Victorious Faction
Apex Hunters
The Apex Hunters are a group of elite, ruthless trackers who see Sasquatch as the ultimate trophy. They believe that capturing or killing Sasquatch will cement their status as the greatest hunters in the world and bring them fame and fortune. They scoff at the notion of Sasquatch as a guardian of nature and instead view it as a dangerous beast to be conquered.
Faction Leader
Raven Blackwood
Raven Blackwood is the notorious leader of the Apex Hunters. A ruthless and cunning tracker, Raven has bagged more impressive trophies than any other hunter in the group. They are obsessed with the idea of capturing Sasquatch and will stop at nothing to achieve their goal.
Members
18Divisions
This faction emerged victorious in Week 2, advancing their narrative in the ongoing conflict.
Victory points are calculated based on player performance relative to rating, special achievements like aces and CTPs, and community contributions. Pool multipliers are applied based on division ratings and demographics to ensure balanced competition.
Stephen Dunton #267706
Windigo Wanderer
Legends of the Misty Links @ Creekside
Wielding the power of Windigo Wanderer (#1), Stephen demonstrated exceptional skill by playing +42 points above their rating in this epic clash.
Trackway Trials
Gabriel Kenney has stumbled upon an ancient artifact in the misty forests of Creekside, awakening his latent abilities as the fabled Mistwalker. As Rowan Oakwood guides him in the ways of the Wildwood Guardians, the sinister Raven Blackwood and the Apex Hunters scheme to capture the elusive Sasquatch for their own gain. The battle between myth and obsession has begun, with the very soul of the forest hanging in the balance. With newfound allies and enemies watching from the shadows, Gabriel must learn to harness the power of the mist before the Trackway's secrets fall into the wrong hands.
Trackway Trials: Episode 2
An unnatural chill permeated the air at Whispering Pines Disc Golf Course, defying the mild March morning. Patches of ground frost sparkled in the sunlight, creating isolated islands of winter amid the early spring landscape. Players huddled together near the first tee, breath forming visible clouds as they stamped their feet and rubbed gloved hands together.
Rowan Oakwood observed the gathering from beneath the branches of an ancient cedar, eyes tracking the wisps of fog that curled around players' ankles. The Grand Sentinel's weathered face remained impassive, but those who knew them well might have detected the slight furrow of concern between their brows.
"Strange weather," muttered one player, a newcomer named Marcus. "Forecast said sunny and fifty-five."
Gabriel Kenney stood slightly apart from the group, the Mistwalker bag tag hanging prominently from his disc bag. Since the events at Creekside, he'd felt different—more attuned to the subtle whispers of the forest, more aware of the hidden currents flowing beneath the visible world. The mist seemed to reach for him, tendrils stretching like curious fingers before retreating.
Rowan stepped forward, commanding attention without raising their voice. "Welcome to the Trackway Trials. Today's challenge will test not just your skill with a disc, but your ability to read the signs that others have left behind." Their eyes scanned the crowd, lingering briefly on several players. "The course has been temporarily redesigned to follow what may be ancient paths. Choose your route wisely—not all tracks lead to truth."
A ripple of confused murmurs spread through the gathering. This was more cryptic than the usual tournament introduction.
Rowan continued, "You'll notice markers throughout the course—some obvious, some less so. Pay attention to what they tell you. The most direct path is not always the correct one."
From the edge of the crowd, a familiar voice cut through the whispers. "Always speaking in riddles, Oakwood. Why not simply admit this is another of your wild goose chases?"
Raven Blackwood stood with perfect posture, flanked by several Apex Hunters including the sharp-featured Kira. Unlike the other players shivering in the cold, Raven appeared completely comfortable, as if the chill was of no consequence.
Rowan's expression hardened almost imperceptibly. "The true path reveals itself only to those who seek with honest hearts, Blackwood. Not to those who hunt for personal glory."
"We'll see whose approach bears more fruit," Raven replied with a cold smile before turning to address their team in low tones.
As players began moving toward their starting holes, an eerie call echoed through the trees—not quite bird, not quite mammal, but something uncomfortably between. The sound froze several players mid-step.
"What was that?" Gabriel asked, moving closer to Rowan.
"That," Rowan said quietly, "is something we haven't heard in these woods for many seasons."
At hole three, Gabriel found himself grouped with two unfamiliar players and, to his dismay, Kira from the Apex Hunters. The fairway split into three distinct paths—a wide open route that curved sharply right, a narrow tunnel shot straight ahead through dense trees, and a barely visible trail that wound left through undergrowth.
