Malice

A Royal's New War - EntertainMe & Malice

“That would… Be relieving. Thank you,” The prince admitted. Magic was clearly something that was important, not just to the elves, but the Lyra herself. His heather coloured eyes fell to the car; he could not imagine being asked to live in a world without the technology he had grown up with, that he understood and accepted as his culture. For that reason he, nor anyone from Anjou, could ask the elves to give up magic.

Having someone around who understood his aversion for magic, someone who would help him learn to accept it, perhaps even to be fascinated by it, was a huge consolation.

August was jolted from his thoughts as Lyra wrapped her fingers around his own and he looked back up at her. Rather than pulling away, August let Lyra take his hand, his false one and felt a twinge of sorrow as realisation and heartbreak blossomed over the princess’ features. Her finding out about his arm was an inevitability, but he had not wished it to go like this.

August did not nurture pity for his wound; so many of his comrades had lost their lives, so he felt himself lucky, in many ways, to have ‘only’ lost a limb. He could see, however, that Lyra felt his loss keenly; it was not one of misaligned sympathy, but grief for everything the war had cost them both. It was the poignant recognition that the humans had been scarred, grievously, by the elves’ actions, as much as they had been by them.

“Do not apologise, Lyra,” August said softly, “it is what it is. I do not wish to look in to the past, where I was hurt; I would rather look to the future. Will you look with me? Will you help me build a future for our people that is bright and magnificent and free from pain?”

As Lyra let go of his hand, the prince hesitated in thought before removing his fine leather gloves. He still felt self-conscious of the gun-metal grey of his right hand, but he had nothing to hide. Lyra had held his hand up to her face, the gesture tender, and August had watched, unable to feel her warmth. The prosthetic was excellently made and restored most of his lost function, but it did not restore any sensation. Although he had full control over the false limb, it sometimes it felt as if it were someone else’s. It was cold and numb, every bit a machine where he was organic.

August wanted to feel the touch of Lyra, of his future wife. He wanted to feel her fingers when she clasped the bracelet about his wrist, to share in that connection she had felt when she held his right hand.

“Of course,” August removed the time piece necklace from its box, draping the chain across metal fingers, ready to place it around Lyra’s neck before offering her his left hand.

The Doors of Janus [ Malice / Vox ]

The sparking at Lokkir’s hand caused Aeris to leap to her feet, her worst fears confirmed; the wedding was a farce, designed to embarrass Qaeltine; and now the Crown Princess, the heir to the throne, was locked alone in a room with a Hudvalri perjurer whose fingers were crackling with arcane energy.

A mockery and a murder

Aeris’ hand went to the dagger concealed beneath the voluptuous folds of her dress, bringing it into a defensive stance. Before she could strike, Lokkir’s light was extinguished and his demeanour seemed to change. Aeris’ fingers shifted on the handle of the blade, not letting it go, but she allowed her defence to drop, if only a little. Her muscles were still tense, adrenaline still surged through her veins and she did not trust the flow of his fingers. But she hesitated, enough to hear her husband out.

As Lokkir spoke, Aeris’ eyebrows knit together is confusion and disbelief. After the revelation and the albeit brief, startling aetheric display, the princess found herself on edge and unable to have faith in his words. She took a deep breath through her nose.

She had too trust him.

Aeris could not tell if the decision was foolish, one that might lead to the dissolution of peace between the Kingdoms, but she risked much the same if she refused to believe him, too. Aeris was as war weary as all the people of Qaeltine and Hudvalr combined; as difficult as it was to do, she wanted to trust Lokkir. She wanted peace for the Kingdoms, but just as much, she wanted peace for herself.

Aeris doubted she would ever love the man, but she sincerely hoped she could at least live with him.

“So,” the princess began slowly, still trying to make sense of Lokkir, of who he was, of what he was, “you are… My husband? This is… You are not here to make a fool of me? Of Qaeltine?” The doubt was evident in her tone, but she was trying to understand. Aeris shook her head, unsure of her next steps. She had known the evening would be uncomfortable, but she had not expected this, she had not expected the politics to continue into their bedroom.

