Between the aches of his beating, the noise of the now rather crowded cell, and the ramblings of a few of his new ‘associates’ who seemed to have questionable touch with reality, Darmon found it had to follow the conversations. A few close by tried to talk, but he just shook his head and gave an apologetic shrug.
He pulled himself a little tighter as he looked about once more; this many folks so tightly packed was a recipe for disaster, and he could feel an underlying tension in the air. Clasping his hands together, he began to fiddle with the rings on his fingers, something he’d done ever since he was a child whenever he was nervous.
Darmon was not a large man, and in the current cramped confines of the cell he’d been unceremoniously stuffed into, that was a bit of a blessing. Sitting against a wall, with his head back and eyes closed he sighed. Things had been going so well. He thought, his mind wandering to the days prior. He’d made the trip all the way to the heart of the Empire to meet some old friends of the family and strike up some deals. To that end he’d been very successful, negotiating several deals for goods and luxuries from the Imperial City in exchange for raw resources and a few ‘exotics’ from Sentinel.
On top of that he’d found a lovely young woman who’d been fascinated by his stories of travel across Tamriel, and his many adventures and misadventures along the way…and the fact that her new husband had turned out to be as ‘lively’ and imaginative as a week old fish in matters that truely counted. So his days had been spent wheeling and dealing, listening to the wonderful sound of the clink of coin, and his evenings relaxing, telling stories and helping his new friend see what a man truly worth her time could do for (and to) her.
Then it all went to shit, at least on the personal side of things. That damned fight hadn’t gone the way folks had hoped and he’d found himself, admittedly not for the first time, running from the consequences of his actions; his hope was that while he was pursued, she was able to make a clean break. Fortunately, though the jilted husband and his father had caught him, they only managed a few good kicks before the Watch broke up the bar brawl. From the way he ached, Darmon was sure he had a couple of cracked ribs, but nothing a mouthful of a healing potions wouldn’t fix.
Not far off a rather battered looking Breton kid asked about cards or dice, and commented that they’d likely be here until morning. ”Sorry, no.” He replied. ”Though hearing you say that, I’m kicking myself for not thinking to stash some in my robes-” Any further comments stopped as nervous shouting from the guards echoed through the cell block. From his position he couldn’t see what caused the commotion, though he could guess the cause as the door opened and giant Kahjit was ‘guided’ inside. Raising a hand in greeting he also nodded to the giant orange furball. ”Darmon.”
Name: Darmon Saishir Age: 36 Race: Redguard Appearance: Not a large man by any measure, Darmon stands only about 5’5” and is quite lightly built; Though not a warrior by any means, his life being nearly perpetually ‘on the road’ as it were has kept him quite fit…despite his preference for richer food and drink. Like some redguard, his eyes are dark brown to the point of almost looking black though according to various women, at times they glow a deep rich brown, filled with warmth and charm. For practical reasons he keeps his head shaved, though he forgoes any facial hair because as to quote his own mother ‘It looks like you’ve got a half-drowned skeever pelt on your face.’
Like many of his people, he favours the flowing hoods and robe styles native to his home land; though not overly flashy compared to some of his peers, obvious wealth ‘on the road’ draws bandits like honey draws flies; his only concession is a collection of rings on his fingers. While some are valuable, most are simply one’s he’s found interesting.
Personality: A friendly and outgoing fellow, as any successful merchant should be; he's a man who tries to take work seriously but life, not so much. Growing up a ‘Merchant Prince’ of Sentinel, but spending plenty of time down on the docks, he’s as comfortable drinking in rough taverns with the average folk as he is trading polite nothings with ‘high society’ (though he prefers somewhat more of a middle ground; rough enough to have an actual fun time, but classy enough that people bathe regularly.)
His charming and outgoing nature, and good looks also has a tendency to make him rather popular with many of the women that he crosses paths with..and very unpopular with quite a few of their husbands/fathers/fiancees etc; he’s also fond of ‘justifying’ his actions by saying ”If the man was better at his duties as a partner, the lady wouldn’t have found me nearly as interesting.”
This philosophy has gotten him run out of numerous towns and establishments over the years.
Abilities
Swordsmanship - While he’d be the first to admit he’s no Arena Champion or Companion when it comes to swordplay, Darmon is certainly skilled enough to defend himself from the usual lowlifes, cutthroats or irate spouses he sometimes encounters.