Kira stepped up first, studying the paths with clinical precision. "The right fairway is clearly the safest play," she announced, though something in her tone suggested she believed otherwise.
As Gabriel considered his options, he noticed something odd about the frost patterns on the ground. The open right fairway was completely covered in frost, while the narrow middle path showed spots where the frost had melted in distinctive oval patterns. The left path showed no frost at all, despite being shadowed by trees.
A twig snapped behind them, causing the group to turn. A tall, gaunt figure stood watching them from the shadows of a massive pine. The man wore faded flannel beneath a worn leather vest adorned with peculiar totems fashioned from bone and antler. A bag tag labeled "Windigo Wanderer" hung from his disc bag.
"The right path is a lie," the stranger said, his voice low and raspy as if rarely used. "False tracks. Made by human boots, not by Those Who Came Before."
Kira's eyes narrowed. "And you are?"
"Stephen Dunton," the man replied, stepping forward. The air around him seemed to drop several degrees colder. "I track what is real. Not what others want you to believe is real."
Gabriel felt the Key Stone in his pocket grow warm against his leg. "You mean the fairways are—"
"Trackways," Stephen interrupted, kneeling to examine the frost patterns. His fingers traced the edge of one melted oval. "This is genuine. Ancient one passed here, not long ago. Heavy. Bipedal." He pointed to the right fairway. "Those prints are fresh. Human. Deception."
Kira scoffed. "And we should trust you because...?"
Stephen stood, towering over her. The temperature seemed to plummet further. "Trust what you will. The Windigo judges all hunters by their methods. Those who hunt with lies become the hunted."
Without waiting for a response, Stephen moved to the tee pad and launched a disc through the narrow middle fairway. The disc flew with uncanny precision, bending around obstacles that should have made the flight impossible.
Gabriel stepped up next, feeling the mist respond to his presence. As he prepared to throw, he focused on the Key Stone in his pocket, its warmth spreading through him. The mist thickened slightly along the middle path, illuminating the way forward.
His throw followed Stephen's line, the disc cutting through the air as if guided by an invisible hand. It landed near Stephen's disc, just beyond a fallen log that seemed deliberately placed across the path.
Kira watched with barely concealed frustration before taking her place on the tee. Despite Stephen's warning, she aimed for the right fairway. Her disc flew true until the moment it crossed into the frost-covered section, where it suddenly veered sharply downward, burying itself in thick underbrush.
"What the hell?" she muttered, staring at the spot where her disc had disappeared.
By hole seven, word had spread among the players about the strange man with the Windigo bag tag who seemed to know which paths to trust. Some avoided him, unsettled by the cold that followed in his wake. Others deliberately sought his guidance, despite warnings from the Apex Hunters that he was just another of "Oakwood's mystical frauds."
Gabriel had been separated from Stephen after hole four but continued to rely on his growing connection to the mist. It responded more readily now, showing him subtle signs—a shimmer here, a swirl there—that helped him distinguish true paths from false.
As he approached the tee for hole seven, Gabriel found Raven Blackwood waiting, alone.
"Impressive play so far, Mistwalker," Raven said, the title sounding like a mockery in their mouth. "Though I wonder how much of it is skill and how much is... outside assistance."
Gabriel felt a chill that had nothing to do with the weather. "What do you want, Blackwood?"
"Merely to offer some friendly advice." Raven stepped closer. "Your new friend, the Windigo Wanderer? I'd be careful there. Not all who oppose the Apex Hunters share Oakwood's... humanitarian concerns."
Before Gabriel could respond, a distant cry echoed through the trees—the same eerie sound from earlier, but closer now, more distinct.
Raven's expression shifted, a flash of genuine concern quickly masked. "Well. Seems your friend is calling. Best not keep him waiting." With that, Raven turned and walked away, leaving Gabriel alone on the tee.
The cry came again, pulling at something deep within Gabriel. Without fully understanding why, he abandoned the designated tee area and moved toward the sound, into a denser part of the forest.
The mist thickened around him, but for once, it wasn't responding to his will. It seemed to be following its own purpose, guiding him forward until he emerged in a small clearing. At its center stood an ancient oak tree, its massive trunk split down the middle as if struck by lightning decades ago.
Stephen Dunton was already there, kneeling before the split, examining something on the ground.
"You heard it too," Stephen said without looking up. It wasn't a question.
Gabriel approached cautiously. "What was that sound?"
