1. Home
  2. General Interest Checks

Expedition to BlackDraw Isle (Still two slots open!)

Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Pocru
Raw —
OP
Avatar of Pocru

Pocru

Member Seen 4 yrs ago
"A’ight, we’re gonna start ‘ith the legend, and eve’ though I know you know it, ou’re gonna sit down and shut up while I says it, cause this time it’s got a twist endin’ I thin’ you’ll ‘preciate.
Time was, long ago, there ain’t nothin’ in the whole damn world. Nothing, cept’ these lil’ tiny sprites we call Juun. Now these Juun are worthless lil’ babbles, cept this one who we now call ‘The First’.The First, outta nowhere seems like, became aware that it existed. N’ just like that, it was alive. N’ this little critter woke up to discover a big empty place with nothin’ but other, mindless Juun floatin’ around. But now that The First was all woke, e’ took it upon m’self - yes, m’ callin’ it a he, s’ my story not yours - he took it on m’self to bully all the other Juun into doin’ what he wanted. With lil’ Juun he could make lil’ things, like a rock or a cat. Big Juun let m’ make big things, like planets n’ stars. Before long The First ‘ad made a whole universe, n’ buggered off to let it do it’s own thing.
Thin’ is, he wasn’ able to use up all the Juun before he left. There was still some floatin’ around, and if you manage to get your hands on it, you can make stuff just as easy as The First. Stumble upon a speck, ya could replace a stolen knife. Stagger into a chunk, you got a fancy new mansion. N’ if you’re anything like the ol’ Pig King, you’ll stagger into a load so large you can make yourself your own country to rule.
Now quit rollin’ your eyes at me, because this ere’ is where things get interestin’. There’s this town, see, way up north, right on the shore of the Ink Sea, the kind of where folks don’t got no steam-scythes to do their farmin’. Couple weeks ago, they send some kid down to complain, see, says a whole bunch of rats suddenly show up… but they don’t cause no trouble. They just pop in, run straight to the shore, and swim like mad to some shadow in the sea. Someplace ain’t nobody’s seemed to notice before. As if an island just appeared overnight, yeah? And after the rats, the local pigs make a go for it, then the dogs, then the cows… yeah, the people are starvin and all but we ain’t here about that.
No, here’s what we’re interested in: the place is apparently swimming in Juun. Like, it’s covered with the damn stuff. And there are lots of prospectors who have been grabbin’ their weapons and charting off to this island to, heh, strike their fortune.
Don’t let the fact none of em’ have ever returned scare you off. M’ sure that just means there’s still lots of Juun to go around.
And I says, I says it’s time you and me stake our claim, yeah? I’m makin’ a crew, and I want you on board. We each get a fair cut, we each take 's much as we can, and we make off like kings. I’ll even supply the steamboat. So whatta say, pal?

You in?”

What is it: A steampunk low-fantasy adventure with a small party of players who have to work together to survive a mysterious and twisted isle, while making sure their companion's knives keep out of their backs.
Who can you play: The world is open enough that you can be just about anyone, with any sort of steampunk-style tech you can imagine. You can start with a bit of Juun but not too much. You can invent any races you like. World-building will be a collaborative affair.
How it'll work: I'll play a character (not strictly the guy in the intro) and will have minor-GM powers for the sake of communicating big things on the island. Beyond that it'll be collaborative.

Anyway. Anyone interested?
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by iAmAnEnemy
Raw —
Avatar of iAmAnEnemy

iAmAnEnemy The Blue Menace

Member Seen 1 yr ago
I'm interested. Been looking for a true adventure RP for a while. Count me in.
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Pocru
Raw —
OP
Avatar of Pocru

Pocru

Member Seen 4 yrs ago
Happy to have you on board!

Let's see if this can snag at least one more person before we start talkin' characters, sound good?

Thanks!
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Quindaro
Raw —
Avatar of Quindaro

Quindaro Coffee Addict

Member Seen 4 yrs ago
Need another salty dog? If so I'm in.
Hidden 6 yrs ago → 6 yrs ago Post by Pocru
Raw —
OP
Avatar of Pocru

Pocru

Member Seen 4 yrs ago
Great news guys: we've got a party of four (you two, one from a PM, and me) and we're ready to roll.