Aeris looked down at the dagger in her hand and then looked at her husband. In a fluid movement, she flipped the weapon, so that the blade was held between her fingers; she offered the handle to Lokkir.

“Here,” Aeris mumbled, unable to meet Lokkir’s eyes. By surrendering her blade she was opening herself to harm; as a decorated soldier, Aeris was never truly defenceless, but this was as close as she would get. She was making herself vulnerable in an attempt to show Lokkir that she was listening, that the peace was important to her too. Without a weapon, Lokkir and his ability to twist and bind the aether was at the advantage, and Aeris knew that he would know this also. Aeris was tired; both from the day, but also from fighting. She wanted to rest, to sleep.

Aeris chewed her bottom lip, considering something. She nodded, more to herself than to her husband, her mind set on her idea, and sat back on the edge of the bed, fingers fumbling with the laces and buckles of her boots. Soon, she was pulling them off and throwing them to the corner of the room discarded, starting on the next clasp, the next lace, of her bodice. Slipping out of her wedding dress, she discarded that too, standing before Lokkir in nothing more than her undergarments. Her body was marred with scars from fighting; deep cuts and burns and scars that were still healing. So scantily clad, her right arm was completely displayed; the skin seemed raw where her stump slipped into the prosthetic, brass bolts screwed into the flesh, the raw connection between technology and biology.

“It… It seemed only fair,” Aeris said with a noncommittal shrug, as if she were stripping down in front of her comrades and not an effective stranger. “So,” she continued, removing the last articles of clothing and climbing onto the centre of the large, double bed, “please, Lokkir. I… Explain this to me. Help me understand. You… Peace seems as important to you as it does to me. I fear there may be times when we are the only allied force in this peace treaty. I-I want to work with you, not against you.” Aeris dug the fingers of her organic hand into the soft sheets of the bed, rubbing the fabric between her knuckles, taking small comfort in the silky feeling. “I feel that you want the same, but… It does appear that we do have a problem. How do your propose we solve the issue of an heir?”

Don't Fear the Reaper (shy and Malice)

死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ stood back, watching as Lee pulled herself away from the road and onto the pavement. They were quiet in their curiosity, observing how the woman dealt with her very near experience with death.

Lee would not know just how near that experience was. She was supposed to be dead; 死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ knew that much, they knew that they should have untangled her soul from the threads of mortality and set her free. But 死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ had not and so Lee lived still.

“Hello, Lee,” 死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ spoke in that ethereal voice, one difficult to place but soft and calming, “perhaps you know me. Who do you think I am?” 死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ did not know who they might be appearing to Lee as; even if they had had chance to stare into a mirror, 死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ would have appeared to themselves as they always did. They wondered who, or what, was important enough to Lee that she would see them as she died.

Or in this case, didn’t.

The wind blew down the street, echoing between the buildings and scattering leaves and litter. 死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ did not shiver; they did not feel the cold on their plane between worlds. 死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ had no idea what was to come; they had never not reaped a soul before, nor did they of any who had failed in their task. Reaping souls was all 死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ existed for, and by allowing Lee to live they were defying their very purpose.

What was a reaper who did not reap?

死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ could not say why they had done what they did, but they were glad they had.

They rested their gaze on Lee inquisitively.

“Tell me, Lee; what is it like to live?”

Lostman Grafitti [Character Driven Urban Fantasy]

Just throwing in to say I'm still potentially interested in this; I've just been busy so haven't had much time to really develop a character/power set properly. I've got a couple of ideas, but can't really think of the 'why'.

I'd still be interested in having a death seer type of character, but, why someone would want that power I'm less sure of. Also how much influence would the character have on this? Would they be able to effect the time of death, or the outcome somehow?