Archery (Crossbow) - Like his swordsmanship, it’s not anything special, but he’s a good enough shot to both defend himself and keep fed between towns.
Hand-to-hand - Not every altercation can, or should, be fought with a live blade. So to keep his face un-broken and his neck off of a headsman's block, he’s a fair hand at fighting with his hands…though he generally does his best to leave if he can.
Merchant Prince - His actual job is all about the deal, finding what folks want, what they might have that you want and then talking and bargaining until both parties reach a happy agreement; it seems simple, but like most things that seem simply, they often rarely are…but the challenge of it is something Darmon enjoys.
Sleight of hand - He was taught by an ex-Thieves Guild man he knew in Sentinel as a boy, and over the years he’s learned a few new tricks in his travels. Though largely used as an ‘ice breaker’ in social moments, what he knows has saved his skin on a few occasions.
Alchemist - Another thing learned for its practicality for someone travelling the length and breadth of Tamriel. Though he only knows a handful of recipes by heart, he knows them quite well, though some more than others.
Potion of Cure Disease Potion of Strength Potion of Healing Potion of Stamina Potion of Escape
Born the second son and third child of the head of the Saishir Trading Company, Sentinel’s third largest trading firm, he was born into the sort of wealth that most only find amongst Tamriel's nobility. That said, unlike too many of said nobility, his father wasn’t one to let his children become spoilt, idle layabouts that leeched off of the hard work of the folks that worked for Saishir Trading.
To his father’s credit, he also did his best to mould his children into jobs that most suited them. In Darmon’s case, his ‘itchy feet’ as his mother would put it and an easy and charming personality made him best suited to be one of the company’s point men, travelling Tamriel, searching out new products to bring to Hammerfell, buyers for goods coming the other way, making friends and contacts, in both high and low places.
By fourteen Darmon was travelling with his brother on the Sentinel to Anvil run, making friends, opening talks with other trading companies, and by sixteen he was setting off inland, eventually making his way as far as the edges of Morrowind and Black Marsh. At twenty his tiring, but freewheeling, life hit a bit of a hiccup as it was decided that he should be married to cement ties between his family and one of the noble houses of Sentinel. While a drag, he knew the young woman he was to marry and had always considered her a friend.
Though everything else proceeded as planned, all was not without issue. After some awkward confessions on the wedding night, Darmon and his wife Chan came to a few agreements and settled into ‘married’ life, with a lovely woman named Kiarsa as their servant and nanny once their son Limdon was born. While he spends much of his time on the road, both for his job and just because he enjoys the travel, he does his best to return home regularly to keep up with his family.
Currently he’s been in the Imperial City for a few days, overseeing some trade negotiations between Saishir Trading and the Imperial Trading Company. With his dealings having gone well, he decided to spend some time with a lovely lady while most of the city was off at the Arena for the big bout; sadly their plans fell apart rather quickly after the bout was cancelled suddenly and the lady’s father returned home sooner than expected, drunk, angry and with her equally drunk and unhappy fiancee in tow…though Darmon would swear to the Divines that he didn’t know the lady in question was already betrothed.
The two men were in no mood to debate such semantics, so he found himself dropping off a second story balcony and running, most likely for his life. Knowing he couldn’t run forever, he made the fateful decision to try and hide from his pursuers in a local place called ‘Daggerfall Dan’s’. Rushing through the door, he had just enough time to see a breton kid go crashing into a table of off-duty guardsmen…before several hundred pounds of angry, who’d been closer than he realised, hit him from behind.
Ambition
As it stands? He’d like to wrap up his dealings in the Imperial City, he’d had a couple of meetings planned for the day after the big match in the Arena, and then begin making his way back to Sentinel, partially update his mother on things and partially to see his boy.
Name: Darmon Saishir Age: 36 Race: Redguard Appearance: Not a large man by any measure, Darmon stands only about 5’5” and is quite lightly built; Though not a warrior by any means, his life being nearly perpetually ‘on the road’ as it were has kept him quite fit…despite his preference for richer food and drink. Like some redguard, his eyes are dark brown to the point of almost looking black though according to various women, at times they glow a deep rich brown, filled with warmth and charm. For practical reasons he keeps his head shaved, though he forgoes any facial hair because as to quote his own mother ‘It looks like you’ve got a half-drowned skeever pelt on your face.’
