Current
As a GM, I hate all my players in particular
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7 mos ago
joining the war on smoking, on the side of smoking
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likes
8 mos ago
as a patreon reward I will read your least favorite person's handmade custom tabletop RPG homebrew and ask them why they didn't just run it in 5e instead
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10 mos ago
I started RP before double digit age but you couldn't have gotten an admission I was under 18 under threat of death. Kids just casually admiting it online now is wild.
This was...irritating. Taken off the job at the last second to be placed on a completely different one? Last minute assignments were never a favorite of his. It didn't help that the new assignment in question didn't play any more to his strengths than the last one did. Probably even less, in fact. Chasing down a thief was still more in his wheelhouse than playing investigator. But, again, he didn't particularly have a choice. So Mathias just sucked it up, said nothing, and followed Suran towards his new group.
A stone dwarf, and two elves. Hm. At least he was familiar enough with dwarves, and one of the elves had sensible enough equipment. The other seemed to be some sort of mage, though, which provided enough of an excuse for him.
"As he said, that's my name." Mathias briefly removed his helmet again to give the rest on his team a look at who they were working with before slamming it back on. "I'll keep the introduction brief. I'm a former knight of Tyrcliff. That's it. Shall we move out? This job isn't waiting forever for us."
Bulwark Boneplate Rare Armor +100 HP Reduce physical damage taken by 20. Recover 2 SP for every hit taken.
Shamanic Beads Common Accessory +20 MP
Raider’s Wargtag Common Accessory +4 DEX, +4 LCK
Thunderstruck Amulet Uncommon Accessory +20 HP, +5 END, +3 LUC Reduce lightning damage taken by 20.
HP potions: 1 uncommon
As much as Amulak would have liked to test out his new Nuclei, he'd sort of forgotten to bring it up with the rest of his friends. Considering Weishaupt needed a "willing" host, he would've had to explain the creepy burrowing centipede first and that it needed to go inside them for full effect. An awkward conversation that'd be best put off for when they weren't in the field.
Mags whispered orders to them, but considering the contradictory nature of what she'd said to both him and Raime, he was just going to blow it off as a joke and do his own thing. Five more levels to go until he could start pumping Necromancer. Oh, was he motivated to waste these Oni.
It was in the interest of convenience that he decided to just go apeshit with the AoE spells from the start. Screw it. He had more MP than ever, and enough regen to sustain it for a while.
"Give me XP stupid fucks I want to summon skeletons," Amulak chanted ten words, conjuring a Mana Boosted Arcane Vortex smack dab in the middle of the crowd of five Oni.
Mathias stared down at the pin he was offered for a moment. His badge of identification was a mere pin? It wasn't a proper heraldry, but that life was gone now. There was no point wishing for what he had. His ragged armor didn't particularly have much to hook a pin on, though thankfully the cloak he wore around him did. The half-orc quickly hooked the pin onto the portion of his cloak closest to his collar before glancing back up to listen to the rest of his briefing.
"Chasing a thief, huh?" Mathias grunted, folding his arms. Wonderful. Work he wasn't familiar with. Hell, he'd been hoping to just be sent out to hunt some monsters and call it a day. Tracking down a thinking man? This wasn't something he was trained for at all. Still, if he wanted any measure of security in his life from here on out, he'd have to grit his teeth and get it done.
Thankfully, it seemed someone else here was far more adept at the matter than he was. Mathias turned to Rohaan, nodding briefly.
"Seems we'll be depending on you greatly for this. Personally, I'm not much of a tracker, so I can't say how much use I'll be until we actually find our mark."
Bulwark Boneplate Rare Armor +100 HP Reduce physical damage taken by 20. Recover 2 SP for every hit taken.
Shamanic Beads Common Accessory +20 MP
Raider’s Wargtag Common Accessory +4 DEX, +4 LCK
Thunderstruck Amulet Uncommon Accessory +20 HP, +5 END, +3 LUC Reduce lightning damage taken by 20.
HP potions: 1 uncommon
Yesterday had been a nice, productive day in the cyberworld. Today was looking promising already in an entirely different virtual arena. Stanislaw grinned to himself as the markets closed for the day with his investment portfolio on the rise. Perfect. Even if it just held steady from here on, those would be some juicy dividends paid out this year.