Otherwise, some brief, half-realised concepts; the ability to literally see the demons that haunt people (the loss of someone you love, that bad thing you did years ago, etc.,), the idea that someone's thoughts are tattooed on their skin (so even if a person acts kind and friendly, if their inner dialogue is callous it will be seen) or... There was something to do with moths, but I can't really remember it now; I think it was something like a moth representing a person, following them around, and you can suggest things to the moth to change someone's mind, or crush it and the person dies, etc.

But, with all of them, as I said, less sure of a 'why' other than morbid curiosity, which isn't enough for this roleplay.

The Doors of Janus [ Malice / Vox ]

Aeris’ eyes narrowed, and a scowl formed on her lips. From a window, high up in the mansion that was now to be her home, she watched a parade of dragons make their way towards the building. It was a grotesque display of arrogance and power. Aeris pointed two mechanical fingers, mimicking a gun, at the unsuspecting figures below, and closed one eye as if to take aim.

“Bang.” She muttered under her breath. It was fortunate that she was alone in the room and that the people sat astride the great, scaly beasts could not see her from this distance. It was hardly an appropriate action, to mime a sniping, for a bride to take against her future husband. Or for the Qaeltine Princess to take against the Kingdom’s new, supposed allies.

Her brother, the holy priest, would have berated her, saying that the state of the country was too fragile for such childish aggressions. The peace treaty was balanced on a knife edge, and any slight might be enough to tip the two Kingdoms back in to bloody war.

But Xeriph had always been a better diplomat than either Aeris or their other brother, her twin, Aerin. Aeris had always felt he was wasted as the youngest child, rather than the one who would, in time, take the helm of the country. Aeris knew Qaeltine would flourish under Xeriph’s rule; he would secure peace and prosperous trade. He was the King Who Was Never Meant to Be.

Instead, the duty fell to Aeris. Even if she and Aerin had both abdicated, paving the way for Xeriph, he could not, and would not, take the throne. Xeriph was married to the Gods and he would claim he had no role in bringing Qaeltine into a golden age. It was not his fate or destiny, he was state, as if the future were a simple matter of fact and not lined with cut throat politics and warfare.

Aeris put a hand, her organic one, to her forehead with a sigh. She was a natural born leader when it came to the battlefield; less so in the courts. Aeris had yelled and screamed and cried, acting most unladylike when she had been informed of the role she was to play in the peace between Qaeltine and Hudvalr. She had begged her mother, the ruling Queen, to find another solution, but Kelis had been adamant. Kelis was a loving mother, if somewhat absent in the advent of her taking the throne, but her duty to the Kingdom had always come before all else, including her children.

Aeris did not believe the marriage would secure anything but unhappiness for herself. She was sure the civilians of both Kingdoms would see it as little more than pomp and ceremony, a flimsy union built on desperation and falsehoods. Even if, somehow, this marriage was the key to long lasting peace between the Kingdoms, she was the wrong person for it. Unfortunately, she was the only one; Aerin was already married to another noble, Xeriph to the Gods and Kelis, widowed many years ago, refused to take another husband, claiming it would disrupt the already delicate power dynamics in play.

There was a gentle knock at the door, jolting Aeris from her thoughts. She looked up, uttering a frustrated,

“Come in.”

The door open and Aerin stepped in. Her twin, her best friend, her comrade. Her Demon Knight. Aeris stepped up and the pair embraced.

“Ah, Aeris, you look…” Aerin faltered for words, a grin playing on his lips. Aeris gave a huff of annoyance.

“Ridiculous. I look ridiculous, Aerin,” she shot back, eliciting a laugh from the other. There were to be two wedding ceremonies held today, one of Hudvalr and the other Qaeltine. Aeris was dressed in a long, flowing robe in jewel tones; the traditional wedding garb of the opposing nation. It was too loose, offering no support, and Aeris felt she was drowning in the fabric every time she made to move.

“Maybe, sister dear, but you also look beautiful,” Aerin leant forward to place a gentle kiss on his twin’s forehead. “What you are doing today? I know it is not easy for you; but it is a great thing.” Aeris folded her arms, looking away.

“Time will tell,” she responded flatly. Aerin offered her a sympathetic smile.