Like many of his people, he favours the flowing hoods and robe styles native to his home land; though not overly flashy compared to some of his peers, obvious wealth ‘on the road’ draws bandits like honey draws flies; his only concession is a collection of rings on his fingers. While some are valuable, most are simply one’s he’s found interesting.
Personality: A friendly and outgoing fellow, as any successful merchant should be; he's a man who tries to take work seriously but life, not so much. Growing up a ‘Merchant Prince’ of Sentinel, but spending plenty of time down on the docks, he’s as comfortable drinking in rough taverns with the average folk as he is trading polite nothings with ‘high society’ (though he prefers somewhat more of a middle ground; rough enough to have an actual fun time, but classy enough that people bathe regularly.)
His charming and outgoing nature, and good looks also has a tendency to make him rather popular with many of the women that he crosses paths with..and very unpopular with quite a few of their husbands/fathers/fiancees etc; he’s also fond of ‘justifying’ his actions by saying ”If the man was better at his duties as a partner, the lady wouldn’t have found me nearly as interesting.”
This philosophy has gotten him run out of numerous towns and establishments over the years.
Abilities
Swordsmanship - While he’d be the first to admit he’s no Arena Champion or Companion when it comes to swordplay, Darmon is certainly skilled enough to defend himself from the usual lowlifes, cutthroats or irate spouses he sometimes encounters.
Archery (Crossbow) - Like his swordsmanship, it’s not anything special, but he’s a good enough shot to both defend himself and keep fed between towns.
Hand-to-hand - Not every altercation can, or should, be fought with a live blade. So to keep his face un-broken and his neck off of a headsman's block, he’s a fair hand at fighting with his hands…though he generally does his best to leave if he can.
Merchant Prince - His actual job is all about the deal, finding what folks want, what they might have that you want and then talking and bargaining until both parties reach a happy agreement; it seems simple, but like most things that seem simply, they often rarely are…but the challenge of it is something Darmon enjoys.
Sleight of hand - He was taught by an ex-Thieves Guild man he knew in Sentinel as a boy, and over the years he’s learned a few new tricks in his travels. Though largely used as an ‘ice breaker’ in social moments, what he knows has saved his skin on a few occasions.
Alchemist - Another thing learned for its practicality for someone travelling the length and breadth of Tamriel. Though he only knows a handful of recipes by heart, he knows them quite well, though some more than others.
Potion of Cure Disease Potion of Strength Potion of Healing Potion of Stamina Potion of Escape
Born the second son and third child of the head of the Saishir Trading Company, Sentinel’s third largest trading firm, he was born into the sort of wealth that most only find amongst Tamriel's nobility. That said, unlike too many of said nobility, his father wasn’t one to let his children become spoilt, idle layabouts that leeched off of the hard work of the folks that worked for Saishir Trading.
To his father’s credit, he also did his best to mould his children into jobs that most suited them. In Darmon’s case, his ‘itchy feet’ as his mother would put it and an easy and charming personality made him best suited to be one of the company’s point men, travelling Tamriel, searching out new products to bring to Hammerfell, buyers for goods coming the other way, making friends and contacts, in both high and low places.
By fourteen Darmon was travelling with his brother on the Sentinel to Anvil run, making friends, opening talks with other trading companies, and by sixteen he was setting off inland, eventually making his way as far as the edges of Morrowind and Black Marsh. At twenty his tiring, but freewheeling, life hit a bit of a hiccup as it was decided that he should be married to cement ties between his family and one of the noble houses of Sentinel. While a drag, he knew the young woman he was to marry and had always considered her a friend.
Though everything else proceeded as planned, all was not without issue. After some awkward confessions on the wedding night, Darmon and his wife Chan came to a few agreements and settled into ‘married’ life, with a lovely woman named Kiarsa as their servant and nanny once their son Limdon was born. While he spends much of his time on the road, both for his job and just because he enjoys the travel, he does his best to return home regularly to keep up with his family.
Currently he’s been in the Imperial City for a few days, overseeing some trade negotiations between Saishir Trading and the Imperial Trading Company. With his dealings having gone well, he decided to spend some time with a lovely lady while most of the city was off at the Arena for the big bout; sadly their plans fell apart rather quickly after the bout was cancelled suddenly and the lady’s father returned home sooner than expected, drunk, angry and with her equally drunk and unhappy fiancee in tow…though Darmon would swear to the Divines that he didn’t know the lady in question was already betrothed.
