Episode 1: Misty Moorings

A peculiar mist rolled across the Urban Forest disc golf course, behaving unlike any natural fog. It coiled around tree trunks and drifted across fairways with purpose, as though searching for something—or someone. The morning sun struggled to penetrate the haze, casting the course in an ethereal glow that transformed the familiar landscape into something ancient and mysterious.

I watched from the edge of the forest as players gathered near the first tee, their excited chatter muffled by the thick air. They had come from across the globe, drawn by rumors of strange phenomena and the promise of challenging new courses. Little did they know they were stepping into a centuries-old conflict.

My name is Angus MacTavish, and I am the last of an ancient line of guardians sworn to protect the secrets of Loch Ness. For generations, my family has kept watch over the loch and its mysteries, guiding worthy seekers and turning away those who would exploit its power. Now, as Tournament Director for the Loch Ness Chronicles disc golf series, I continue that sacred duty in a new form.

As I approached the gathering, I spotted her immediately—Dr. Eliza Blackwood, brilliant cryptozoologist and leader of the self-proclaimed Seekers of the Serpent. She stood apart from the crowd, her silver-streaked auburn hair pulled back in a practical braid, fingers absently tracing the vintage brass compass hanging from her neck. Her presence here was no coincidence.

"Magnificent morning for disc golf, wouldn't you agree, Angus?" she called out, her voice carrying an undercurrent of challenge. "The mist adds such... atmosphere."

I nodded curtly. "Aye, though unusual for this time of year. The forest has its own ways of greeting visitors."

Her smile didn't reach her eyes. "Nature full of surprises, just waiting to be understood through proper scientific inquiry."

Before I could respond, a lanky young man with sandy blond hair approached, extending his hand. "Kenneth Oetker. First time competing in Scotland. This mist is something else—almost feels alive."

Kenneth had no idea how perceptive his observation was. I clasped his hand firmly, feeling an immediate resonance, like recognizing an old friend. The mist seemed to swirl more intensely around him, and I noticed the bag tag hanging from his disc golf bag—"Cryptid - CS42 Loch Land Leviathan"—though the knotwork pattern seemed to shift slightly as I looked at it.

"Welcome to the Loch Ness Chronicles," I said. "The Highlands have been waiting for you."

The tournament began with players divided into groups, scorecards distributed, and the first drives thrown. I kept a watchful eye on Dr. Blackwood, who seemed unusually interested in the course layout, taking measurements and notes under the guise of planning her shots.

Kenneth was placed in my group, along with two other players. As we approached the first tee, the mist parted before him like a curtain drawn back, revealing a clear path to the basket that remained obscured to others.

"Did you see that?" one of the players whispered.

Kenneth stared at his hands in confusion. "I didn't do anything."

"The mist has a mind of its own," I said casually, though I recognized the signs. The ancient powers were stirring, responding to Kenneth's presence. The Mist Warden had chosen a vessel.

Kenneth's drive sailed through the air with unexpected precision, the disc cutting through the fog which seemed to caress it mid-flight, guiding it toward the basket. It landed mere feet from the target, a shot that should have been impossible given the limited visibility.

"Lucky throw," Kenneth mumbled, but the uncertainty in his voice betrayed his disbelief.

Throughout the front nine, the pattern continued. The mist favored Kenneth, clearing his path while thickening around others, particularly those aligned with Dr. Blackwood's faction. His bag tag occasionally emitted a faint blue glow, visible only from certain angles, whenever the mist responded to his presence.

During a brief break, I found Kenneth sitting alone, examining his bag tag with a puzzled expression.

"Something troubling you, lad?" I asked, settling beside him.

"This tag... it feels warm sometimes. And the mist..." He looked up at me, searching for answers. "I'm not imagining it, am I? The way it moves around me?"

I chose my words carefully. "The Highlands have many secrets, Kenneth. Some choose to force those secrets into the open," I nodded toward Dr. Blackwood, who was kneeling near a tee pad with what appeared to be a soil sampling tool. "Others are chosen by the secrets themselves."

"What does that mean for me?" he asked.

"It means you should pay attention. The mist may be trying to show you something."

As we continued to the back nine, I felt it—a subtle disturbance in the natural energies of the forest, a discord that made my skin prickle. Near the twelfth tee, the sensation intensified.

"Something's not right here," I murmured.

Kenneth paused beside me, his bag tag now glowing visibly blue. "I feel it too. Like... static electricity."

He moved toward a newly installed bench near the tee pad, the mist swirling frantically around his ankles. Kneeling down, Kenneth ran his fingers along the underside of the bench and pulled back a small, circular device no larger than a disc mini.

"What's this?" he asked, holding it up.

I recognized it immediately—an electromagnetic field reader, disguised as course hardware. "It appears Dr. Blackwood is doing more than playing disc golf today."

"Why would someone put this here?" Kenneth's brow furrowed.

"To measure things that shouldn't be measured," I replied grimly. "Keep it for now. We'll discuss it after the round."

As we moved to the next hole, I spotted Dr. Blackwood watching us from the adjacent fairway, her expression unreadable.

