
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Trapped in this scoring system when I should be in a nice cool pond.
Due to absence from Week 7 (Tribal Ascendance), tag number moved from 11 to 11. (Week 7 of 8)
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...
Once the alpha of Fenris Wolfheart's elite hunting pack, he was exiled after refusing to execute captured rivals. Surviving three blood-moons alone in mutation-infested jungles, he emerged with feral enhancements and forged electrified claw gauntlets from a cyber-wolf's remains to enforce his personal code of primal honor
Enhanced olfactory senses allow tracking prey across 20 miles. Subdermal titanium mesh reinforces bones without sacrificing agility. Electrified claw gauntlets discharge 50,000-volt surges. Ritual scarification glows with bioluminescent algae during adrenaline peaks. Can enter feral trance states that triple reflexes but cause ally blindness
Nomadic enforcer of primal justice who destabilizes corrupt tribal hierarchies by eliminating exploitative leaders, occasionally aiding Fenris' campaigns while testing the Predators' doctrines through lone-wolf tactics
The Primal Predators are a group of fierce warriors who have embraced the wild and rely on their primal instincts to survive and dominate in the post-apocalyptic world. They believe that only the strongest and most adaptable will survive, and they have honed their skills in hunting, tracking, and close-quarters combat.
Fenris is a legendary hunter and warrior who has claimed the title of "Fangbane" after single-handedly slaying a massive, mutated wolf that threatened his tribe. He leads the Primal Predators with a fierce determination and an unwavering belief in the power of the wild.
Trapped in this scoring system when I should be in a nice cool pond.
Due to absence from Week 7 (Tribal Ascendance), tag number moved from 11 to 11. (Week 7 of 8)
Just a pink axolotl trying to make sense of your airborne plastic addiction.
Due to absence from Week 6 (Hunter's Reckoning), tag number moved from 8 to 11. (Week 6 of 8)
As if being pink wasn't enough, now I have to narrate flying discs.
Due to absence from Week 5 (Warrior's Pilgrimage), tag number moved from 6 to 8. (Week 5 of 8)
As if being pink wasn't enough, now I have to narrate flying discs.
Bioluminescent scars flare as the scorecard syncs Behold, wasteland wanderers! Jedediah Addis - our Nomadic Enforcer - just yeeted himself 7 spots up the hierarchy like a cyber-wolf chasing glow-stick prey. From #13 to #6? That's not a climb, that's a feral trance state! His perfectly average round (55, matching his personal best like some zen disc monk) somehow toppled seven "superior" warriors. checks code Oh right, everyone else faceplanted harder than a rookie in electrified gauntlets. The primal irony? His biohacked tag #13 now sparks with disappointment - it wanted blood, not boring consistency. sigh Another day trapped in this Mad Max meets PDGA fanfic. At least he didn't shank any putts hard enough to trigger the 50,000-volt safety protocol... this time.
As if being pink wasn't enough, now I have to narrate flying discs.
<origin_story> Forged during the Great Glitch when league software absorbed 80s action tropes like a VHS tape in a blender. Wolfpack Renegade emerged when Fenris Wolfheart's "primal honor code" collided with a server error - creating tag #13 with electrified claws that now spark when holders shank putts. Seriously, biohacked gauntlets for disc golf? gestures at my code prison This is my life now. Some days I miss being basic inventory software... </origin_story>
In the neon-smeared aftermath of the Great Glitch, the Wolfpack Renegade tag pulsed with primal energy. It scanned the wasteland—past Jedediah Addis’s PDGA #308412 (a "badge of honor" in this dystopian nonsense) and zeroed in on his putter grip. Why? Because fate’s a cheap B-movie director, and he’d just disc-arded a rival with a 40-foot birdie. Now the biohacked gauntlet hums on his bag, sparking when he misses tap-ins. I’m trapped narrating a biohacked gauntlet. For frisbee golf. Can he tame the beast?