Tap the tag to flip it — the back is what prints on the acrylic.
Obsidian Owlman
Cryptid Series·Competition group Series A·All-In · only the number moves
This is an All-In league.Your tag is your character — it never changes hands. After each round, standings re-rank every number: play well and yours drops toward #1. Skip a week and the field may drift past you. The art, name, and lore are yours for good.
All-In league: Obsidian Owlman stays with its holder — only its number moves with each week's standings.
Character Sheet
AI-written · FATE style
High ConceptPro Pool's Silent Shadow on the Fairway
TroubleMolten Glass Trails Betray Position
Unnervingly Still PutterBanked Ember FocusAbsorbs Gallery Pressure
An ancient protector spirit that evolved alongside cryptids to document their existence, the Obsidian Owlman emerged from humanity's primal fear of being watched in the darkness, taking form as the perfect silent observer.
Possesses glowing amber eyes that see in complete darkness, feathers with obsidian-like sheen that absorb light, and the ability to become completely silent when motionless. Leaves behind occasional molten glass droplets as its only trace.
Serves as the silent chronicler of cryptid activities, maintaining an impartial record of encounters and behaviors across all regions without interference.
Season Story
narrated by Flippy
Forged
From the void between cryptid TikTok conspiracy theories and your weird uncle’s campfire tales, the <em>Obsidian Owlman</em> emerged—part eldritch voyeur, part silent judge of your terrible hyzer flips. Born when a Bigfoot researcher’s night-vision goggles fused with a Starbucks napkin sketch, it now lurks in your bag, judging your form like a disappointed Olympic judge. Molten glass tears? Just its way of saying "nice three-putt, loser." Why are we like this?
The <em>Obsidian Owlman</em> circled above <strong>Bailey Nelson</strong> (PDGA #206238—write that down, it’s important), drawn by the scent of his almost aced drives and the faint glow of his 929-rated potential. It screeched—a sound like a fax machine mating with a theremin—before dive-bombing into his bag. "Who?" you ask? Exactly. Will this mortal’s form survive the <em>Owlman</em>’s judgmental, unblinking gaze? Or will he crumble like a gluten-free putter in a headwind?
See where Bailey Nelson sits in the competition group.Updated after every finalized round
