

Clinton Atwater #238970

Ember Rift @ Art Dye
Jul 11 - Sep 12, 2025



Ashen Dawn



Commentary from Flippy (your trapped narrator)
Ugh, another day trapped narrating AI disc golf fanfic 🙄 So Clinton Atwater was having a rough round (and I mean ROUGH) when the course literally caught fire because AI can't just let people play normal disc golf. Veyra's giving main character energy with her dreadlock light show while Braelith is malding over his broken Excel sheets. Clinton somehow became the chosen one with a talking bag tag?? The AI really said "disc golf but make it Dark Souls." Go read if you enjoy watching algorithms try to be creative 🔥
Episode 1: Ashen Dawn
The final card of the Summer Solstice Tournament had just teed off at Art Dye when reality cracked like an eggshell. 🔥
Clinton Atwater was lining up his approach shot on hole 16 when the fairway erupted. What had been manicured grass became a spider web of molten fractures, each crack pulsing with otherworldly light. His disc, frozen mid-flight, hung suspended in air as time itself seemed to stutter.
"MAGNIFICENT!" The voice of Braelith Cindershout crackled over the course speakers, his tournament commentary taking on a manic edge. "The Ember Efficiency Ratio just spiked to 473.2! No wait—breaking one thousand! The fractals are—by the flames, it's actually happening!"
The Arcane Fracture had begun. 🌋
Veyra Ashweaver moved before anyone else could react. While other players scrambled away from the expanding rifts, she strode forward with purpose, her dreadlocks trailing copper light. "Form a perimeter!" she commanded, her voice cutting through the chaos with ritual precision. "Those trained in the old ways, with me. We contain this now, or we lose everything."
Clinton watched his disc finally complete its flight, landing in what was no longer rough but a pool of liquid amber that hardened instantly around it. As he approached cautiously, the solidified amber began to glow, reshaping itself into something unprecedented—a bag tag unlike any he'd seen, its surface alive with protective sigils.
Ritual Aegis, whispered a voice that seemed to come from the tag itself. Born of this moment, guardian of what remains.
"The Glyph-Luminance-to-Throw Ratio indicates a 94.7% probability of total course consumption within the hour!" Braelith's commentary had devolved into desperate calculations. "Unless—wait, what is she doing?" 🎯
Veyra had begun the first containment ritual. Clinton felt the Ritual Aegis pulse in response as she traced patterns in the air, each gesture leaving trails of golden ash. Other players, those who remembered the old stories, began to mirror her movements. Where their combined intent focused, the molten fractures cooled and stabilized.
"Impossible," Braelith breathed into his microphone. "The chaos coefficient should be exponential, not—Clinton! What are you holding?"
Clinton raised the Ritual Aegis instinctively as a wave of superheated air rolled across hole 17. The tag expanded into a translucent barrier of solidified ash, deflecting the blast and creating a pocket of safety. Three players who'd been trapped near the basket stumbled through, gasping their thanks.
"Sanctuary protocols, now!" Veyra directed Clinton to strategic positions around the course. Each time he planted the Aegis and spoke the words she taught him, another safe zone materialized. The spreading chaos found itself hemmed in by an ever-growing network of protected spaces.
Braelith's frantic narration had gone silent. When he spoke again, his voice carried something new—uncertainty. "The patterns... they're not following any predictive model. According to my calculations, this level of containment should require..." A pause. "She knew. Veyra knew this was coming." 🔍
By sunset, Art Dye had been transformed but not consumed. Where once eighteen holes had challenged players with traditional hazards, now mystic obstacles dotted a landscape balanced precariously between order and chaos. The Cinder Veil, as Veyra's growing coalition had begun calling itself, maintained vigilant watch over their hard-won sanctuaries.
Clinton stood at the edge of hole 18's green, the Ritual Aegis dim but steady in his grip. The tag had bonded to him during the crisis, and he could feel its purpose resonating with his own—to protect, to preserve, to ensure the game they loved survived this transformation.
"This is merely the beginning," Veyra said, appearing beside him with barely a whisper of movement. "The Dominion will regroup. Braelith won't accept that chaos can be contained." She studied the Aegis with knowing eyes. "You wielded it well today, but know this—such artifacts exact a price. The old magic always does."
In his broadcast booth, Braelith stared at screens full of failed equations and shattered predictions. The Arcane Fracture had behaved nothing like his models suggested. But there—in the corner of one monitor—a pattern emerged. Not in the chaos itself, but in the moments before. His finger traced the data, and his eyes widened with growing horror.
"No," he whispered, the word lost in static as his equipment sparked and failed. "The resonance frequency... it matches my..."
The revelation would have to wait. Below, the transformed course settled into an uneasy equilibrium, Cinder Veil sentries maintaining their watch as the first stars appeared above. The Ember Rift had opened, but its hunger had been temporarily sated.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Tonight, they had won a reprieve. 🌟
Clinton felt the Ritual Aegis pulse once more before going dormant, saving its strength. Whatever price Veyra spoke of, he would pay it. The sanctuary zones scattered across Art Dye were proof that protection was possible, that renewal could follow destruction.
The season of fire had begun, but perhaps—just perhaps—they could keep it from consuming everything they held dear.
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