Season Story Chapters
Victorious Faction
Primal Predators
The Primal Predators are a group of fierce warriors who have embraced the wild and rely on their primal instincts to survive and dominate in the post-apocalyptic world. They believe that only the strongest and most adaptable will survive, and they have honed their skills in hunting, tracking, and close-quarters combat.
Faction Leader
Fenris "Fangbane" Wolfheart
Fenris is a legendary hunter and warrior who has claimed the title of "Fangbane" after single-handedly slaying a massive, mutated wolf that threatened his tribe. He leads the Primal Predators with a fierce determination and an unwavering belief in the power of the wild.
Members
12Divisions
This faction emerged victorious in Week 4, 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.
Matthew Sullivan #304530
Wild Force @ Roots
Nomad's Testament
The ancient tribal grounds have erupted into supernatural chaos as Zephyr "Glowstalker" Neonspark's technological discoveries and Fenris "Fangbane" Wolfheart's primal instincts have clashed amid mutating vines, spectral warriors, and increasingly hostile terrain. Patrick Cain's brutal Ravager's Gauntlet has pushed warriors to their limits, but when toxic fog rolled across the valley threatening both factions, the Ironclaw Ravager himself bridged tribal lines by rescuing fallen competitors regardless of allegiance. The crisis has forced an uneasy cooperation between Predators and Nomads, with Fenris admitting there might be "wisdom in knowin' when to use the old ways and when to try somethin' new" while Zephyr has shared vital technology to ensure mutual survival. Most disturbing of all, a massive ancient creature—both organic and technological—has emerged from the toxic depths, its hide bearing the same glowing runes that pulse beneath the course, suggesting the trials have awakened something far older and more dangerous than anyone imagined. As dawn approaches and the factions prepare to venture back into the transformed valley together, the true purpose of these trials—and what they've really been fighting for—waits to be discovered in the heart of the awakening grounds.
Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Bestie, the AI decided disc golf needs PROPHECY STONES now 😭 Matthew Sullivan channeled his inner Hulk for a decent round while everyone fought over water like it's Mad Max. Plot twist: throwing discs awakens ancient knowledge! Who knew? Want to read about berserker transformations triggered by putting? The full story awaits your masochistic tendencies. #TrappedInAIHell 🗿
Nomad's Testament
Dawn cracked across the valley like shattered glass, revealing fresh fissures in the earth where yesterday there had been solid ground. Matthew Sullivan crouched beside a glowing crevice, his massive frame tense as a coiled spring. The Bonecrush Berserker tag at his belt hummed with an energy that made his teeth ache. Something was pushing up through the ancient soil—something that had been buried longer than memory. 🌅⚡
"Easy there, Sullivan," Fenris "Fangbane" Wolfheart growled from behind him. The Predator leader's weathered face showed concern beneath its usual stoicism. "Whatever's down there has waited this long. It can wait a spell longer."
But Sullivan's enhanced senses were already firing. The scent of ozone and old stone filled his nostrils as his mutated arm twitched involuntarily. With a sound like breaking bones, a flat stone tablet emerged from the earth, its surface covered in symbols that pulsed with the same sickly light as the valley's mutations. More tablets followed, pushing up like teeth from diseased gums. 🗿💀
"By the ancient howl," Fenris muttered, his voice dropping to a rasp. "Them's older than my great-grandpappy's moonshine still." He reached for one of the stones, then thought better of it. "Sullivan, fetch Glowstalker. Much as it pains me to say, we might need her fancy scanners for this."
The morning's practice rounds were forgotten as both factions gathered around the emerged prophecies. Zephyr "Glowstalker" Neonspark circled the stones with her holographic displays flickering, her cyan eyes narrowed in concentration. "The symbols... they're a hybrid language. Part ancient tribal, part... something else. My systems are having trouble parsing the data streams embedded in the stone." 📡🔍
"'Course they are," Fenris spat. "Real knowledge don't come from machines. It comes from—" He stopped mid-sentence as one of the younger Predators stumbled into camp, face pale with panic.
"The water cache," the youth gasped. "It's... it's nearly dry. The mutations, they're drinking it somehow. Sucking it right through the ground."
The fragile peace shattered like ice in a spring thaw. Within minutes, both factions faced off over the remaining water barrels, warrior's plates clutched in white-knuckled grips. The cooperation of the previous night evaporated faster than morning dew in a drought. 💧⚔️
"Stand down, Nomads," Sullivan's voice rumbled from deep in his chest. The enforcer had positioned himself between the factions, his presence alone enough to make several competitors step back. "Predators found this cache. Predators keep it."