The two men were in no mood to debate such semantics, so he found himself dropping off a second story balcony and running, most likely for his life. Knowing he couldn’t run forever, he made the fateful decision to try and hide from his pursuers in a local place called ‘Daggerfall Dan’s’. Rushing through the door, he had just enough time to see a breton kid go crashing into a table of off-duty guardsmen…before several hundred pounds of angry, who’d been closer than he realised, hit him from behind.
Ambition
As it stands? He’d like to wrap up his dealings in the Imperial City, he’d had a couple of meetings planned for the day after the big match in the Arena, and then begin making his way back to Sentinel, partially update his mother on things and partially to see his boy.
Throwing herself aboard as the airship started to move, dodged and weaved through the other escapees as she made her way forward.
"Zoe, you and anyone who’s not a fighter, make yourselves useful. Spot for obstacles, check for leaks, anything that looks like it could go wrong. If you’re not sure, just yell. It’s better than sitting around."
At least someone is trying to run this show. She thought as she ducked a bit to look out windows as she reached the bridge. The layout was both foreign, this being a military Zeppelin, and familiar, her having years aboard various styles of airships. ”WINDMILL. TEN DEGREES OFF PORT.” She called out, scanning the area. ”WIND SOUTHEAST THREE KNOTS.” She added, looking at a flag near the aforementioned windmill.
Others rushed about, tending to various aspects as she approached the man on the helm. ”Itzi.” She said by way of greeting, scanning the various instruments to get a feel for how things were going. ”You got this? I’m a certified helmsman if you want to spell off.” Though the fellow seemed understandably nervous, all things considered, he appeared to have everything well in hand. Instead of trying to butt in, she simply stood by to assist if needed.
To say things were a tad chaotic at #27s entry was an understatement, but considering the burning city, it was not unexpected. Seeing as no-one seemed to object to her, she turned to start towards one of the mooring lines when some flashy motorcar came barreling in, disgorging some fluttery looking fop, before slamming into gear and charging off toward far mooring lines. As the driver put it in gear, Itzi leapt onto the passenger running board and grabbed a hold.
”HEY!” She called out, pointing to a mooring line. ”Slow and swing by that one, I’ll bail out and get it untied while you get the other!” The driver startled at her sudden arrival, but then nodded and swung towards the direction of her pointing. Slowing the car to a brisk jog, Itzi bailed, intending to hit the ground running…sadly that was not to be.
Her stride was off as she hit, resulting in a stumble; fortunately she was able to catch herself enough so that instead of faceplanting, she merely fell and rolled. Unfortunately, as she rolled, her pistol went flying, landing hard on its backstrap. It impact dislodged the trigger seer and the gun fired once before locking open. ”Mierda…” She muttered as she pulled herself to her feet and retrieved the gun. Closing the action, she tucked it away again before jogging over to the mooring line and unfastening it in short order. Line handling like this was something she could almost do in her sleep. With others seeming to be streaming towards the remaining mooring lines, she headed back towards the gondola and hopefully escape from this damned city.
Itzamatul dodged and weaved through the crowds of panicked people as the sounds of explosions and gunfire rippled through the city. Even as she moved, she did so on a sort of autopilot as the sight of her old ship the Even Giver played over and over. She’d been crew aboard the Zeppelin for almost five years, the longest she’d stayed in one spot since she’d left home…and now it was all gone.
What few personal items she’d owned, several months worth of accumulated pay she’d intended to send to her family, and that crew that’d become her friends…all burned…Hells she’d ‘ve burned with them too if she hadn’t stayed out for an extra beer or three. Her fugue broke as she walked into a stack of crates on the curb having been ‘ejected’ by the flow of the crowd. She had nowhere to actually go, and while ending up in the hands of the Communalists didn’t exactly fill her with joy, mindlessly running about was pointless. Taking a seat, she simply watched the panicked flow and waited, only for a flash of a silhouette down a side street to catch her eye amid the drifting smoke.