But now with money-making done for the day, he could stop getting that bread and...get that other bread. Whatever. Metaphors were bullshit anyways. Downing the last of his coffee, Stanislaw leaned back in his office chair and put his FDD on, ready for a nice, productive evening of grinding.
___
Amulak took some time before meeting up with the others to catch up on current events. Hoooo, boy. War, huh? Just by bias for necromancers alone, he was inclined towards the Mora-Sho. But the others might not be so willing to join up with a losing cause. If they wanted to join up at all. Hell, he wasn't quite sure if he wanted to, either. His level was still low, and his gear wasn't great. He'd be nothing but fodder for any high-level players that decided they wanted a piece of the action. Still, best to discuss it with the others first and see where they stood.
___
Great, Lew was being...Lew again. Amulak simply rolled his eyes as the roleplaying weeb dramatically marched off to do whatever the fuck, and turned to the rest of the group gathered at the plaza.
"Okay, Lew is being very cringe again. So his opinion on what we do not count, yes?" He then turned to Mags, having caught her statement. "Oi, I am fool now? Mags, this hurts deep. You injure my poor heart more than years of Starcraft do." Amulak grinned, clearly not serious.
"In any case, big question: war coming, what we want to do? I like necromancer, so I like Mora-Sho. However, I do not like being low level in PvP because players who have been playing longer than a week will kill us very hard. Likely best for everyone involved if we just try to grind levels and milk money out of war. Fence-sitting for levels and profit, yes?"
"Hn." Was all the cloaked knight said aloud as he beheld the guild hall's common area. He'd pulled his hood off before entering and removed his helmet, tucking it under his arm. For months, he'd tried to avoid showing his face whenever possible as a wanted man, and he couldn't deny that it felt good to have some measure of safety and security to feel fresh air on his face. For now, at least.
The Guild itself was...adequate. It certain wasn't the barracks he'd lived most of his adult life in, but that was a thing of the past now. For a last resort for thieves, scoundrels, and criminals, it was certainly less shabby than he'd been expecting. That was more than enough, really.
Mathias looked over those gathered at the table with him, setting his helmet down upon the table for now. Some sort of horned nature man, what he now understood to be a tiefling, and, the biggest shock of all, what seemed to be a full-blooded human. A blind one, at that. Just a year ago, he'd never seen much of any race besides half-orcs, dwarves from the mountain's depths, and the occasional foreign trader. It was almost a good thing he'd spent so long on the run, considering it had let him acclimate enough to the culture shock he'd experienced ever since he'd been run out of Tyrcliff.
"If no one else wants to break the ice, I will." Mathias grunted, nodding briefly at those assembled. "Mathias Rugal. Former knight. I'm looking forward to fighting alongside you lot."
“From Soft? What’s that?” were Patches’s final words, before Amulak ran away, Raime over his shoulder and the sled trailing behind. He was running out of appendages at this point, but thankfully, his staff could be carried with one hand. A psychic shiver shot through his mind as he ran, indications that his Seeker Chains had finally been broken free of, but he wouldn’t be around to see the effects of that. Amulak could only continue to run through the narrow tunnels, until he reached an intersection once more. Skidding to a stop on the moss-slick stone, the mage had a moment to listen.
The winds continued to wail, and sounds of violence bounced through tunnels in every which way to create a warped cacophony, but it didn’t seem as if any of those hungering ghosts had managed to follow him. Amulak, based off his memory then, had a couple of different paths to take.
The path to the right lead to a pond. Though shallow enough to tread in most portions, at the very center, there would be a thirty meter swim in pitch darkness. Monsters often wouldn’t emerge in the area, but on the off-chance they did, a fight in water would absolutely cripple a mage like Amulak.
The path to the left would spiral downwards, making it a longer detour, and one that had a higher chance of encountering monsters as well. Flaming skulls make this corridor their home, but the highest-tier speedruns of the Blasphemed Tunnels prefer this route: so long as you dodge the fireballs, you were good. With two bodies to tow though? Might be a bit more of a struggle for a newbie mage.
Hmm...now this was a conundrum. Burdened down by two bodies as he was, neither option that was available to him was particularly appealing to Amulak. A small chance of certain death, or a higher chance of having to engage while slowed down and alone?