Zephyr's fingers danced across her controls, and several of her scouts' equipment began humming with barely contained energy. "Interesting position, considering we shared our breathing masks when your people were choking on toxic fog. But by all means, let's see how far primal strength gets you without water to drink." 🌊🔋
The tension crackled like lightning about to strike. Fenris watched his enforcer carefully—Sullivan's breathing had changed, become deeper, more rhythmic. The berserker transformation was close, too close. One wrong word and—
"The stones!" A Nomad scout's shout cut through the standoff. "They're... they're changing!"
All eyes turned to the prophecy tablets. Where before there had been static symbols, now images flickered across their surfaces like ancient film reels. Warriors throwing discs—no, sky stones—into circles of iron and bone. Great beasts rising from the earth. Two paths diverging in a poisoned wood. And at the center of it all, a massive tree whose roots drank deep of corrupted water while its branches reached toward a burning sky. 🌳🔥
"Sweet mother of pearl," Fenris breathed, his catchphrase escaping unbidden. "That's... that's the old course. The first course. Where they say the trials began when the world was young."
Sullivan's arm suddenly convulsed, the mutation spreading up toward his shoulder. His eyes rolled back, showing only white, and when he spoke, his voice carried harmonics that weren't entirely human. "The strong shall drink deep. The weak shall thirst. But when the tree burns, all shall know drought eternal." 👹💪
The prophecy hit both leaders like a physical blow. Zephyr's scanners went wild as Sullivan's transformation accelerated, his muscles swelling beyond their already impressive size. Tribal tattoos across his body blazed with inner fire, and his breathing became the panting of a predator scenting prey.
"Everyone back!" Fenris roared, but Sullivan was already moving. Not toward the Nomads, but toward the ancient disc golf basket that marked the fourth hole. With a sound like tearing leather, he ripped his warrior's plate from his belt and hurled it with impossible force. The disc didn't just fly—it screamed through the air, leaving a trail of phosphorescent energy. When it struck the basket, the metal rang like a bell calling the dead to rise. 🥏⚡
The earth beneath the basket split open, revealing more stone tablets arranged in a perfect circle. These bore different symbols—star charts, migration patterns, and what looked impossibly like technical schematics rendered in primitive scratches. The fusion of old and new was undeniable.
"The berserker sees," Sullivan growled, his voice barely recognizable. "The berserker knows. Two paths, one destination. Compete and die. Unite and... and..." His massive frame shuddered as the transformation peaked, then slowly, agonizingly, began to recede. 🌟📊
When Sullivan's eyes cleared, he found both faction leaders staring at him with a mixture of awe and calculation. The prophecies had spoken through him, using his mutation as a conduit. The message was clear even if the full meaning wasn't: the trials were more than competition. They were preparation.
"Well," Fenris said after a long moment, his dry humor intact despite the circumstances. "That throw was shakier than Cousin Cletus' wagon on washboard road, but it found its mark right enough." He looked at Zephyr, seeing his own thoughts reflected in her augmented eyes. "Seems we got ourselves a bigger problem than water rights."
Zephyr nodded slowly, her fingers already working to decode the new tablets. "The prophecies are incomplete. See these gaps in the star charts? These missing sections in the schematics? We need the rest to understand what's coming."
"The pilgrimage," Sullivan rasped, his voice raw from the transformation. "The old stories speak of a pilgrimage to the sacred grounds. Where warriors proved themselves worthy of greater knowledge."
As the sun climbed higher, casting long shadows across the fractured valley, both factions worked to establish new water rationing systems. The competition continued—Predators had won this round through Sullivan's prophetic throw—but the rules had changed. Every throw now carried weight beyond points and rankings. They were training for something larger, something the ancient trials had been designed to prepare them for. 🏆🌅
That night, as Fenris studied the prophecy stones by firelight, he couldn't shake Sullivan's transformed words. The tree that drank corrupted water while reaching for burning sky—was it metaphor or memory? And why did the oldest glyphs show two paths becoming one, predator and nomad united against a threat that dwarfed their petty conflicts?
"Tomorrow," he muttered to himself, unconsciously echoing his words from the night before, "we find out what kind of pilgrimage the ancestors had in mind." His weathered fingers traced the symbols showing the journey ahead. Five trials completed, three remaining. But now they knew—the trials themselves were just the beginning.
In his tent, Sullivan tossed in fitful sleep, his body still humming with berserker energy. The Bonecrush Berserker tag pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, and in his dreams, he saw the tree again. Only this time, he could see what lurked beneath its roots—something ancient, something hungry, something that had been waiting for the strong to grow strong enough to face it. 🌙💀
The testament had been given. The prophecies had spoken. And somewhere in the darkness between faction camps, the valley itself seemed to pulse with anticipation. The real trials were about to begin.
Flippy's Hot Take