Hillan

One Piece: A Golden Age, A Dark Age - The Boozehound Chronicles

Kuhn had found Chester in a dark, dank den. The remnants of an inn. The sign had fallen off during the battle, or perhaps during the aftermath. Inside, the unconscious bodies of men wearing all banners, including that of the kingdom's soldiers, themselves. One could even find a fallen banner of the Balder knights, though. Even though Johannes had gathered all of his men, a few of them had left their tabards behind.
Kuhn opened the saloon two-way door, his spurs jangling as he walked in. The ginger haired young man scratched his cheek.

"Hello?" He asked, his voice echoing, a few grunts were heard from within.

"You in here, cap'n?" He said, louder, now, more grunts were heard followed by a quick
"Keep it down, I'm hungover" before someone turned around on the floor, falling back asleep. The gunner stepped over bodies, working his way into the back of the bar, into the storage room. The backroom was riddled with opened, and emptied kegs of alchol.

There, next to a tankard of beer, perhaps the last in the entire establishment, the blonde, bloodied pirate captain sat. He was so dry from drinking nothing but booze for the past few days that he looked husked out. Kuhn raised his eyes at him.

"Holy shit, Cap'n. You alive?!" The gunner shouted, and Chester mumbled something. Kuhn shook him and Chester was barely responding. Kuhn lifted him up a little, and steadied him against the edge of the barrel, turning around to go get him some water.

As Kuhn turned around, he heard the sound of Chester drinking, turning his heel again, the pirate captain was face-down in the barrel, gulping away, a few gulps, and he lifted the barrel up, tipping it with one hand like a giant glass. The gunner thought to intervene, but as Chester's skin began hydrating again, he thought better off it.

"That's really not how any of that's supposed to work."

Chester held up one finger to indicate he couldn't speak right now. He chugged the rest of the barrel and let out a loud, satisfied burp, that echoed through the entire bar, earning a few cries of mercy from the hungover patrons, who could smell the stench of the beer now, their stomach's turning.

Chester put the keg down, and looked at Kuhn.

"What's up?"

"Azure company backup. Ten ships, at least. Armed heavily. Might have a fight on our hands."

"I do like me a fight." Chester said, wiping his mouth. He put on his boot, jumping on one leg as he couldn't fit his foot into it. Kuhn cleared his through.

"It's the wrong foot. You've got da right boot on da left foot." Kuhn told him, snickering a little.

"Oh, woops." Chester said, jumping out of his other boot, checking that he got it right this time as he jumped with both feet into the boots. Chrome's boots were doing him well, still.

They walked down to the beach and saw the Azura crew pop onto the beach. Kuhn was stern, his hand resting above his revolver. Chester was nonchalant, a little excited to bust some heads.

Once they arrived, the leaders of each boat walked up to them, surrounding them in a semi-circle, and spoke in unison.

"Now that you have beaten the Boss, we henceforth must defeat you ourselves in one on one combat, or waive that right and recognize you as leader!" And they all started bowing, except for one, the one furtherst to the right, whom didn't see his mates, only looking at Chester. A knuckle-duster in his hand, he spoke up

"And therefor, we're gonna beat your as- wait wha- oh." As he too took a knee, and Chester had a big, shit-eating grin on his face.

Elder Momo, the current defacto leader looked up at Chester and spoke, solemnly.
"While the leadership of Cerulean was a great time, following you, Chester, shall be an even greater adventure. Your strength is undoubted, young one. And we will be your servants, as that is the company rule. Your coronoation shall be held as soon as possible, on this island, and then you shall tend to your duties as boss."

Chester didn't hear a word of it, he was too busy being stary-eyed, imagining himself on top of the world. Like, literally. Full classic-pirate getup, cutlass in his hand and his foot on the actual planet, small enough to look like a ball under his foot.

Kuhn joined in with Lina, questioning the logic behind any of this.

"Dis can only bode well." The gunner noted.

One Piece: A Golden Age, A Dark Age - The Boozehound Chronicles

The blue sails were powered by the wind behind them, carrying the dozen or so ships, all of them carrying men and women, all clad in the same shade of blue. Each of them had a unique symbol on the front of the ship, indicating which part of the company they belonged to. The ships were regular galleons, not massive ships, but big enough certainly be intimidating. Each carrying 20 or so men.