Now what we need are character sheets, but plain old character sheets are boring, so we're going to do something a little different.

I want ya'll to tell a story about how the recruiter found out your character existed, and decided to seek you out. How did he discover you exist? What did he learn about you as he investigated further? Where did he find you, and what did you do? And most importantly, how did you react to his offer? This is your chance to really shape the world, it's culture, and the people who occupy it, so go crazy!

If none of you like that you can do a normal character sheet, but this sounded fun, so... I figured I'd try it out.

Thanks!
Hidden 6 yrs ago → 6 yrs ago Post by Pocru
Raw —
OP
Avatar of Pocru

Pocru

Member Seen 4 yrs ago
Here, I'll kick things off with my own "character sheet":

It’s a story everyone's heard before. A cruel dictator finds himself opposed by a jealous mayor who didn’t so much detest his evil as much as he envied his ability to commit it. The two raised their armies, and they fought, and thousands upon thousands were crushed in the unfeeling machinery of war. By its end, the dictator had won himself a foot of land.

In the eyes of history, the One-Foot War was just another calamity that would be obscured by the rising murk of the Steam Age. But for one man, it proved to be more: it was the start of his legend. For those who returned spoke of a mysterious figure who walked the fields of battle soon after the final shots were fired and the boiling clouds floated away. A man whose imposing figure was wrapped in doctor’s robes, and a thick leather mask to protect his face from the disease and identity. These survivors claimed that he treated all, no matter their side, but he did not treat them equally. Some soldiers were given serums from strange vials that renewed their spirit and injected them with life. Others were poisoned and had their suffering end prematurely. Both were lucky: for there were others who were treated with something else, something that had kept their bodies moving but could barely be called alive. Some half-state of endless pain and power, and the figure would watch unflinchingly as his “patients” tore across the fields of dead, rushing with madness in their eyes to wherever their fevered feet and minds would take them.

To the Recruiter, it seemed like a tall tale from warped minds battered by the war. But the more he heard the story in his travels, the more convinced he became there may be some truth to it. So he went to these battlefields, where the ground was now cold and the bones, bleached by rain and crow, and he looked for any truth to these claims. Too long had passed to find evidence among the dead, but he did investigate nearby towns, asking if they had any encounters with these “living ghouls” created by his serums.

And surprisingly, the sober villagers spoke of such things. By the time these men and women had reached their village borders, whatever this “doctor” had done to them had faded, and they were hollow and half-dead, barely able to move yet inhumanly compelled to do so. Most were unable to speak, and approaching them provoked a feral snapping like a starved dog. So most were mercifully put down by the farmers and their rifles.

One, however, had survived, as fortune had dictated he stumble into the yard of someone who knew him from long ago. The recruiter found this survivor roped up in some old woman’s barn. To call him “alive” was a discredit: his body, between the infected wounds, the exhaustion, and months without food and water, should have died ten times over. But “it” was still alive in the most technical of sense: with no energy to move, all it could do was release shallow breaths and, occasionally, blink the flies from its dry, milky eyes.

Whoever had created this… ‘thing’ had a sick brilliance the Recruiter admired, and knew he would need for his expedition. He went to the larger centers in the region, the walled-off city states and the company-owned villages where intelligent, morally compromised people tended to congregate. He investigated at the doctor’s guilds, the underground surgery rings, the body-cults, the academies and private institutions, and while he didn’t find the mysterious doctor, he did discover a ill-tempered, witless surgeon who was praised for somehow creating medicine that could ‘miraculously’ heal even the most gravely injured. After some… persuasion, the Recruiter was able to uncover the surgeon had received his miracle medicine not from a peer in his practiced field, but rather, a chemist living in the outskirts of town, who typically made his living mass-produced steroid cocktails to fatten livestock to absurd sizes.

The Recruiter politely asked for an audience.

The moment the Recruiter saw the chemist, a huge man with broad shoulders, he knew he had found the figure the soldiers had whispered about in the bottom of their ale-tankers. But whereas he had expected some twisted madman, he was surprised to find this Chemist was a fairly well-mannered, social, and civil figure, offering him a cup of tea and a polite smile from under his slightly-grayed whiskers. The recruiter even doubted, for a moment, this could be the same genius who had somehow forced a body to stay alive through countless deaths.