...Actually, why the hell was he still lugging the extra around? Keeping it plus the sled in his grasp was crazy. Screw it, he’d even do Patches a favor if the big lug survived. Releasing his grasp on Patches’s friend’s corpse and the sled, Amulak quickly used his staff to draw an arrow in the direction he was heading off in next to where he’d set the sled down before making to the left, trusting that he had enough left in the tank to make it through the flaming skull tunnel.
Discarding what was essentially a free meal inside a tunnel system infested by ghostly monsters may not have been the best of ideas, at least for the corpse’s own survival, but perhaps it was what Amulak had to do to get what he wanted. So he continued on, Raime’s cold, heavy body still around his shoulders as the path began to decline and curve. Soon, the light-giving moss that had lit up the previous areas disappeared, and instead, a dim, red hue lit up the steadily-warming tunnel. Amulak began to sweat under his robes, the air itself hot and dry enough that it was almost painful. Did an Immortal body need food and water, or were such desires merely a mental state?
He could not dwell on such considerations for long, as the path he traversed upon was soon lined with human skulls. As one, they ignited, dry teeth clacking together in raucous cheer. Four of them hovered upwards, clusters of fireballs gathered up in their mouths, while three others shot forth, homing comets intent on shattering Amulak’s ribs and legs. In the distance, the mage could see more human skulls, dormant but undoubtedly dangerous once activated. What choice did he have though? It was time to run the gauntlet, you fucking casual.
Amulak burst into motion, Raime’s corpse tucked over his shoulder with one hand while the other gripped his staff. This was fine. He’d seen faster projectiles to dodge before. Fucking Touhou 26. If he could clear that, he could clear this. As he ran, he chanted, precasting a Mana Shield to cover himself for the first hit. As much as he thought he could dodge, something would inevitably get through. If more than one of those skulls got too uncomfortably close to him, Seeker Chains would handle that problem. Hopefully, he had enough mana and good enough reflexes to make it to the end before completely running out of juice and healing potions.
Touhou 26 was indeed bullshit, even though ZUN’s art remained the same level of quality it’s always been, but a bullet hell, built upon massive patterns of energy pellets, was a completely different beast from a squad of flaming skulls intent on focusing all their fire at Amulak. The first couple moments were easy enough for the mage to dance around, the charging skulls missing their attacks as they shot past the decently mobile mage. He may have been encumbered by a dead body, but his pro gamer reactions had been dulled only by his body, rather than his mind, and with a superhuman set of limbs at his command? Amulak was untouchable. But only up to a certain point.
The tunnel grew narrower gradually, and the attacks of the charging skulls and the flame-spewing skulls became more coordinated as they acclimated to his movement patterns. Some would lunge forward, feinting to cause momentary hesitation, while others would bombard the area in front of him to hide the presence of yet more monsters behind the fiery veil. Taking damage was unavoidable, Amulak’s Mana Shield constantly burning away as more and more blows landed. It was like being cooked in a sauna, like being bludgeoned by softballs, and even as his Seeker Chains restrained the skulls that flung themselves at him, that just caused them to switch to ranged attacks, intensifying the sheer number of projectiles that headed his way. They continued to scorch his boneplate, continued to stall his movement, and through it all, Amulak still had to use his own weapons and his own body to ensure that Raime’s corpse wasn’t destroyed in the process of going through this gauntlet.
But the end was near, and for all the attacks he had sustained, Amulak’s rare armor and decent defensive attributes meant that wasn’t dead. The spiraling tunnel grew tighter and tighter, until the skulls themselves couldn’t shoot their flames without being blocked by each other.
And then, the spiral became a vertical drop.
Amulak fell into the darkness, but rather than a bone-crunching impact, he struck slimy, black water instead. Rising out of the muck, water dripping from his dark cloak, he would find himself in a tunnel lit up by indecipherable sigils carved into stone bricks, with only a fraction of his resources remaining. And, merely another fifty meters away, he could see the ever-present mist of the Thunderstruck Grove, seeping down into the end of the Blasphemed Tunnels.
“Haah...haah…” Amulak gasped for breath, his blood pumping in his veins after that ridiculous hell run. Holy shit, how did people pull that off at even lower levels than he was? Being dragged down lugging and protecting a corpse didn’t help, but he wasn’t going to use that as an excuse.