They were approaching the island, and as they came into view, ruckus on the island erupted. Both from the remnants of the companies, and the natives of the island. This was an invasion force, and the The Great Horn Archipelago began preparing for another battle, if worse came to worse. And this time, they had no Balder Knights to protect them.

Down by the shore, closer to the breeze, one could find the scatters of the four companies that had fought on the island. Torn pieces of clothes and armors spread across the entire shore, the town square and the city walls. Bottles, glasses and tankards spread every where. Blades, axes and guns were stabbed into walls, the ground, floors and furniture. It looked like the site of both a battlefield and a parade, with no time in between and no time to clean up either.

Down in the town square, the clashing of swords could be heard. The ginger-haired gunner was without his coat for once, wearing only his dress-shirt on his torso. Riding boots without the spurs on his feet and his black dress-pants with suspenders hanging over his waist for leasure. His right hand was gloved, his left without glove, instead holding the hilt of a rapier. His brown leather hat crowning his head, blocking the sun from reaching his red-ish eyes. His gaze was stuck on the two opponents on the other side of the small circle that had been drawn on the ground, each of them carrying a rapier, too.

"Let's go." He commanded the two, one wearing green, the other wearing yellow. They were swordsmen of the companies, and Kuhn had asked them to duel him with swords.

The traded blows, Kuhn performing excellently despite the sword being far from his favorite way of doing battle. But he considered fencing more of a dance than a art of war, flowing excellently he was able to strike points on both of the other combatants, forcing them out of the ring and earning both a technical win and a ring out.

"Well done, chaps. You should mind da footwork next time." The gunner spoke, softly, and the two company-grunts nodded, panting out of exhaustion and holding their shallow wounds on their arms and legs, wincing in pain.

Kuhn was clearing his blade on his sleeve when he looked to the horizon and saw the blue sails.

"Dis better be gud." He spoke, turning heel, tossing the blade into the ground, grabbing his gunbelt and coat from the chair next to him, tossing the coat around his arms and putting on the gunbelt, holding both the revolver and shotgun.

He was going to call on Chester, they might have yet another fight on their hands.

The Blighted Kingdom

I will try to post something soon. My eye is currently bothering me at the moment and I am getting it checked out tomorrow.

@Mao Mao

Remove it from the socket and eat it.

To establish dominance.

One Piece: A Golden Age, A Dark Age - The Boozehound Chronicles

Chester had heard the murmurs of Johannes and the King, but he hadn't paid much attention, walking away, without saying a word. The brawler found himself a few boxes of unopened beer in the vault, next to crates of crushed scotch and he got a sour look on his face and muttered "Shoulda hit Cerulean harder for that..." He chugged one bottle, and then started working on the next one, when his ears grew bigger, hearing Lina talk about him, and his defeat of Cerulean.

Boss Chester His eyes shot out of his skull, stars in them at the prospect. Finally, an army for himself to rule over! The minions recognizing his greatness and his true power. Now he could conquer the world! Bend the military to it's knees with but a thought! With loyal soldiers by his side, nobody could stand his way! He pose grandiously as he shouted, arms to either side of him, flexing as he took a deep breath, yelling so loud it shook the castle itself.

"BOSS CHESTER, BABY!"

"As my first decree as boss of Azura Company, Let's get this damn festival starteeeed!!" He exclaimed, patting Lina and the king on the back, ushering them to enter the courtyard. Walking through the castle, he found Kuhn coming towards him, reloading his shotgun from firing it at some of the remaining fighting forces.

"You shot any blue guys?" Chester asked, and Kuhn nodded.

"Only the ones who tried to fight."

"Don't shoot my guys, Gunner!" Chester barked and him and Kuhn looked puzzled

"... Your guys, Cap'n?", quickly being filled in by the others on the situation and he swiftly placed his palm on his face, cursing under his breath.

"Figures Chester'd end up getting deeper into this mess." He plainly said, weary of the adventures on the island. He just wanted to get back to the Breeze and get to move on from here. He needed some relaxation.

And the island as a whole agreed, the festivities erupting and soon soldiers from all of the companies chatted, drank and danced with the soldiers of the kingdom.
Chester had told them all that over a drink, any difference can be overcome. Any conflict can be solved. Perhaps showing a glimpse at the source of his strength.

Or perhaps it was just the thoughts of a man who's had one grog too many, or hundreds.