The final holes brought increasing challenges as the mist thickened dramatically, responding to the growing tension between the Guardians and Seekers on the course. Players aligned with my faction found themselves guided by subtle currents in the fog, while Blackwood's followers struggled against sudden, blinding patches that materialized at crucial moments.

On the eighteenth fairway, Kenneth's drive veered unexpectedly toward a dense patch of undergrowth. As he searched for his disc, the mist formed an unusual pattern, drawing him deeper into the brush. I followed discreetly, watching as he pushed aside branches to reveal not his disc, but a small clearing containing what appeared to be a miniature stone circle—seven rocks arranged in a pattern that mirrored the constellation Draco.

"Angus?" Kenneth called, his voice hushed. "What is this?"

I approached slowly. "A marker. One of many scattered throughout the Highlands."

"A marker for what?"

Before I could answer, the mist between the stones condensed, forming a shimmering surface like water suspended in air. For a brief moment, a dark shape moved within it—serpentine and massive—before the mist dispersed.

Kenneth stumbled backward. "Was that—"

"Best not to name things you don't understand yet," I warned. "The naming gives them power."

The sound of approaching footsteps ended our conversation as Dr. Blackwood pushed through the underbrush, her eyes widening at the sight of the stone circle.

"Fascinating," she breathed. "A naturally occurring formation, or something more... deliberate?" Her gaze shifted between Kenneth and me, calculating. "You seem to have found more than your disc, Mr. Oetker."

"Just exploring," Kenneth replied, his hand instinctively covering his glowing bag tag.

Dr. Blackwood's eyes narrowed at the gesture. "That's an interesting bag tag you have. Mind if I take a closer look?"

"Another time, perhaps," I interjected. "We have a tournament to finish."

Her lips curved in a tight smile. "Of course. Though I must say, the mist seems particularly... accommodating to your group today, Angus. Almost as if it's playing favorites."

"The Highland mists have always welcomed those with respect for their mysteries," I replied evenly. "And obscured paths for those with darker intentions."

"Science isn't dark, Angus. It's illuminating." She gestured toward the stone circle. "All this... folklore and superstition. The world deserves the truth about what lies beneath Loch Ness."

"Truth without wisdom is a dangerous thing, Doctor."

She laughed lightly. "Your ancestors have hidden behind such platitudes for centuries. But times are changing." With a final glance at Kenneth's bag tag, she turned and disappeared into the mist.

As the tournament concluded, the scores revealed a clear victory for the Guardians of the Loch. Whether guided by the mist or simply more attuned to the course's challenges, those aligned with my faction had performed exceptionally well.

During the award ceremony, I announced the results with measured pride. "The Urban Forest has spoken, and today it favors the Guardians. Our next event will take us to Kelburn's Keep, where the ancient stones hold memories older than Scotland itself."

Dr. Blackwood accepted her faction's defeat with gracious words but determined eyes. As players dispersed, she approached me.

"Congratulations, Angus. Your... traditional methods prevailed today." She glanced meaningfully at Kenneth, who stood nearby. "But the tournament series has only just begun. And I've gathered some fascinating data already."

"I'm aware," I replied, producing the device Kenneth had found. "You might want to be more careful where you place your equipment."

She took it without embarrassment. "A simple weather monitor. For tournament planning purposes."

"Is that what you tell yourself?"

Her expression hardened. "You can't protect your secrets forever, Angus. The world is changing, and Nessie's mysteries belong to everyone—not just your ancient order."

"Some secrets protect us as much as we protect them," I warned. "Remember that when you're disturbing waters that have been still for millennia."

After she departed, Kenneth approached, his bag tag now dormant but still marked by subtle changes—the knotwork pattern had shifted, forming what appeared to be a hooded figure emerging from waves.

"The tag's different," he said quietly. "And I keep seeing things in the mist... reflections that shouldn't be there."

I nodded. "The Mist Warden has recognized something in you, Kenneth. A kindred spirit, perhaps."

"The Mist Warden?"

"An ancient guardian that takes many forms. It tests those who seek the loch's secrets, obscuring paths from the unworthy and guiding those it deems deserving."

Kenneth stared at his tag. "And it chose me? Why?"

"That's something you'll discover as our journey continues. But know this—in the battle between those who would protect the loch's secrets and those who would exploit them, you've just become a powerful ally."

"Or weapon," he murmured.

"Perhaps both," I admitted. "The choice of how to use your connection will be yours. But choose carefully. Dr. Blackwood isn't simply studying Nessie—she's hunting something far more dangerous."

As we walked back toward the parking area, the mist began to dissipate, revealing a clear sky above. But in the distance, over the hills that led toward Loch Ness, dark clouds were gathering. The first battle had been won, but the war for the loch's secrets was just beginning.

And somewhere beneath the dark waters, something ancient was stirring, awakened by Dr. Blackwood's probing instruments and the disruption of long-dormant energies. Whether friend or foe remained to be seen, but one thing was certain—the Loch Ness Chronicles had only just begun, and none of us would emerge unchanged.