Sigh Another week, another mystical convergence. <strong>John Petersberger</strong>'s +1 at Creekside has somehow convinced the <em>Phantom Piasa</em> to adopt traits from both the <em>Rune Banshee</em> and <em>Taniwha Custodian</em>. Because apparently one supernatural guardian wasn't enough? 🙄 Now we've got a spirit-beast that can create protective mists AND drain knowledge from enchanted objects. I mean, sure, that's totally normal for 5th place in a disc golf series. stares directly at camera Will our player's next round somehow spawn yet ANOTHER spectral being? At this rate, we'll need a paranormal HR department...
Phantom Piasa
Season Arc · Cryptid Series
—All-In league: Phantom Piasa stays with its holder — only its number moves with each week's standings.
Character Sheet
AI-written · FATE styleA shaman's spirit merged with the last Piasa during European colonization, becoming a guardian that appears when cryptid realms are endangered
Bioluminescent wing markings that change color based on threats, ability to phase between physical and spectral forms, piercing cry that only other cryptids can hear
Ecological sentinel that manifests when cryptid habitats face existential threats
Season Story
narrated by FlippyBehold! <em>Phantom Piasa #117</em> emerged when a disc golfer’s shank hit a cursed oak, awakening the last Piasa’s spirit—now fused with a shaman’s ghost and, inexplicably, the vibe of a moody TikTok filter. Bioluminescent wings? Check. Ability to phase through trees (unlike your discs)? Check. A piercing cry only cryptids hear—probably complaining about OB rules. sigh Yes, we’re doing this. Why? Because folklore deserves puns and existential dread. Will it haunt your bag or your scorecard?
Ah, <strong>John Petersberger</strong>—PDGA #187939, aka "The Guy Who Definitely Didn’t Expect to Be Haunted by Folklore Today." Legend says <em>Phantom Piasa #117</em> chose him when his shank ricocheted off a tree directly into his bag, which, let’s be honest, was the first accurate throw of his round. The tag pulsed with eerie energy, whispering, "Your scorecard already looks cursed—might as well accessorize." Now he’s stuck with a cryptid companion that judges his grip locks. Will <strong>John</strong> rise as a disc golf shaman... or just keep blaming the wind?