"Not what. Who." Stephen stood, revealing what he'd been examining—a set of enormous footprints pressed deep into the soil, far larger than any human foot. "The Ancient One is moving. Restless. The false trails have confused the borders between worlds."
Gabriel stared at the prints. Unlike the artifact at Creekside, these weren't preserved in stone but looked freshly made in the soft earth. "These are real? Actual Sasquatch tracks?"
Stephen nodded. "Fresh. Hours old. Leading somewhere important." He gestured to the split in the oak. "Look closer."
Gabriel peered into the dark crevice. Embedded in the wood inside the split was a stone disc similar to the Key Stone he'd found at Creekside, but with different markings.
"Another Key Stone," Gabriel whispered.
"Second of eight," Stephen confirmed. "Needed to walk the full Trackway."
As Gabriel reached for the stone, a sudden crash from the forest announced they weren't alone. Kira burst into the clearing, followed by two other Apex Hunters.
"I knew you two were up to something," she said triumphantly, lifting what looked like a modified GPS device. "Followed the cold spots right to you. Raven will want to see whatever you've found."
Stephen rose to his full height, the temperature around him dropping dramatically. Frost began forming on the ground in an expanding circle around his feet. "You track poorly. Follow false signs. The Windigo does not welcome those who hunt with machines instead of senses."
Kira faltered momentarily before steeling herself. "Save the ghost stories. Hand over whatever you found in that tree."
The eerie cry sounded again, this time so close it seemed to come from just beyond the clearing's edge. The Apex Hunters spun toward the sound, momentarily distracted.
In that instant, the mist around Gabriel surged forward of its own accord, thickening into an impenetrable wall between them and the Apex Hunters. Gabriel felt the Key Stone in his pocket pulse in rhythm with the one in the tree.
"Take it," Stephen urged. "Quickly."
Gabriel reached into the split oak and grasped the stone disc. It came free easily, as if it had been waiting for him. The moment it touched his skin, images flooded his mind—a network of paths connecting sacred sites, creatures moving silently through primeval forests, and a sense of ancient purpose that transcended human understanding.
When his vision cleared, the mist was beginning to thin, and Stephen was watching him with an unreadable expression.
"We need to move," Stephen said. "Now."
They rejoined the tournament at hole twelve, where Rowan waited as if expecting them. The Grand Sentinel took in their appearance—Gabriel slightly dazed, Stephen vigilant—and nodded once.
"You found the Second Stone," Rowan said quietly.
Gabriel nodded, still processing the vision. "There was a Sasquatch, Rowan. Actual tracks, fresh ones."
"The Ancient Ones grow concerned," Stephen interjected. "Too many false trails. Confusion in the Trackway weakens the veil between worlds."
Rowan's expression grew troubled. "Raven's work. The Apex Hunters have been laying false tracks throughout the region, trying to draw out Sasquatch by creating confusion in their navigation networks."
"Navigation networks?" Gabriel asked.
"The Trackway is more than a path," Rowan explained. "It's a complex system of routes that Sasquatch have used for millennia to move unseen through human territories. The Key Stones are markers, guides to the true paths."
Stephen nodded. "Windigo knows. Windigo watches all hunters in the sacred forests. Judges their methods." His eyes fixed on Gabriel. "The mist protects you. Rare gift. Use it wisely."
"Who exactly are you?" Gabriel asked directly. "You're not just another player, are you?"
A ghost of a smile touched Stephen's gaunt features. "Once I hunted like Blackwood. For glory. For trophies. The forest judged me. Changed me. Now I hunt those who hunt without honor."
Before Gabriel could ask more, shouts erupted from several holes away. Players were pointing skyward, where dark clouds had suddenly gathered directly over the course. The temperature, already unnaturally cold, plummeted further.
"They're coming," Stephen said, his voice taking on a different quality—deeper, resonant with something ancient. "The false trails have forced them to move in daylight."
Rowan looked genuinely alarmed. "This is too soon. The veil is thinning faster than I anticipated."
The clouds above began to swirl, forming a spiral pattern. At the same moment, a powerful gust of wind swept across the course, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of rain-soaked earth and something else—a musky, primal odor that triggered deep instinctual responses.
Gabriel felt the Key Stones—both the one from Creekside and the new one—grow hot in his pocket. The mist around his feet began to rise, swirling in a pattern that mirrored the clouds above.
"What's happening?" he asked, fighting the urge to step back from the rising mist.