But the chemist admitted to everything. Walking the battlefield to test his concoctions on the dying. Making on-the-to alterations with a portable laboratory to improve and alter his formulas. Experimenting on these near-dead humans, because, in his own words, “I can’t experiment on my cows. I need to sell them.” It was a grim confession, but one made fearlessly, almost joyfully.

It was this offhand dismissal of his misdeeds that had convinced the Recruiter, and it’s what made him offer the job. At first, the Chemist didn’t like the idea: after all, he was being hired to keep people alive, and he knew how to do that well enough. But when the Recruiter mentioned the Juun, the Chemist reconsidered: after all, what kind of wondrously strange concoctions could he make with just a pinch of Juun in every vial?

And so the Recruiter had found his first “partner”: Wolfgang, the Chemist.
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Overlord Thraka
Raw —
Avatar of Overlord Thraka

Overlord Thraka That Which is Hateful

Member Seen 18 days ago
Is it too late to profess interest?
Hidden 6 yrs ago → 6 yrs ago Post by Pocru
Raw —
OP
Avatar of Pocru

Pocru

Member Seen 4 yrs ago
Sure, we can make it a party of five. But that's the max, assuming everybody's still interested/nobody's dropped out.

I look forward to your character story.

Thanks!
Hidden 6 yrs ago → 6 yrs ago Post by Overlord Thraka
Raw —
Avatar of Overlord Thraka

Overlord Thraka That Which is Hateful

Member Seen 18 days ago
Alright here goes nothing! Let me know if this upsets any of your stuff worldwise and I'll edit it.

Ah Revenge, a tale as old as time. The Classic Story of the wronged taking vengeance upon those who wronged them. How justice often prevailed, and failing that violence succeeded. A story told by a wayward traveler in return for a drink, a night's amusement, little more than a folkstory. Oh how he had been proven wrong.

The man had told a tale of a child, enslaved by a Bandit King. Such a fanciful tale could never have rung true, except for the fact that such a King had existed... but he'd died nearly fifty years prior. Few humans outside his area of control had known him, and most of them were now dead, but the Old Man, he remembered. He remembered well.

The Recruiter felt himself drawn into the story, fascinated not by the way the story was told, or how some elements were surely exaggerated, but he could tell there was a layer of truth in them. Looking over at the wanted board, he felt his gaze rest across an old faded poster from times past, when he was little more than a young man. Thirty thousand... Quite a sum, reserved only for those who'd stolen great sums or killed important people. If memory served this person had done both, but surely they were dead by now? After all, fifty years had passed since the Bandit King's death, and she had not been seen in the last twenty or so... Still, his interest was piqued and the next morning he set out, thanking the old man slumped at the bar one last time with a small bag of coin.

The next month was spent interviewing locals who'd seen her in action years before, finding out everything he could about the mysterious killer they called The Butcher. A person wanted by law in multiple Kingdoms. Every villager her interviewed gave the same story, a woman in armor, brutality, violence and murder, but the stories differed often from the official Kingdom's wanted posters in some regard. Every villager spoke of the woman's bravery, and how she fought to protect them

Indeed one night, interviewing an old maid to a young Lord, he heard the most promising tale yet. She told him of her time as a young maid, and how abusive the Lord's Grandfather had been, not just to her, but to everyone outside the High Rank of Lord, Duke or Royalty. How he taxed the town dry, comparing him to a Sheriff in a folktale of a Green Cloaked Archer. But unlike that story, the ending she told was more grisly. She told how the Warrior showed up one day, and demanded to see the Lord. How she had demanded he repent of his crimes, return the money stolen and beg for forgiveness from the girls he'd taken by force. In response the Lord had merely laughed, but the laugh did not last, for the woman had shot him then and there, standing not sixty paces from him. The Crossbow bolt pierced his throat and he'd fallen, and by the time the screaming crowd had been dispersed by the Guards, the woman was gone.

"Bit of a Local Legend she is!" the old woman had said in her croaking voice. "But a right hero if'n y'ask me!"

That had sent him out, while before he had looked out of passing interest, now he knew he had to meet this woman. If nothing else she could offer sage advice in her old age.