“Come on now. I have been told to fetch you for some of the preparations,” he paused, a mischievous glint in his eye, “if nothing else, there will be plenty to drink.”

Aeris laughed then, for what felt like the first time since this marriage had been arranged. Taking Aerin’s arm, she allowed herself to be led from the room and towards what was the mark the beginning of the rest of her life.

★·.·´¯`·.·★

The rest of the day passed in a busy blur. Aeris spoken with so many people, some she knew and others she had never seen before, that she felt her throat might give out before the day was done. She was pushed from place to place with barely a moment to breath. The only constant was Aerin who, as promised, ensured there was a steady supply of drink for her.

The first ceremony, the Hudvalr one, was the first time Aeris met her husband. Lokkir, was his name and Aeris noted with some interest the prosthetic eye, which bore the clear hallmarks of Qaeltine design. The ceremony itself was simple enough, although Aeris faltered over the vows spoken in a non-native tongue. She disliked the gaudy display that followed, with its dazzling array of aetheric lights.

It reminded Aeris far too much of the displays of arcane power she had encountered in the field.

Aeris was relieved, however, when it came time to prepare for the second ceremony and change into Qaeltine attire. Even though she had never worn these particular garments on, they felt familiar and gave her comfort as she slipped them on. The clothing could not be more different from the relaxed design of what she wore for the Hudvalr ceremony. The dress she wore was a cornflower blue, accented with black, metal clasps; the waist was cinched tight and the front of the skirt was buckled high to reveal long legs clad in dark leather boots. Her hair was braided up with jewelled pins, and she wore a hate, the same shade as her dress, to which was attached a short veil that covered her face.

A Qaeltine ceremony was more elaborate that what Aeris had experienced from the one from Hudvalr. Normally it would have been held in a holy building, but with Caenfleur still being rebuilt, the ceremony was held in the newly-weds’ mansion instead, with Xeriph presiding over events. The guests would gather around, being expected to shout words of encouragement or sing praises to the Gods while the new couple took part in what Aeris felt was bizarre set of rituals. They would speak their vows, their promises to one another, and sign these with green ink. The parchment would then be burnt and the ashes mixed with blood taken from a shallow cut made to the palm of their non-dominant hand. This mixture was then used to draw an ancient symbol of prosperity on the foreheads of the wedding couple. The couple were then to raise a chalice filled with wine, and help the other drink from it, before this was then passed around to all those gathered to sip from. Finally, there was a dance, of sorts, where the bride would dance with the guests who were there for her husband, and he with hers.

Aeris did not pretend to understand the symbolism of it all, although she was sure Xeriph could provide her an hour-long lecture had she been so inclined. It was a ridiculous waste of time as far as she could tell, but the Qaeltine guests appeared to appreciate it.

With the ceremonies finished, all that remained was the so called after-party, or what Aeris believed to be little more than an excuse for the many people gathered there to get blind drunk. Had she not been the bride, had she been standing with them rather than before them, Aeris would have drank them all under the table. Despite Aerin regularly appearing to place a flute of something strong in her hands, Aeris did not have the luxury of drowning her hatred for the day in her drink. With what she knew was to come at the end of the day, Aeris felt the pang of sobriety ever more keenly.

★·.·´¯`·.·★

In a time that was far too soon for Aeris’ comfort, the frivolities, much like the day, drew to an end. Unfortunately, for Aeris there was still one final task to be taken care of for her wedding day to be considered complete.

Aeris walked with her new husband through the corridors, the silence between them awkward but not entirely unpleasant. Lokkir seemed to distract themselves with the architecture of the manor, but Aeris found herself too lost in her own discomfort to pay attention to anything outside of her mind.

It was not that Aeris had never lay with a man before, a fact that would incense her mother if she knew. It was not fear of a first time, but fear of a stranger; of someone who, less than a year ago, she would have slaughtered on the spot without a second thought. Although the peace treaty had come in to place eight months ago, Aeris still felt an emotional whip-lash at how she was supposed to treat and feel about her husband, still struggling to replace ‘enemy’ with ‘lover’. Aeris wondered if she ever would be able to see Lokkir as anything but a rival; she hoped she would, if not only for the peace of the Kingdoms, but for her own sanity.