THERE! She thought as the smoke shifted again, the tail of a Zeppelin, far down the street. She closed her eyes and thought of the city map she’d poured over not long after the Even Giver had made port. That should be the military port… She didn’t even really have a plan, she just sprang from her seat and started to push towards her new goal. Inbur was a fair sized place and the crowds were thick, but in due time she reached the outer fence of the military port; across the way a Zeppelin sat forgotten #27 painted on her tail. Moving along the fence line, she came to a small man-gate and an empty gatehouse, whoever may have been sent to guard this gate having fled elsewhere. Testing the actual door, she found it locked, but a cursory inspection showed it to be the sort of lock only really suitable for keeping honest sorts out.
Looking about she saw no-one, partially because outside the fence it was a largely industrial area and partially because what people would be here also assumed that a military port would be likely to draw enemy fire. Reaching into the small of her back, she drew her pistol that’d been banging around there since she’d gone out for those beers; now she took careful aim and fired several shots, splintering the wood around the lock before giving the door a few heavy kicks. The wook cracked and the door moved. Another couple of kicks and another shot and the lock broke free of the door and she was in, legging it towards #27. Reaching the Zeppelin, she saw several others, quite a few of them armed. Reaching the gangplank, she made a show of tucking away her (nearly empty) pistol and approaching with her hands visible. ”If you’re leaving, I’m coming with you…I’m a trained Zeppelin helmsman, and I’ve crewed ‘em for years, I can help get her going.”
Name: Itzamatul ‘Itzi’ Ku Gender: Female Age: 30 Nationality: Kingdom of Hunyunak Appearance: Of both average stature and build, with dark brown eyes and jet black hair, Itzi is not uncommonly mistaken for Inburian, at least until she speaks; then her ‘foreign’ accent tends to give her away. With her hair generally in a single thick braid and the hands of someone used to manual work, she favours simple and practical pants and long sleeves. If she happens to be wearing anything that exposes her arms, legs or any of her torso, she’s fairly covered in traditional Ikitani tattoos from collar to wrist to ankle.
What is your job: Pilot/Helmsman by choice, General Labourer by necessity
Backstory: One of many children born to her large family on a farm outside the Hunyunaki capitol, Itzi grew up like many children in her situation did, with little to no formal education and learning to ‘work’ on the farm as soon as she was old enough to be trusted with at least simple tasks. It was a tough life, but not a bad one; the family didn’t have much but they cared for one another and their friends and neighbours as best they could.
One day when she was about 7 or 8 she accompanied a couple of her older siblings on a market trip into the city to sell their produce at market; their father usually did this but he’d taken ill. During that trip she saw her first Zeppelin, a lumbering bulk of a cargo hauler waddling its way into dock; the sight fascinated her and from then on, whenever possible she took to accompanying her father (or whoever else) on sporadic trips into the city. When she was there, she did all she could to talk with Zeppelin crews, asking them not just about what they saw, but just how they did their jobs. Some were less than enthused to be pestered by a child and expressed themselves as much, but others were more forthcoming and humoured her…usually until one of Itzi’s family had to come and drag her away. At fifteen she told her parents of her intention to join one of these crews, not only to fly off to see the world, but so she could send money back home; the only other real future available being staying here to work the farm until being married off to one of a handful of uninspiring local boys; not something she was willing to consign herself to.
At first her parents were more than a little hesitant to let her try, but she pointed out that from her questionings, a basic crewmans wages were better than what the farm made and by now her oldest siblings had children of their own old enough to help around the farm. Eventually they agreed, but only if she could find work within the next few months; Itzi accepted the stipulation and set off to the city a week later.
From friends and contacts in the city she’d already known of an older freighter the ‘Valdez’ that had come into port, with the crew complaining at the bars about running short handed. Bold as anything when she got to the city, she headed straight to the ‘Valdez’ and marched up the gangway to see the captain. While he was understandably hesitant to take on a random girl that’d marched in to see him, he agreed to at least hear her out. Up front, she told him that while she couldn’t read or write, she could cook and clean, was used to hard work and long hours and was willing to learn anything that was asked of her. Eventually he relented and agreed to take her on when the ‘Valdez’ shipped out in a few days; from there she rushed home for a tearful goodbye to her family before setting off.
In the years since she’s proven that despite no formal schooling she is quite smart; learning to read, write and speak several languages, both Zeppelin and aeroplane flying, general Zeppelin maintenance and a host of other duties that are common to ship’s crew. She’s also managed to both keep sending money home and even returns there from time to time, though the Kingdom of Hunyunak isn’t exactly on any major trade routes.