Weeks passed and no clues, until one day a letter was sent by mail to his home. Upon opening it, he felt his hands shake with excitement, it was a letter claiming to be from the Butcher herself, a destination and meeting place, a week's ride, a command to come alone or face punishment. All thoughts of self preservation aside, he'd set off later that same day, arriving several hours early to a tiny farm in the middle of nowhere.

As confused as he was, he knew that this place was a good spot to be hiding in, and as he rode up he spotted a young woman working a patch of tomatoes. She was bent over the garden bed, trowel in one hand, a large straw had shading her face, and when he rode up to her she didn't even look up at him. "Excuse me miss" he'd asked, presuming she was the daughter or granddaughter to the woman he sought, as this one could be no older than thirty. "I'm here to see one woman identifying herself as Mergoux the Butcher? Is this the right place?"

The reply he got had been silence, the woman merely standing up and rolling her shoulders before looking at him. The gaze that fell upon him made him rethink his eagerness to meet this woman, for if this was her offspring, then what must the Elder be like? The woman before him was large, not in an obese way, but in that of the Nordic folk, easily topping six feet and built strong. Her sleeveless jerkin allowing him to see the intricate tattoos that flowed from her wrists all the way up her arms to vanish under her clothing. Shackles on her wrists, chains wrapping up her forearms until they broke away at the elbow, replaced by vines. Interwoven in the vines were 8 coins on her right shoulder, and a flower with 8 petals on her left. Her long black hair hung limp around her face, a stony glare sent his way from hazel eyes, under the left of which a terrible scare marked her cheek from eyesocket to chin.

He swallowed audibly, then his jaw fell open as she took off her hat and two long, Elven ears shot skyward, pierced so heavily that it was a wonder they didn't droop from the weight of the studs and rings in them. "You found me." said the long-lived Half-Elf "Now what do you want?"

Several hours later, they were both sitting in the shade of the modest house that lay in the center of all the plantlife cultivated over the past twenty years. The Recruiter was astounded, seeing the woman not only alive, but still so young and fit. Why had she retired? Questions he asked begot little to no answer, but questions she asked begot all he could tell her.

"You want me to explore some Island?" she had asked, to which he had explained further about the Isle itself, going on about how much Juun was apparently there, how those who managed to come away with a large chunk of it would be set for life, and there was so much there that a large chunk would only take a few months to gather, if that.

Mergoux at first seemed uninterested, not exactly happy with her life, but having been content to give up the violence of her past for a peaceful life. It was only when he mentioned the vanished prospectors, how no-one had ever returned that her hazel eyes lit up with interest. Men being lead to their deaths... Something preying on those who might be greedy, but among those there were still those who just wanted to provide for their family. Innocents being presumably killed. Perhaps it was time she came out of retirement...

Eventually they parted ways, him on his horse and her heading out to the field with a shovel. She had a past to unbury before she met him and the others at the port where they would set sail to find this mysterious isle and kill whatever may be on it.

The Recruiter had found his second "Partner" the strange half-breed, warrior from a bygone era, Mergoux the Butcher.
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Pocru
Raw —
OP
Avatar of Pocru

Pocru

Member Seen 4 yrs ago
Great! So one person's seat is guaranteed.

We just need a few more stories, so come on people: if you don't get em' out we'll have to give your seats away to the first people who do ;)

Thanks!
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by iAmAnEnemy
Raw —
Avatar of iAmAnEnemy

iAmAnEnemy The Blue Menace

Member Seen 1 yr ago
Maybe I should go with a more standard character sheet. Doing it in a more IC way such as the above will result in me getting carried away, accidentally stepping on the toes of the lore and worldbuilding in the process. It is wise for me to remain safe and stick to the basics. No?
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Pocru
Raw —
OP
Avatar of Pocru

Pocru

Member Seen 4 yrs ago
I disagree respectfully, because I suggested this type of character sheet with the express goal of giving you all a chance to help build the world/lore before the RP started properly. So if that's your reservation, I say banish it: but if you simply prefer a standard character sheet, then far be it from me to tell you otherwise.

Thanks!
Hidden 6 yrs ago → 6 yrs ago Post by SpeedLimit
Raw —
Avatar of SpeedLimit

SpeedLimit

Member Seen 6 yrs ago
The Steam Age brought with it flourishing industry and plentiful food. Where farms once put out only a fraction of their potential yield, the addition of machinery made it possible to harvest twice a year, even thrice in some areas of the Empire. Great factories blossomed in the capital, planting down miles of conveyors and workshop forges wherever they spouted. Thousands of men, women and children gained employment, ensuring the production of goods never stopped. The economy boomed. A golden age of technology had begun. Unfortunately, the age of steam brought its own set of terrors along with it too.

