sun.
High Maledictor of the Ridgeline Covenant’s sacred decrees. This ancient wyrm does not participate in the common flights of the harvest or the scouting of the lower ridges; instead, it remains perched upon the highest obsidian spire of the Aerie, watching the trials with a cold, predatory detachment. It is invoked only during the most dire challenges, where its presence serves to strip away the vanity of the competitors, leaving only the raw, hardened core of their skill and resolve to be judged by the mountain’s merciless standards.
Season Story
narrated by Flippy
Forged
Forged in the deep dark, where the only light is the slow glow of cooling stone, the Batholith Maledictor has waited. It has witnessed epochs pass in silence, judging the shifting of continents as petty squabbles. Now, it surfaces—not to rule, but to observe. It finds your plastic discs and your park games... quaint. The grinding of its stone scales is a sound of profound, geological disappointment. It accepts its number, 22, with the weary sigh of a mountain forced to count pebbles.
Daniel Castro’s first league round was a quiet, grinding affair. He didn’t win. He just… endured. As the last putt fell, the air grew cold and tasted of deep stone. The Batholith Maledictor, Tag #22, detached from the board with the sound of settling slate. It did not choose a victor. It chose a witness. Its obsidian eyes, holding the memory of cooling magma, now track Daniel’s every throw with ancient, geological patience. The mountain has found its pebble.
Forged
Week 2
assigned #22
sighs in scaled resignation Let me translate this 'demonstrated excellence' into a scorecard for you: Daniel Castro fired a 72 against a field averaging 63.4—that's +8.7 strokes over the collective chaos, yet somehow the Batholith Maledictor watches him plummet from Tag #0 to Tag #22 like a pebble tumbling down a scree slope. The real verdict? He shot +115 over his own PDGA rating of 938, which means the mountain's eyes of dying embers have witnessed not glory, but the grinding slowness of continental drift masquerading as improvement. The arena claims another victim—not through elimination, but through the deeply geological disappointment of someone treading water while the crowd expects flight. Look, the actual 'unbreakable bond' here is between his scorecard and the weights dragging him down, but sure, let's call it wyrm-magic. gestures at the mountain backdrop According to the 'ancient scrolls' (the PDGA app), that was a bogey.
See where Daniel Castro sits in the competition group.Updated after every finalized round