"The Trackway is revealing itself," Rowan answered, voice filled with wonder and concern. "This shouldn't be possible unless..."
"Unless the Ancient Ones will it so," Stephen finished. "They choose to be seen. To warn."
Across the entire course, mist began rising from the ground, forming distinct paths that glowed with a faint bluish light—the same color as the symbols on the Key Stones. Players stopped mid-game, staring in disbelief at the phenomenon unfolding around them.
The glowing paths converged at various points throughout the course, creating a complex network visible from above. At each convergence point, the mist swirled upward in spiral columns.
From hole eighteen, Raven Blackwood's voice cut through the stunned silence. "Document everything! I want readings, photographs, samples!"
The Apex Hunters scrambled to comply, pulling equipment from their bags. But as they approached the nearest mist path, it retreated from them, staying just beyond their reach.
Gabriel felt a strange pulling sensation, as if the mist was trying to show him something. Following his instinct, he began walking along one of the glowing paths. The mist embraced him, thickening around his legs but remaining passable.
"What are you doing?" Rowan called after him.
"It wants to show me something," Gabriel replied, continuing forward. "I can feel it."
Stephen followed several paces behind, his expression grim. "The Mistwalker sees what others cannot. Let him walk."
Gabriel followed the path until he reached one of the spiral columns. Standing within it, he felt the Key Stones pulse in unison. On impulse, he removed both stones and held them up, one in each hand.
The reaction was immediate. The spiral column intensified, the mist swirling faster until it formed a translucent barrier between Gabriel and the outside world. Within this misty cocoon, images began to form—not in his mind this time, but in the mist itself.
He saw Raven Blackwood and the Apex Hunters placing artificial footprints throughout the forest, carefully crafting false signs and misleading markers. He saw genuine Sasquatch trackways being obscured or destroyed. Most disturbing, he saw traps being set along what appeared to be frequently used routes—not simple snares, but high-tech devices with tranquilizer mechanisms and tracking capabilities.
When the vision faded and the mist thinned, Gabriel found himself surrounded by players, with Rowan and Stephen standing protectively nearby. The glowing paths had vanished, leaving only normal ground mist in their wake.
Raven pushed through the crowd, eyes locked on the Key Stones in Gabriel's hands. "So that's what you found. Hand them over, Kenney. Those are archaeological artifacts that require proper scientific study."
Gabriel closed his fingers around the stones. "They're not yours to take, Blackwood. And I've seen what you're doing in the forest. The traps, the false trails—you're not just hunting Sasquatch, you're actively endangering them."
Raven's expression hardened. "Endangering a myth? How dramatic. Those devices you saw are simply advanced wildlife monitoring stations. For research purposes."
"Research that involves tranquilizer darts and tracking implants?" Gabriel challenged.
A murmur ran through the gathered players. Even some of the Apex Hunters exchanged uncomfortable glances.
Raven maintained perfect composure. "Sometimes research requires direct intervention. Especially when dealing with potentially dangerous unclassified species."
Stephen stepped forward, frost spreading from his feet. "The Windigo judges your hunt as dishonorable, Blackwood. Take care. Those who hunt with cruelty become prey themselves."
Something flickered in Raven's eyes—not quite fear, but a momentary uncertainty. It passed quickly, replaced by cold calculation.
"Threats now, Oakwood? Is this how your Wildwood Guardians operate? With superstition and intimidation?" Raven addressed the crowd. "Don't be fooled by theatrical mist and spooky warnings. There are no monsters in these woods—except perhaps those created by overactive imaginations and clever stage management."
Rowan stepped forward. "The tournament will continue," they announced firmly. "What you've witnessed today is between you and the forest. Make of it what you will." Their eyes swept the crowd. "Choose your paths wisely from here forward—on and off the course."
As the players dispersed, returning to their interrupted rounds, Gabriel approached Rowan.
"The visions I saw—the traps Raven is setting—we have to do something," he insisted.
Rowan nodded gravely. "And we will. The Trackway has revealed itself for a reason. The Ancient Ones are mobilizing, and so must we." They glanced at Stephen, who stood a short distance away. "You've found an unexpected ally in the Windigo Wanderer. His judgment carries weight in these forests."
Gabriel looked toward Stephen, who was examining the ground where one of the mist paths had been. "Who is he really, Rowan? What happened to him?"
"Stephen Dunton was once the most celebrated big game hunter in the Northwest," Rowan said quietly. "His obsession with tracking the most dangerous and elusive prey led him deep into sacred territories where humans were forbidden. The forest... changed him. Made him something between hunter and guardian. His presence here is significant—the Windigo rarely involves itself in human affairs unless the stakes are exceptionally high."