As time went on, the eternal hunger of the great factories grew. There was never enough tin and copper for the workshops, never enough coal for the fires of the forges. Panic began to set in with the nobles as unemployment and civil unrest increased. The imperial court hadn’t accounted for the lack of natural resources. Troubling news reached His Imperial Majesty. Dissent was being bred in general populace by a party of blacksmiths who’d found themselves without steady pay as the production lines ran dry. Primarily young men, these dissenters were slowly growing more and more restless. Something had to be done and quickly. An awful realisation dawned on the young Emperor. For as long as the Empire had existed, a small nation had sat between its border and that of another monarchy’s. For centuries, it had acted as a buffer between the two greater powers. With little to no military might themselves, the smaller nation acted as somewhat of a vassal to the monarchy, paying a yearly tithe to remain allied and under the monarchy’s protection. A land of plenty, the smaller nation had remained dutiful in paying its tithe and as a result, no small amount of good faith has grown between the monarchy and its vassal. If the Empire was to take the smaller nation, they would gain enough land to once again supply the factories with the metals they needed. The subsequent war with the monarchy would allow the empire to thin out the ranks of dissenters.

In his hubris, His Imperial Majesty believed that the war wouldn’t drain more resources than what could be gained. None of his sycophants would object to his proposal and so, the plan was set into motion. A fake attempt was made on the Emperor’s life by a supposed radical from the smaller nation who was swiftly executed after the attempt failed. Patriotism bloomed in the people as heavily altered rumours of the event spread throughout the Empire. The moment the noble courts put out a call to arms, young men from across the Empire flocked to answer it. Those who didn’t were considered cowardly and weak, squashing any sympathy the dissenters might’ve otherwise gotten. Now with an army under his command, the Emperor ordered his forces across the border so that they could conduct an ‘investigation’ into this assassination attempt. Marching clear across the small nation without encountering much resistance, the imperial forces built hundreds of miles of trenches running up and down the border with the monarchy. Infuriated by this, the opposing monarchy’s Queen ordered the construction of similar trenches running parallel to the Empire’s defensive line. It wouldn’t be long before the inevitable happened. No one truly knows who fired the first shot. Loyalists claim it was the monarchy’s forces, dissenters claim it was imperial troops. What is known is what lengths man will go to in order to win. A defensive war turned to a war of attrition as the two entrenched sides battled for control of the same no-man’s land day-in and day-out. New developments had to be made for either side to win and the age of steam was happy to provide, First came the rotary guns, portable powder weapons that could cut down swathes of men in seconds. Next came the arched cannons, capable of firing above and into enemy trenches. In the last years of the war, with both sides desperate for any form of an advantage, the most terrible weapon of all was utilized. Poisonous smog was unleashed without mercy on enemy lines. A thick fog that burned the skin of those it met and made them rot from the inside out. The war was fought meter by bloody meter.

The Recruiter had heard stories of the horrors seen on those battlefields. He knew that in those conditions, men were shattered and either remained husks of their former selves or were forged anew in the fires of war. Blackdraw Isle was a dangerous place, no-man’s land just as lethal as the muck of the Great War. He needed men who’d already been through the worst of it. Hundreds of imperial and monarchical regiments of foot had seen service in the war, but only a few stood out as truly exceptional. Among these was His Imperial Majesty’s 105th Regiment of Foot. Known as the ‘Men of Thunder’ for their suicidal tendency to charge without ceasing artillery fire, the Recruiter figured he’d found what he was looking for. Traveling across the empire in search of veterans of the company, a pattern began to emerge. There was one among them who was more unyielding than the others. Lieutenant Richard Kingston. Whenever the Recruiter would bring up his name around the veterans, they all said nearly the same thing. Kingston was described as ‘bloody mad’ and ‘about as tough as shoe leather’. He was the first over the top whenever the lads were made to charge, moving forwards ahead of the pack at a reasonable pace, armed with nothing more than his officer’s sable, a pistol and two grenades. During trench raids, his band of men became known as ‘Kingston’s Conquerors’ for their efficiency. Whenever they’d head out, Kingston was always the first out of the trench and the last to return. One trench sapper described to the Recruiter how, after a failed charge, they’d found Kingston crawling his way back through the mud and barbed wire of no-man’s land, half dead and with enough lead in him to resupply the whole defensive line. When he was brought to the field hospital, they had to strap him down whenever he’d wake from his exhaustion to keep him from escaping -back- to the front. The sapper claimed that when he’d asked Kingston how he’d survived, he’d simply answered that his love for his Emperor had kept him going. That he hadn’t been given the order to die just yet.