But he’d survived, and now there was a literal light at the end of the tunnel. Rising out of the water, the aspiring necromancer winced deeply to see that he was holding on to life by mere inches, his HP having reached double digit values. Fortunately, this was why he had healing potions. Even if he didn’t need to survive getting hit by the lightning bolt, he still had to get there in the first place. While there wasn’t anything he’d actually read about any last surprises after the gauntlet, that didn’t mean there couldn’t be, considering the unexpected ghosts that had blocked off him and Patches in the first place. Chugging down both of his potions in quick succession, Amulak braced himself for the final leg of the journey and hauled Raime’s corpse back up, starting to trudge towards the exit of the Blasphemed Tunnels.
Step by step, Amulak drew closer to the end of the Tunnels. The mist grew thicker, the atmosphere electric. Fatigue should have clung to his body, but the pull of the end was too great, and the mage almost felt as if he were floating through. His ears began to ring, drowning out all other sound. The mist was impenetrable.
And then, the mist disappeared parted.
A black tree stood, bark scarred by countless bolts of lightning. Like the hand of a demon god, it burst out from the bedrock of the tunnel, reaching out to claw the clouds out of the sky. And yet, it could no longer grow. A mound of ash had settled around it, and its peak could not yet surpass the crevasse that it was stuck in. Countless rusted spikes were driving into its wretched form, crude in construction and glistening with fossilized resin. Amulak could feel his heart rate increase as he witnessed this deathly tree. Was it fear? Awe? Or merely anticipation? Whatever feelings stirred his heart, he could not deny the gravitas of the Ancient Blackened Tree.
Raime was discarded upon the ashen mounds, and slowly, with the spikes as handholds and footholds, Amulak began to climb, rising to a heaven he would never reach. The black bark was warm underneath his touch, and the rumbling of thunder shook his organs with their depth. Time passed. It must have passed. But the sensations of his body were distant. He reached up, hand over hand, until those hands grasped only air.
At the top of the tree, Amulak looked skywards.
And in that moment, he was filled with light.
Ten thousand volts of sheer, unrestrained power burst into his veins, searing flesh and boiling blood as agony, true agony, branded itself into his very mind. What mercy could a mere charm bring in comparison to the wrath of the heavens? What meager fortitude could he bring to muster against such an earth-shattering might?! His very eyes were marked, marked by the serpent’s afterimage that leapt from the clouds into his body, into his very being! The spreading roots of the nervous system, the might of mind and soul torn away by mere impulse! That was the essence of life, was it not? The taboo knowledge that infected the minds of so many, that drew humans into depravity! What difference was there, between men and monsters? There were none! They were all lightning incarnate, birthed from the first burst of light upon a barren wasteland.
It was neither brain, nor heart, nor mind, nor soul that commanded flesh. It was the nervous system, the gossamer threads that plucked at the mortal shell, granting the motion that the unenlightened defined as ‘life’.
That was the epiphany that struck Amulak and he fell back to the base of the blackened tree, flakes of carbonized skin peeling off to add to the ash there.
From the molting of his body, though, something else crawled out, horrifying yet...endearing.
Type Guard, First Stage +20% MP, +20% SP A thirty-centimeter long centipede-esque creature, with a human eye between its jaws. It lacks a carapace and its segmented body is covered with pale, white skin instead. Each one of its one hundred limbs have three small fingers extending out from it.
Weishaupt’s Status
An extraordinarily weak creature, with only 10 HP and negligible stats other than its impressive AGI. When burrowed inside a Host, however, it becomes untargetable and unkillable, except by its host. When destroyed, this Nuclei can reform around its Master in ten minutes.
The Tree of Knowledge
Active. (Target’s LVL) MP per round. When Weishaupt is burrowed inside a willing host, multiple benefits are conferred. -Telepathic correspondence and sensory information can be exchanged between Master and Host at a maximum range of 100 meters. -Any spells that the Master casts can originate from the Host’s location instead. -The Master can take any of the Host’s Resources as their own. -By paying double the cost themselves, the Master can activate any of the Host’s skills or spells, except for Nuclei-related ones. -The Host is immune to any mind-altering status effects.
If the Master ends this ability, Weishaupt will burst out of the Host’s body and return to the Master. If the Host is killed before this can happen, Weishaupt will be destroyed as well.
For a moment, Amulak could only take in shuddering breaths, trying to think through the pain he’d just suffered. After that moment, though, he’d realized what had just happened.