The remainder of the tournament passed in a blur. The strange weather normalized, the unnatural cold giving way to the expected spring temperatures. The mist retreated to its usual haunts in low-lying areas. To casual observers, it might have seemed that the extraordinary events had never occurred.
Yet Gabriel noticed that players now moved differently through the course—more attentively, with greater awareness of their surroundings. Many avoided the right-hand fairways that Stephen had identified as false trails, instead following the more challenging routes that corresponded to where the glowing mist paths had been.
The Apex Hunters, meanwhile, seemed to have adopted a new strategy of observation rather than interference, watching carefully as players navigated the course.
As twilight descended, players gathered around a campfire near the final basket. Rowan stood before them, the flames casting dramatic shadows across their weathered features.
"The Trackway Trials have lived up to their name today," they began. "You came seeking a disc golf challenge and found yourselves walking ancient paths, witnessing things that many would dismiss as impossible."
Rowan's eyes found Gabriel in the crowd. "Some of you discovered that the forest speaks, if you know how to listen. Others learned that not all trails lead to truth—that deception takes many forms, and discernment is a skill as valuable as any throwing technique."
Their gaze shifted to where Raven and the Apex Hunters stood at the edge of the gathering. "And some were reminded that the forest judges those who enter it, weighing their intentions and methods."
Raven met Rowan's gaze unflinchingly, then turned and led the Apex Hunters away from the gathering without a word.
Rowan continued, "As we move forward in this season, remember what you experienced today. The paths you choose, the signs you follow, the methods you employ—all these things matter more than you may realize."
From a wooden box at their feet, Rowan removed the bag tags, each carved with different symbols and titles. "These represent more than your standing in a tournament. They connect you to this unfolding story, and perhaps, to forces older than human memory."
When Gabriel received his Mistwalker tag, he noticed new symbols had appeared on its wooden surface—markings that matched those on the Key Stones. The wood felt warm to the touch, almost alive.
Stephen Dunton was the last to receive his tag. As Rowan handed him the Windigo Wanderer, a hush fell over the gathering. The tag seemed to absorb the firelight rather than reflect it, creating a dark spot in Stephen's hand.
"The Windigo watches," Stephen said, his voice carrying clearly across the sudden silence. "False trails lead astray. True hunters respect the hunted. Remember this when you walk the Trackway."
With those cryptic words, he turned and walked into the darkness beyond the firelight. No one moved to follow.
As the gathering dispersed, Gabriel examined the two Key Stones side by side. The symbols on each formed part of a larger pattern, suggesting that all eight stones would create a complete image or message when united.
Rowan approached, sitting beside him on a fallen log. "The Second Stone reveals more of the Trackway. What did you see in the mist, Gabriel?"
"Connections," Gabriel replied, still sorting through the visions. "Sacred sites linked by invisible paths. And something else—a central location where all paths converge. Is that where we're headed? The final tournament site?"
Rowan nodded slowly. "The Convergence Point. The heart of Sasquatch territory, where the veil between worlds is thinnest. Raven suspects its location but lacks the means to find it without the Key Stones." They gestured to the stones in Gabriel's hands. "Which is why these must be protected at all costs."
"What happens at the Convergence Point?" Gabriel asked.
"That," Rowan said, gazing into the dying fire, "depends entirely on who reaches it first, and with what intentions." They looked up at the night sky, where stars were beginning to appear. "The Trackway has been walked for thousands of years, Gabriel. We are merely the latest travelers on an ancient path. Our responsibility is to ensure it remains open for those who come after us."
In the distance, a lone call echoed through the darkened forest—not the eerie cry from earlier, but something deeper, more resonant. Both Gabriel and Rowan turned toward the sound.
"They're watching us now," Rowan said softly. "The Ancient Ones. Judging our worthiness to walk their paths."
Gabriel felt the mist stirring around his feet, responding to his presence. "And if we're found wanting?"
Rowan's expression grew solemn. "Then the Trackway will close, the veil will strengthen, and the wisdom of the Ancient Ones will be lost to humanity forever." They placed a hand on Gabriel's shoulder. "Which is why we must ensure that Raven Blackwood never reaches the Convergence Point with ill intent."
As if in answer to Rowan's words, the call came again—closer now, more deliberate. A promise, or perhaps a warning, carried on the night air as the mist continued to rise around them.
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