The Blighted Kingdom

Alvar

"LUCKY"

---

^{Alvar Lucious ◼ September 11th (19) ◼ Male ◼ Streets Of Vassidia}

^{"The Lost Sons of Vassidia? Yeah. Lost in it's back alleys and gutters."}

▼ A P P E A R A N C E:

---

^{"I do pretty well for myself."}

Alvar is a rough looking young man. He's dirty, covered in mud, wearing tattered clothes and usually got a stain or two of dried blood on him. The dirt stains his olive skin, darkening his features. His hair is a light brown, and his eyes match. Sharp features, yet not so much that one could call him 'boyishly handsome'. He's got a rugged feel to him but he seems to be all edge on the outside. The scars, the scowl and the burning fire inside of his eyes. He moves with a swagger and determination only the young have, convinced that he could change the world if he wanted to. That, or burn it all down.

He wears simple clothes, tattered and often passed down from his many big brothers in the gang. If he's wearing a piece of paraphernalia that used to belong to one of his brothers, he has a little extra pride in his step, for he knows he's carrying their legacy with him.

Alvar's voice booms, it isn't particularly deep, but he speaks from the gut, projecting beyond his 5'9 size and 110 pound stature, his lean figure can appear a lot more menacing with an iron pipe in his hand or a knife pulled from his pocket. Alvar's, by all accounts, a thug. And that's well displayed when he barks orders like a commander in the middle of a battle at his boys.

The boy is a pragmatist, and a fighter at that. And everyone around him can tell everything there is to know about him as soon as he walks into the room. A good for nothing thug.

▼ B I O G R A P H Y:

---

^{"Grew up mean."}

Alvars parents were truly, inconsequential to his life. Who they were would come to bear no meaning to him, for, see, the only thing they ever truly did for him was die. His father died two weeks after Alvar was born. Picked a fight while drunk, assaulted the guards and got a crossbow bolt through his chest for his troubles. Two people came to his funeral besides Alvar and his mother, Beatrice. They were there to collect Jacques gambling debts. Beatrice had nothing, but what little she had, she gave to Alvar. She was a good mother, too young to mother anyone, barely out of childhood herself. But the streets demand sacrifice and she was willing to do anything to protect her son as mothers do.

That's what got her killed. She wasn't murdered, taken capture or anything of the kind. She simple died from not taking care of herself. Her heart gave out one morning when Alvar was six years old. He found her, cold as the night. And since, he thought he would always be alone. The one person he had known was dead, and that's not an easy thing to wrap your head around as a human. Even less when you're a child.

He was an orphan. On the streets of Vassidia's slums. Sure, there were orphanages, but they were packed to capacity, mostly only taking in little girls, leaving the boys to fend for themselves. Inner-city crime was at an all time high and robberies and murders was a massive problem for the poorest in the capital. He somehow survived, on his own, for almost an entire year. He stole bread, he drank dirty water and he got really fast at running. Till one day, he got into trouble with a gang of older kids. They were hitting him, four on one. Kicking him on the ground and as he was gonna pass out and surely die, he was saved by a kid the same size as the older kids, maybe 14 years old. He came swinging at them with an iron pipe, knocking one of the kids teeth out. He saved Alvar, his name was Yoseth. He would become Alvar's first friend, and the one who introduced him to the Lost Sons Of Vassidia, the gang of orphans who had created a brotherhood, a safe-haven for lost kids like them. Those who had no one. For under the roof of the run down chapel that was their spot, they had a home.

And in the chapel, they were brothers.

Over the years, the Lost Sons would grow in rank, 20 or so kids. Alvar ended up somewhere in the middle of the age group, he had little brothers and big brothers, and soon they would come to look to Yoseth as the de facto leader, he was the biggest, strongest, smartest and bravest of them. He'd lead them into brawls with the other gangs. He'd help them raise their little brothers, Yoseth would teach all of the brothers how to stitch clothes, wounds and change diapers on the few babies that were around.

He was truly a great man, and four years ago, like most great men do. He died.

He was killed. In a fight, something as stupid as a rock, to the side of the head. A one in a billion freak-toss. It was the perhaps that final concussion he needed to shutdown. But Yoseth died, and Alvar and all of the brothers cried. His younger brothers looked to Alvar for leadership, and ever since, he's lead the Lost Sons Of Vassidia. They're 14 men strong, and a band of outlaws doing everything from cons to serving as hired muscle. They collect debts and they fight every other gang in the city - and there's a lot of them.