@Aerandir Sorry to be unhelpful here but I really didn't write much beyond what I needed to make explicit for the backstory. I figured since Vera is from a city-state on the High Road that I'd let the GM define which city that is when/if it became relevant instead of taking on the task of writing a city-state in the middle of the defined part of the setting. Safe to say if your scope shows any of the north half of the High Road, Vera's home will be on it somewhere.
Appearance: Stands at about 6'5. Has a well-muscled physique, as befitting someone who fights and trains for a living. Has broad shoulders befitting a swordsman, but is leaner than he should be after months on the run.
Equipment: Half-Plate: A breastplate, helmet, gauntlets, greaves, and a single pauldron. All are worn and blackened, with a ragged cloak thrown over the ensemble in order to protect them from the elements. Any insignias on the armor have long since been scraped off. Despite the wear and tear accumulated, the set of half-plate is still functional and provides substantial protection. Worn leathers are worn underneath, covering that which the plate does not.
Warhammer: Length is fitted for one-handed use. Blunt end on one side, sharp point on the other. Capable of smashing through armor and crushing bone with the blunt surface, and piercing and grappling with the spike. This particular one has the signs of frequent use, but is lovingly cared for.
Falchion: Standard-issue sidearm among the knightly orders of Tyrcliff. A single-edged, curved blade meant for slashing. Given to Mathias upon his ascension as a knight.
Heater Shield: Composed of wood braced and reinforced with iron. The surface of the shield is scuffed and scratched, almost as if there was once a coat-of-arms on it that was scraped off.
Magic: N/A
History: Once, Mathias Rugal had been more than just a wandering knight-errant, fleeing from false accusations and falser justice. Once, he'd been a proud rider of the Order of the Red Elk. And once, he'd just been nothing more than a noble's bastard desperately looking for any way to advance his lot in life.
Mathias was born in the fortress city of Tyrcliff, located west of the central portions of the High Road. At the dawn of the Age of Dreams, both humans and orcs in the region had been forced to band together in order to simply survive, and centuries later, the population had interbred so much that both pureblooded orcs and humans were practically unheard of as natives of the city. Mathias himself had been nothing more than a noble's natural-born son, whose commoner mother had died in childbirth. With little care for a bastard, Mathias's father had simply handed him off to some of his estate's servants and ordered them to take him in.
The boy grew up with full knowledge of who his father was, as well as the understanding that he'd never be able to take advantage of it as his half-siblings would be able to. Thus, he'd have to find his own way in life.
Tyrcliff's defense was left up to several knightly orders, all of whom recruited from noble and commoner alike. Of course, noble knights often had preferential treatment in terms of being appointed to leadership positions, but there was nothing stopping the smallfolk from attempting to become squired to one of these knights.
At the age of fourteen, Mathias had managed to impress a knight of the Order of the Red Elk enough to be taken on as his squire. Upon beginning his instruction in the art of war, Mathias realized something. He thrived in combat. What had once been merely a way for him to get ahead in life became a genuine calling for him. Five years later, he'd found himself anointed as a Knight of the Red Elk in full, and sought to serve with distinction.
Over the next ten years, Mathias saw frequent combat, as given that Tyrcliff was located off of the High Road, it was surrounded on all sides by hostile wilderness. When not outside the city, however, he chafed. While each of Tyrcliff's orders were united in one purpose outside the city, they fought for political and economic influence inside, each wanting to be above their fellows.
Just eight months before the present day, this all came to a head. The Order of the Red Elk saw itself framed by one of its rivals for plotting to commit a coup against the ruling regime, and every other knight in Tyrcliff turned against the Red Elk, raiding the order's headquarters and putting every member they could find to the sword. Mathias and several of his fellows survived long enough to regroup, banding together and attempting to make an escape from the city.
What remained of the Red Elk were largely massacred in the attempt. By the time that they were desperately riding away from the city gates and towards the High Road, only Mathias and three other knights had survived. But they were pursued, the original instigators of the plot not wanting to leave any loose ends. By the time they reached the High Road, what remained of the Red Elk deliberately split apart, wanting to scatter and confuse their pursuers. For his part, Mathias roamed south, trying to survive as best he could now that he was but a wandering hedge knight. He sought refuge and work with various Guilds along the way, but his pursuers inevitably appeared in town, forcing the orc-blooded knight to flee further and further south. Finally, with no other recourse, Mathias settled on his last resort: seeking asylum with the Wayfarer's Guild.