In their opening attacks, Calarian shells struck several warehouses in the commercial port including one next to the Even Giver the Zeppelin she was currently crewing aboard. Unfortunately the warehouse must have been storing volatiles of some kind, as when it was struck it exploded rather spectacularly, with debris sadly shredding the Even Giver and setting the wreckage alight; the only thing that save Itzi was that she ways away enjoying shore leave and was in the process of making her way back (thoroughly broke) when the attack happened. Now like so many others, she finds herself trapped and looking to escape the besieged city of Inbur.
Name: Itzamatul ‘Itzi’ Ku Gender: Female Age: 30 Nationality: Kingdom of Hunyunak Appearance: Of both average stature and build, with dark brown eyes and jet black hair, Itzi is not uncommonly mistaken for Inburian, at least until she speaks; then her ‘foreign’ accent tends to give her away. With her hair generally in a single thick braid and the hands of someone used to manual work, she favours simple and practical pants and long sleeves. If she happens to be wearing anything that exposes her arms, legs or any of her torso, she’s fairly covered in traditional Ikitani tattoos from collar to wrist to ankle.
What is your job: Pilot/Helmsman by choice, General Labourer by necessity
Backstory: One of many children born to her large family on a farm outside the Hunyunaki capitol, Itzi grew up like many children in her situation did, with little to no formal education and learning to ‘work’ on the farm as soon as she was old enough to be trusted with at least simple tasks. It was a tough life, but not a bad one; the family didn’t have much but they cared for one another and their friends and neighbours as best they could.
One day when she was about 7 or 8 she accompanied a couple of her older siblings on a market trip into the city to sell their produce at market; their father usually did this but he’d taken ill. During that trip she saw her first Zeppelin, a lumbering bulk of a cargo hauler waddling its way into dock; the sight fascinated her and from then on, whenever possible she took to accompanying her father (or whoever else) on sporadic trips into the city. When she was there, she did all she could to talk with Zeppelin crews, asking them not just about what they saw, but just how they did their jobs. Some were less than enthused to be pestered by a child and expressed themselves as much, but others were more forthcoming and humoured her…usually until one of Itzi’s family had to come and drag her away. At fifteen she told her parents of her intention to join one of these crews, not only to fly off to see the world, but so she could send money back home; the only other real future available being staying here to work the farm until being married off to one of a handful of uninspiring local boys; not something she was willing to consign herself to.
At first her parents were more than a little hesitant to let her try, but she pointed out that from her questionings, a basic crewmans wages were better than what the farm made and by now her oldest siblings had children of their own old enough to help around the farm. Eventually they agreed, but only if she could find work within the next few months; Itzi accepted the stipulation and set off to the city a week later.
From friends and contacts in the city she’d already known of an older freighter the ‘Valdez’ that had come into port, with the crew complaining at the bars about running short handed. Bold as anything when she got to the city, she headed straight to the ‘Valdez’ and marched up the gangway to see the captain. While he was understandably hesitant to take on a random girl that’d marched in to see him, he agreed to at least hear her out. Up front, she told him that while she couldn’t read or write, she could cook and clean, was used to hard work and long hours and was willing to learn anything that was asked of her. Eventually he relented and agreed to take her on when the ‘Valdez’ shipped out in a few days; from there she rushed home for a tearful goodbye to her family before setting off.
In the years since she’s proven that despite no formal schooling she is quite smart; learning to read, write and speak several languages, both Zeppelin and aeroplane flying, general Zeppelin maintenance and a host of other duties that are common to ship’s crew. She’s also managed to both keep sending money home and even returns there from time to time, though the Kingdom of Hunyunak isn’t exactly on any major trade routes.
In their opening attacks, Calarian shells struck several warehouses in the commercial port including one next to the Even Giver the Zeppelin she was currently crewing aboard. Unfortunately the warehouse must have been storing volatiles of some kind, as when it was struck it exploded rather spectacularly, with debris sadly shredding the Even Giver and setting the wreckage alight; the only thing that save Itzi was that she ways away enjoying shore leave and was in the process of making her way back (thoroughly broke) when the attack happened. Now like so many others, she finds herself trapped and looking to escape the besieged city of Inbur.
Member
Quest Abandoner
ASDAValueMilk
Arthanus
Bastian
Apollosarcher
Knight 7
Krusader
Bartimaeus