Of course, the stone blight would restructure their ability to exist. It's even taken a couple of their brothers. Alvar was caught by the city guards, and brought to the Royal Warlock Aborran. That wasn't usually what happened to urchin thugs who got caught by the guards. They usually got beaten up and sent back into the street after a few nights of no food and barely any water in the jail.

After his meeting with Aborran, Alvar decides to join the hunt for a cure to the blight. He bids his brothers farewell for the time being, and promises them that when he returns, they'll be kings.

▼ C H A R A C T E R G O A L S:

---

^{"I didn't just get roof over my head. I found a family. A home."}

While Alvar knows the inner city streets like the back of his hand, he's never set foot outside of the capital. He knows nothing of the world, and he's definitely there to explore it. The adventure is appealing to him, but he's got a greater goal in pure monetary compensation. Becoming a legendary hero who saves the country from the curse that turns people into statutes would come with perks. Perks like being able to elevate the Lost Sons into kings. He wants to provide for his family, in the only way he knows how. By doing something really, really stupid.

▼ S K I L L S:

---

^{"My foot wanted to meet your ass, and I'm about to give them a crossbow wedding!"}

//SKILLS AND ABILITIES:

◼ Street Fighting | Alvar's a brawler by heart. He's got no martial training, he's not an exceedingly large young man, and carries no extraordinary strength or skills to speak off. But the guy makes do with what he has. He's passable with a sword and a crossbow, but really exceeds in makeshift weaponry. Pipes, sticks and other 'junk' are his weapons of choice. He's certainly not opposed to punching someone in the face, either.

◼ Thievery | He learnt how to steal, how to pick a pocket and other sleight of hand tricks since he was a child. He's also grown into quite the con man, spinning tall tales when fists just won't cut it. The kid's extraordinarily nimble and an excellent climber. Able to climb and maneuver places that many would consider impossible to traverse.

◼ Survival | As the leader of the Lost Sons of Vassidia, Alvar's developed excellent leadership skills. He's able to access situations from his gangs capabilities, understanding who should do what in any given situation, able to make fast decisions and sometimes rash ones. Saving his own and the life of his brothers at any given turn. He's picked up basic first aid, sewing and other necessary skills over the years. Though, he'd much rather pick scabs than stitch wounds.

◼ Untapped Magical Potential | Aborran insists that he could sense immense magical potential in the young Alvar. That it manifests itself in Alvar being incredibly lucky, a constant fluctuation of probability, skewing the odds in Alvar's favor. Certainly not a unheard of thing for people to possess, but it definitely pissed the young boy off to learn.

//FEARS AND WEAKNESSES:

◼ Animals | Specifically bigger animals. Alvar's a big city guy. If it's bigger than a dog, he's gonna be sacred of it. That includes completely non-hostile animals. He sees a deer, and he's gonna be very, very worried about it eating him.

◼ Temper | Like all young men, Alvar's greatest enemy is himself. His temper gets the best of him at times and he leaves his head behind. Coming out swinging isn't always the best approach, something he's got plenty of scars to show for.

◼ Religious fundamentalists | True believers in a god? Creepy.

◼ Luck | Alvar's been told he's incredibly lucky. He's deeply worried that one day, his luck's gonna run out and things are gonna get even worse than they are.

▼ N O T E S:

---

//PARAPHERNALIA

^{"What do you mean 'I don't look like I belong here'. You wanna fight me?!"}

◼ Broadsword | Basic broadsword stolen from the city guards a long time ago.

◼ Backpack | Carries the necessities. Plus a light snack, a drink and needle and thread. For qounds or patching clothes.

◼ Leather Armor | A hardened leather jacket and bracers. Protects him from glancing blows from swords and arrows alike.

◼ Deck of cards| Trick deck that's got marked cards.

◼ Dagger | He carries a small, serrated dagger on his person at all times. Either in his boot or in his sleeve.

◼ Head of a bolt | Perhaps a reminder, or a warning. The metal head of a crossbow bolt hangs around his neck.