Appearance: Stands at about 6'5. Has a well-muscled physique, as befitting someone who fights and trains for a living. Has broad shoulders befitting a swordsman, but is leaner than he should be after months on the run.
Equipment: Half-Plate: A breastplate, helmet, gauntlets, greaves, and a single pauldron. All are worn and blackened, with a ragged cloak thrown over the ensemble in order to protect them from the elements. Any insignias on the armor have long since been scraped off. Despite the wear and tear accumulated, the set of half-plate is still functional and provides substantial protection. Worn leathers are worn underneath, covering that which the plate does not.
Warhammer: Length is fitted for one-handed use. Blunt end on one side, sharp point on the other. Capable of smashing through armor and crushing bone with the blunt surface, and piercing and grappling with the spike. This particular one has the signs of frequent use, but is lovingly cared for.
Falchion: Standard-issue sidearm among the knightly orders of Tyrcliff. A single-edged, curved blade meant for slashing. Given to Mathias upon his ascension as a knight.
Heater Shield: Composed of wood braced and reinforced with iron. The surface of the shield is scuffed and scratched, almost as if there was once a coat-of-arms on it that was scraped off.
Magic: N/A
History: Once, Mathias Rugal had been more than just a wandering knight-errant, fleeing from false accusations and falser justice. Once, he'd been a proud rider of the Order of the Red Elk. And once, he'd just been nothing more than a noble's bastard desperately looking for any way to advance his lot in life.
Mathias was born in the fortress city of Tyrcliff, located west of the central portions of the High Road. At the dawn of the Age of Dreams, both humans and orcs in the region had been forced to band together in order to simply survive, and centuries later, the population had interbred so much that both pureblooded orcs and humans were practically unheard of as natives of the city. Mathias himself had been nothing more than a noble's natural-born son, whose commoner mother had died in childbirth. With little care for a bastard, Mathias's father had simply handed him off to some of his estate's servants and ordered them to take him in.
The boy grew up with full knowledge of who his father was, as well as the understanding that he'd never be able to take advantage of it as his half-siblings would be able to. Thus, he'd have to find his own way in life.
Tyrcliff's defense was left up to several knightly orders, all of whom recruited from noble and commoner alike. Of course, noble knights often had preferential treatment in terms of being appointed to leadership positions, but there was nothing stopping the smallfolk from attempting to become squired to one of these knights.
At the age of fourteen, Mathias had managed to impress a knight of the Order of the Red Elk enough to be taken on as his squire. Upon beginning his instruction in the art of war, Mathias realized something. He thrived in combat. What had once been merely a way for him to get ahead in life became a genuine calling for him. Five years later, he'd found himself anointed as a Knight of the Red Elk in full, and sought to serve with distinction.
Over the next ten years, Mathias saw frequent combat, as given that Tyrcliff was located off of the High Road, it was surrounded on all sides by hostile wilderness. When not outside the city, however, he chafed. While each of Tyrcliff's orders were united in one purpose outside the city, they fought for political and economic influence inside, each wanting to be above their fellows.
Just eight months before the present day, this all came to a head. The Order of the Red Elk saw itself framed by one of its rivals for plotting to commit a coup against the ruling regime, and every other knight in Tyrcliff turned against the Red Elk, raiding the order's headquarters and putting every member they could find to the sword. Mathias and several of his fellows survived long enough to regroup, banding together and attempting to make an escape from the city.
What remained of the Red Elk were largely massacred in the attempt. By the time that they were desperately riding away from the city gates and towards the High Road, only Mathias and three other knights had survived. But they were pursued, the original instigators of the plot not wanting to leave any loose ends. By the time they reached the High Road, what remained of the Red Elk deliberately split apart, wanting to scatter and confuse their pursuers. For his part, Mathias roamed south, trying to survive as best he could now that he was but a wandering hedge knight. He sought refuge and work with various Guilds along the way, but his pursuers inevitably appeared in town, forcing the orc-blooded knight to flee further and further south. Finally, with no other recourse, Mathias settled on his last resort: seeking asylum with the Wayfarer's Guild.
Member
Fish of Oblivion
Xaltwind
Savo
The World
Antlers
Scrawl Banditta
Bacon
Jinxxed
Lunamaria Hawke