Eight months, however, was not enough time to shed a hundred years of antagonism towards the Hudvalri.

Aeris was the first to step into their bedroom, Lokkir closing the door behind them, giving them the first sense of privacy since the day’s proceedings had begun. Aeris gave a gentle sigh; partly relieved to no longer be the centre of attention, but also in part as she mentally prepared for what was still yet to come.

Lokkir, however, surprised her. Before Aeris could speak, Lokkir, in her language rather than his own, asked her to remain quiet, until he had finished showing her something. Aeris quirked an eyebrow is curiosity. Normally her first instinct would have been to prepare to fight, to defend herself against an untrustworthy foe, but there was a nervousness about Lokkir than was unexpected and genuine.

Aeris sat down on the foot of the bed, removing her hat as Lokkir began to disrobe. A faint blush crept across Aeris’ cheeks, although she could not tell if the embarrassment was her own, or for witnessing Lokkir’s obvious discomfort.

“Oh! I…” Aeris began, eyes wide as Lokkir dropped his chest bindings. Aeris was not usually one to be lost for words, but right now she was.

Then she laughed.

She did not mean to, she knew it was cruel, but she was not laughing at her husband; it was simply how her body decided to respond to the shock and disbelief. She covered her mouth with both hands, as if trying to stifle her confusion, before settling a steely glare on Lokkir.

“What is the meaning of this?” She asked, unable to control herself or the enmity that was steadily bubbling inside, “is this some sort of Hudvalri deception, mocking the Kingdom of Qaeltine and the peace we have so desperately sought to secure?” Aeris stood then, stepping closer to Lokkir. His pain seemed genuine, but she could not fathom why a woman now stood before her, if not some cruel insult against Qaeltine. “Why had Hudvalr sent me a wife in the guise of a husband? If you were unhappy with peace, there were much less deceitful ways of continuing the war.”

Don't Fear the Reaper (shy and Malice)

@shylarah up to you! What do you think would be best?

Don't Fear the Reaper (shy and Malice)

Thanks for your patience! Hope my response it okay!

For the record, the reaper's name isn't going to stay like that; I just wanted to give them something incomprehensible while they weren't human, something human's can't pronounce because... Well, they're not reapers.

Let me know if you want anything changing!

Don't Fear the Reaper (shy and Malice)

There was a screeching of brakes. A sickening crunch as metal hit flesh. The whole world was turning upside down, and yet the whole world continued on, as it always did, oblivious.

死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ stood on the pavement, watching, waiting. They knew the accident was going to happen; they knew before the day had dawned, before those involved had always been born. They had always known. Known that this incident would happen here, on this day. And they had known that they would stood on this street, quiet and passive, as the events unfolded before them.

Fate was stitched into the fabric of time, always with that inky black thread that signalled death. Sometimes it lay at the end, but for some, death was only part of their journey.

死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ knew this. Such was the reality of a reaper. They existence purely to ferry the soul, the spirit, whatever name was given to that core-essence of life, from their corporeal form, from their cocoon that made up their body, and take them to wherever they were destined to be. A reaper’s role was impartial; they treated all the same regardless of their actions on Earth. Reapers were not bestowed with human morality, it was not their place to judge; and so, quite simply, they did not.

And so, 死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ was to go to this woman, to comfort her in her last moments of life, gently easing her from this realm and to the next. They stood, patiently watching events unfold. Eventually, they moved on to the road, silent as the grave.

Reapers would appear to the dying in many forms; it was not something that they had any influence over, however, and would find themselves cloaked in the apparition of whatever brought the greatest peace to the individual. Sometimes it was an angel, other times a loved one. Sometimes it was a creature unknown even to 死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ themselves.

死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ reached the woman, wondering how she saw them. They knelt, placing whatever might amount to hands on either side of her face and leant in close, exuding an aura of serenity, a void that seemed to suck up fear and cast it to the wind.