Hillan's Parade Of Characters

"LUCKY"

---

^{Alvar Lucious ◼ September 11th (19) ◼ Male ◼ Streets Of Vassidia}

^{"The Lost Sons of Vassidia? Yeah. Lost in it's back alleys and gutters."}

▼ A P P E A R A N C E:

---

^{"I do pretty well for myself."}

Alvar is a rough looking young man. He's dirty, covered in mud, wearing tattered clothes and usually got a stain or two of dried blood on him. The dirt stains his olive skin, darkening his features. His hair is a light brown, and his eyes match. Sharp features, yet not so much that one could call him 'boyishly handsome'. He's got a rugged feel to him but he seems to be all edge on the outside. The scars, the scowl and the burning fire inside of his eyes. He moves with a swagger and determination only the young have, convinced that he could change the world if he wanted to. That, or burn it all down.

He wears simple clothes, tattered and often passed down from his many big brothers in the gang. If he's wearing a piece of paraphernalia that used to belong to one of his brothers, he has a little extra pride in his step, for he knows he's carrying their legacy with him.

Alvar's voice booms, it isn't particularly deep, but he speaks from the gut, projecting beyond his 5'9 size and 110 pound stature, his lean figure can appear a lot more menacing with an iron pipe in his hand or a knife pulled from his pocket. Alvar's, by all accounts, a thug. And that's well displayed when he barks orders like a commander in the middle of a battle at his boys.

The boy is a pragmatist, and a fighter at that. And everyone around him can tell everything there is to know about him as soon as he walks into the room. A good for nothing thug.

▼ B I O G R A P H Y:

---

^{"Grew up mean."}

Alvars parents were truly, inconsequential to his life. Who they were would come to bear no meaning to him, for, see, the only thing they ever truly did for him was die. His father died two weeks after Alvar was born. Picked a fight while drunk, assaulted the guards and got a crossbow bolt through his chest for his troubles. Two people came to his funeral besides Alvar and his mother, Beatrice. They were there to collect Jacques gambling debts. Beatrice had nothing, but what little she had, she gave to Alvar. She was a good mother, too young to mother anyone, barely out of childhood herself. But the streets demand sacrifice and she was willing to do anything to protect her son as mothers do.

That's what got her killed. She wasn't murdered, taken capture or anything of the kind. She simple died from not taking care of herself. Her heart gave out one morning when Alvar was six years old. He found her, cold as the night. And since, he thought he would always be alone. The one person he had known was dead, and that's not an easy thing to wrap your head around as a human. Even less when you're a child.

He was an orphan. On the streets of Vassidia's slums. Sure, there were orphanages, but they were packed to capacity, mostly only taking in little girls, leaving the boys to fend for themselves. Inner-city crime was at an all time high and robberies and murders was a massive problem for the poorest in the capital. He somehow survived, on his own, for almost an entire year. He stole bread, he drank dirty water and he got really fast at running. Till one day, he got into trouble with a gang of older kids. They were hitting him, four on one. Kicking him on the ground and as he was gonna pass out and surely die, he was saved by a kid the same size as the older kids, maybe 14 years old. He came swinging at them with an iron pipe, knocking one of the kids teeth out. He saved Alvar, his name was Yoseth. He would become Alvar's first friend, and the one who introduced him to the Lost Sons Of Vassidia, the gang of orphans who had created a brotherhood, a safe-haven for lost kids like them. Those who had no one. For under the roof of the run down chapel that was their spot, they had a home.

And in the chapel, they were brothers.

Over the years, the Lost Sons would grow in rank, 20 or so kids. Alvar ended up somewhere in the middle of the age group, he had little brothers and big brothers, and soon they would come to look to Yoseth as the de facto leader, he was the biggest, strongest, smartest and bravest of them. He'd lead them into brawls with the other gangs. He'd help them raise their little brothers, Yoseth would teach all of the brothers how to stitch clothes, wounds and change diapers on the few babies that were around.

He was truly a great man, and four years ago, like most great men do. He died.

He was killed. In a fight, something as stupid as a rock, to the side of the head. A one in a billion freak-toss. It was the perhaps that final concussion he needed to shutdown. But Yoseth died, and Alvar and all of the brothers cried. His younger brothers looked to Alvar for leadership, and ever since, he's lead the Lost Sons Of Vassidia. They're 14 men strong, and a band of outlaws doing everything from cons to serving as hired muscle. They collect debts and they fight every other gang in the city - and there's a lot of them.