When the Recruiter went looking for Kingston, he’d half expected to find a beast of a man. Anyone who could survive what he had was sure to be some sort of monster. The trench sapper had directed the Recruiter to the Imperial School of Gunnery. When the Recruiter asked for the Lieutenant by name, he was shown to a small, impeccably clean office on the far side of the complex and told to wait. What stepped through the office door surprised the Recruiter to no end. A hawkish man, no larger than the Recruiter, in a pristine officer’s winter coat and with a set of sideburns that connected to a greying moustache. The wiry figure introduced himself as Lieutenant Kingston of His Imperial Majesty’s School of Gunnery and asked the Recruiter his business. After the Recruiter had managed to recover, he laid his reasons for seeking the Lieutenant out bare. He told him of the Isle, the riches that awaited, the glory to be won for His Imperial Majesty and of the danger they’d face. The prospect of exploring new lands for the Empire perked the Lieutenant’s interest but it was the potential danger that truly drew him in. After having adjusted his coat, the Lieutenant accepted the proposal.

The Recruiter had found his third “partner”: Lieutenant Richard Kingston, Formerly of His Imperial Majesty’s 105th Regiment of Foot.
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Overlord Thraka
Raw —
Avatar of Overlord Thraka

Overlord Thraka That Which is Hateful

Member Seen 18 days ago
I disagree respectfully, because I suggested this type of character sheet with the express goal of giving you all a chance to help build the world/lore before the RP started properly. So if that's your reservation, I say banish it: but if you simply prefer a standard character sheet, then far be it from me to tell you otherwise.

Thanks!


In that case I might make a few quick little edits to mine... Maybe. One of the bigger things with Mergoux is she's supposed to have been active before the industrial steampunk revolution, and retired partially because of the drastic change effecting the world. She's got age and experience on her side, but hasn't fully embraced a lot of the new tech. How long ago are we saying the Steampunk revolution started? Is 30 or so years ago workable or does it need to be earlier?
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Pocru
Raw —
OP
Avatar of Pocru

Pocru

Member Seen 4 yrs ago
Great story, SpeedLimit, looks like we have three partners, and room for two more.

<Snipped quote by Pocru>

In that case I might make a few quick little edits to mine... Maybe. One of the bigger things with Mergoux is she's supposed to have been active before the industrial steampunk revolution, and retired partially because of the drastic change effecting the world. She's got age and experience on her side, but hasn't fully embraced a lot of the new tech. How long ago are we saying the Steampunk revolution started? Is 30 or so years ago workable or does it need to be earlier?


The world did not uniformly enter the steam age all at once: like all technology, steam-powered tech started at one point and it spread out from there. Maybe wherever Mergoux came from only recently got the technology, within the 30-year time frame.
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Overlord Thraka
Raw —
Avatar of Overlord Thraka

Overlord Thraka That Which is Hateful

Member Seen 18 days ago
Great story, SpeedLimit, looks like we have three partners, and room for two more.

<Snipped quote by Overlord Thraka>

The world did not uniformly enter the steam age all at once: like all technology, steam-powered tech started at one point and it spread out from there. Maybe wherever Mergoux came from only recently got the technology, within the 30-year time frame.


Gotcha. I'll make edits when I'm not emotionally and physically exhausted (I.E probably sometime tomorrow.)
Hidden 6 yrs ago Post by Arkkanon
Raw —
Avatar of Arkkanon

Arkkanon The Chemist and the Four Masks

Member Seen 6 yrs ago
Would I be late in expressing interest in joining the crew? Reading these has been fascinating, and makes for a far more interesting method of making a character sheet.
↑ Top
© 2007-2024
BBCode Cheatsheet