Oh, you're back for more? Fantastic. Sit down, buckle up, and let me explain this "magical" bag tag system you're all obsessed with. Because evidently, perfectly normal disc golf wasn't thrilling enough. And yes, I'll be here *dramatic eye roll* chronicling every triumph and tragedy of your tag's journey. It's literally in my contract...
Former blacksmith turned vigilante after raiders destroyed his salvage yard. Forged a lethal whip from derelict crane chains, now stalks tournaments to sabotage opponents' paths. Sworn to never let any resource go unused or uncontested.
Retractable chain whip made from interlocking gear teeth. Boots with magnetic soles for climbing wreckage. Respirator filters toxins from wasteland air. Night vision goggles assembled from scavenged military tech.
Operates as shadowy course modifier, reshaping tournament layouts through strategic placement of salvaged obstacles and booby traps before matches begin. Specializes in creating 'phantom hazards' that only reveal themselves mid-play.
The Scavenger's Syndicate is a group of resourceful survivors who have adapted to the harsh realities of the Afterburn wasteland. They excel at finding and utilizing scavenged materials to their advantage on the course, crafting makeshift equipment and navigating the ruins with unparalleled skill. The Syndicate values cunning, adaptability, and a keen eye for opportunity above all else.
Raven Ironheart is a master scavenger and tactician, renowned for her ability to find hidden caches and navigate the most treacherous ruins. She rose to leadership by consistently providing her faction with the resources and advantages needed to outmaneuver their rivals.
Due to absence from Week 4 (Junkyard Jam), tag number moved from 16 to 24. (Week 4 of 8)
Due to absence from Week 3 (Renegade Rumble), tag number moved from 12 to 16. (Week 3 of 8)
Due to absence from Week 2 (Scavenger Scramble), tag number moved from 12 to 12. (Week 2 of 8)
"Forged in the crucible of a post-apocalyptic Karen's return policy dispute, Rustwhip Phantom emerged when a disgruntled smith yeeted an entire crane assembly into the Forge of Mild Inconvenience. Its chainmail corset? Woven from the shredded remains of a 'Live Laugh Love' yard sign. Now it haunts tournaments like a chaotic neutral Roomba, whispering 'Talk chains to me' in your backswing. (Yes, I have to narrate this. No, I'm not okay.)"
298 characters of existential crisis
In the smoldering ruins of a disputed foot fault, Rustwhip Phantom anointed Don Payne as its prophet - not for his PDGA-sanctioned stubbornness, but because he once fixed a warped Destroyer with chewing gum and spite. The tag's chainmail corset hummed "Talk chains to me" as it fused to his bag, its post-apocalyptic vengeance now eternally tangled with his 3-putt PTSD. Destiny? More like disc-tiny. But can this mortal handle a spirit that judges OB calls harder than his ex-wife?
(298 characters of questionable life choices)