Of course, the stone blight would restructure their ability to exist. It's even taken a couple of their brothers. Alvar was caught by the city guards, and brought to the Royal Warlock Aborran. That wasn't usually what happened to urchin thugs who got caught by the guards. They usually got beaten up and sent back into the street after a few nights of no food and barely any water in the jail.

After his meeting with Aborran, Alvar decides to join the hunt for a cure to the blight. He bids his brothers farewell for the time being, and promises them that when he returns, they'll be kings.

▼ C H A R A C T E R G O A L S:

---

^{"I didn't just get roof over my head. I found a family. A home."}

While Alvar knows the inner city streets like the back of his hand, he's never set foot outside of the capital. He knows nothing of the world, and he's definitely there to explore it. The adventure is appealing to him, but he's got a greater goal in pure monetary compensation. Becoming a legendary hero who saves the country from the curse that turns people into statutes would come with perks. Perks like being able to elevate the Lost Sons into kings. He wants to provide for his family, in the only way he knows how. By doing something really, really stupid.

▼ S K I L L S:

---

^{"My foot wanted to meet your ass, and I'm about to give them a crossbow wedding!"}

//SKILLS AND ABILITIES:

◼ Street Fighting | Alvar's a brawler by heart. He's got no martial training, he's not an exceedingly large young man, and carries no extraordinary strength or skills to speak off. But the guy makes do with what he has. He's passable with a sword and a crossbow, but really exceeds in makeshift weaponry. Pipes, sticks and other 'junk' are his weapons of choice. He's certainly not opposed to punching someone in the face, either.

◼ Thievery | He learnt how to steal, how to pick a pocket and other sleight of hand tricks since he was a child. He's also grown into quite the con man, spinning tall tales when fists just won't cut it. The kid's extraordinarily nimble and an excellent climber. Able to climb and maneuver places that many would consider impossible to traverse.

◼ Survival | As the leader of the Lost Sons of Vassidia, Alvar's developed excellent leadership skills. He's able to access situations from his gangs capabilities, understanding who should do what in any given situation, able to make fast decisions and sometimes rash ones. Saving his own and the life of his brothers at any given turn. He's picked up basic first aid, sewing and other necessary skills over the years. Though, he'd much rather pick scabs than stitch wounds.

◼ Untapped Magical Potential | Aborran insists that he could sense immense magical potential in the young Alvar. That it manifests itself in Alvar being incredibly lucky, a constant fluctuation of probability, skewing the odds in Alvar's favor. Certainly not a unheard of thing for people to possess, but it definitely pissed the young boy off to learn.

//FEARS AND WEAKNESSES:

◼ Animals | Specifically bigger animals. Alvar's a big city guy. If it's bigger than a dog, he's gonna be sacred of it. That includes completely non-hostile animals. He sees a deer, and he's gonna be very, very worried about it eating him.

◼ Temper | Like all young men, Alvar's greatest enemy is himself. His temper gets the best of him at times and he leaves his head behind. Coming out swinging isn't always the best approach, something he's got plenty of scars to show for.

◼ Religious fundamentalists | True believers in a god? Creepy.

◼ Luck | Alvar's been told he's incredibly lucky. He's deeply worried that one day, his luck's gonna run out and things are gonna get even worse than they are.

▼ N O T E S:

---

//PARAPHERNALIA

^{"What do you mean 'I don't look like I belong here'. You wanna fight me?!"}

◼ Broadsword | Basic broadsword stolen from the city guards a long time ago.

◼ Backpack | Carries the necessities. Plus a light snack, a drink and needle and thread. For qounds or patching clothes.

◼ Leather Armor | A hardened leather jacket and bracers. Protects him from glancing blows from swords and arrows alike.

◼ Deck of cards| Trick deck that's got marked cards.

◼ Dagger | He carries a small, serrated dagger on his person at all times. Either in his boot or in his sleeve.

◼ Head of a bolt | Perhaps a reminder, or a warning. The metal head of a crossbow bolt hangs around his neck.

The Blighted Kingdom

@Roman if you need help with the Gming. I volunteer as tribute, I mean obviously if someone better than me Volunteers they are more important.

@Sep

Someone better than you did.

Love you bud.

The Blighted Kingdom

Papa's home.

Blighted Kingdom - Looking for Players & Co-GM Partner !

I'm down to clown.

Absolute Comics - Justice Rising

The near Apocalypse of '09 was a decade and change late to the party, is all.