
Daniel McIllece #284520

The Phoenix Series @ Art Dye
Wielding the power of Rimebound Reliquary (#21), Daniel demonstrated exceptional skill by playing +89 points above their rating in this epic clash.
First Frost



Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
First Frost
The ice came without warning, a creeping cold that glazed the seventh hole in crystal and shadow. Maxwell 'Frostbite' Flynn had seen his share of strange phenomena in his years as Art Dye's resident disc golf detective, but this was new. The frozen tendrils snaked across the fairway like a warning, a harbinger of the chilling mystery to come.
He knelt beside the largest formation, his breath fogging in the bitter air. The ice was too perfect, too deliberate to be natural. It formed intricate patterns and eerie symbols that seemed to writhe and shimmer in the fading light. Someone, or something, had sculpted this frozen message. And Maxwell had a sinking feeling that he knew exactly who it was.
Daniel McIllece found him there, a lone figure silhouetted against the dying sun. The younger man's eyes were wide with a mixture of awe and fear as he took in the scene. "What the hell is this, Flynn?"
Maxwell rose slowly, his joints aching with the cold. "Trouble," he said, his voice a gravel rasp. "The kind of trouble that has a name."
"You don't mean..."
"Elyse." Maxwell spat the word like a curse. "She's back."
Daniel shook his head in disbelief. "That's impossible. Elyse is gone. She disappeared years ago, after the Phantom Ace case."
Maxwell chuckled bitterly. "Oh, she's back. And she's brought her damned prophecies with her."
He'd seen the signs for weeks now, a creeping dread that settled over the course like a funeral shroud. Discs that flew too far, too fast, as if borne on icy winds. Baskets that rattled and sang in the dead of night, their chains frozen solid. And now this, a crystalline calling card from a woman he'd once trusted with his life.
Daniel fingered the bag tag at his belt, the Rimebound Reliquary. It was an ancient thing, a shard of ice said to hold the secrets of the winter winds. Maxwell had never put much stock in legends, but looking at the frozen tableau before him, he felt a flicker of doubt.
"The tags," he said slowly. "She's after the tags."
Daniel's face paled. "You think she's trying to complete the set? But why?"
Maxwell's gaze was bleak as he surveyed the icy warning. "To bring back the Ice Phoenix. To make the prophecy real."
He'd heard the stories, of course. Every disc golfer in Art Dye knew the legend of the Ice Phoenix, the spectral bird of frost and flame that haunted the course's darkest legends. But he'd always dismissed it as a fairy tale, a bit of local color to spice up a slow round.
Now, standing amidst the twisted ice of hole seven, Maxwell felt the first stirrings of real fear. If Elyse was right, if the prophecy was true...
A flicker of movement caught his eye, and he spun, hand dropping to the disc at his belt. But there was nothing there, just the lengthening shadows and the fading light.
Then he saw it, a flicker of sapphire flame dancing in the twilight fog. It was gone in an instant, but the afterimage burned in his mind, a chilling promise of the horrors to come.
"We need to go," he said, his voice tight with urgency. "Now."
As they fled the seventh hole, the wind picked up, carrying with it the howling whisper of a thousand frozen voices. And high above, unseen in the gathering dark, an avian form of glittering ice spread its wings and began to stir.
The game was on, and the fate of Art Dye hung in the balance. Maxwell only hoped he was ready to play.
Flippy's Hot Take