But then, in an unexpected moment of curiosity, 死̵̪͕̯̊̂̈́̇̚͝神̵̺͖͈̦̝̳̈̆͌͛́̋̅͘ did what a reaper was not supposed to do.

Whispering in a voice unfathomable and intangible, that was felt in the soul more than heard, they simply said,

“Live.”

A Royal's New War - EntertainMe & Malice

Watching Lyra’s growing fascination, August was led to wonder what new experiences he would encounter as a result of this union. Would he, too, be as inquisitive? Would he be drawn to elven magic with curiosity, as Lyra seemed to be to technology, rather than fear and disgust? From what little knowledge August had of magic, he knew it was something to respect from the destruction it had caused on the battlefield… But he had yet to see it in a positive light, or as something to admire rather than shun. After all, anything that was possible with elven magic, was not only possible with, but was improved by, human technology.

Right?

August was pleased that Lyra’s response to the gift was one of quiet amazement. After all, despite its beauty, its intricacy, it was still a piece of tech; there was every chance she might have spurned it. It would have been unwise to reject it, but there had still been every possibility that her reply would have been nothing but diplomatic politeness. As it was, she was either an excellent actress or her appreciation was genuine.

Before he could say another word, Lyra requested he stay where he was and disappeared to her own carriage. The prince raised an eyebrow in interest, watching as she fetched a bag before returning to where he stood at the back of the car.

The elf produced a small box, inside which was a beautifully wrought bracelet. Lyra removed the jewellery to show August, which revealed runes carved in to the precious metal; runes that were as foreign to August as magic itself. An easy laugh escaped his lips as Lyra explained she had crafted the item for the man she intended to marry.

“I doubt you ever suspected that man would be a human,” August said with a gentle smile. Certainly, he had never thought he would ever say a civil word to an elf, let alone be married to one. When he had envisioned the future, August had always seen himself stood with a Queen who was as resolute as she was wise, as fiercely loyal as she was compassionate. A Queen who was human.

He wondered who Lyra had always thought she would wed; had there been an elven man back in her Kingdom who she had loved? Or had she crafted this gift with only the dream of her ideal husband?

August had been in love once. One of his fellow soldiers. There affair had been passionate, with the pair sneaking moments of ardour between grim, hard-fought battles, seeking sanctuary in one another from the horrors that surrounded them.

She had survived the war, for which August was eternally grateful, but even before it had been suggested he were to marry the Nephalm princess, the couple had known their romance was doomed. There was no way the crown prince would ever have been able to openly have a relationship with a commoner. And so, as the war had drawn to a close, they had parted ways; their love for one another just another memory, another victim, to the bloody fighting that had consumed their Kingdom for so many years.

“Oh!” The prince gave a faint sound of surprise, flinching slightly, as Lyra conjured a shimmering orb of light in the palm of her hand. He hesitated, glancing between those sapphire coloured eyes and the bright white that danced at her fingertips. August had not been this close to magic since his time on the battlefields, when he was commanding troops to defend against it. He gave a soft sigh, before offering Lyra a smile.

“Sorry I… I am not used to being so close to magic,” he admitted, prosthetic hand flexing unwittingly as if he could still feel the sizzle of arcane energy that tore his limb from his body. August knew, however, that magic was something he was not only going to have to adjust to, but something he was going to have accept as a part of his new life, this joining of the Kingdoms. August would have to promote the acceptance of magic to his own people, just as Lyra would need to for technology.

He could not deny the usefulness of such an artefact though. Lyra was right her surmising.

“Aye, I think this will help to ease my discomfort around magic. You are a talented craftswoman,” August hesitated, looking up from the bracelet and at Lyra, almost as if really seeing her, rather than simply his ‘bride to be’, for the first time. “It is an incredibly thoughtful gift, so for that I thank you.”

The Island: A Murder Mystery | Currently Accepting 1-2 More Players!

It's the final count down, dodododoo~!