He studied the man across the table for a moment instead. There was no impatience in him, no sign that the delay mattered at all. Just a steady kind of attention, like the question had already been answered.
“Agernath.”
The scribe’s pen moved as soon as the name left his mouth.
“Accepted.”
No pause. No recognition. The name was already being written.
Agernath’s gaze dropped briefly to the ledger, following the motion of the pen. Names filled the page in clean lines, each given the same treatment, no matter who stood at the table.
“On what grounds?” he asked.
The question was even, more out of observation than challenge.
“All entrants are accepted.”
The answer came just as easily.
Agernath held there for a moment, as if weighing whether anything would change if he pressed further.
Nothing did.
Around him, the line continued to move. Another stepped forward. Another name. Another acceptance, just as quick.
A few nearby shifted, watching the exchange. Most didn’t seem to notice at all.
Agernath stepped aside, giving space for the next person in line.
His attention moved with the flow of the grounds instead of the table now.
The practice rings. The pavilions. The steady movement of people who had all come for the same reason.
Everything in its place.
Too much in its place.
He let his gaze settle on the crowd rather than any one person, as if waiting to see what broke from it.
A year after the incident that nearly claimed his life, Agernath was summoned back to the Order’s temple.
The High Marshal did not waste time.
“Queen Edeline has asked for you,” Macharius said. “She has heard of the Blade of Light.”
The title still did not sit cleanly, but Agernath gave no sign of it.
“There is to be a tournament,” the Marshal continued. “You will attend as a representative of the Order. You will fight, you will be seen, and you will remind those present what the Order of Light stands for.”
Agernath inclined his head. That alone would not have required a summons.
Macharius studied him for a moment longer before continuing.
“The Queen’s court has changed,” he said. “Not in any way we could name. I have seen rot before. Rot reveals itself, given time.”
He exhaled slowly.
“This does not.”
The words settled between them.
“This is something that knows it is being watched.”
A brief pause followed.
“Consider this more than a display.”
Agernath understood.
Arrival
The road to the capital should have been familiar. It was not.
Travelers filled it as he got closer to the city. Nobles with their banners. Mercenaries in loose companies. Performers and hopefuls drawn by the promise of recognition.
All moving toward the same place.
The capital rose ahead in white stone and color, banners catching the light as though nothing beneath them had ever been out of place.
It should have felt welcoming.
It did not.
There were no signs of decay. No unrest. Nothing that could be named or pointed to.
No one lingered along the road. No voices called out for coin. No children moved between travelers with open hands.
In a city this size, there should have been.
As Agernath passed through the gates, the Light within him drew tight beneath his skin.
Not with warmth. Not with warning. With certainty.
Registration Grounds
The tournament grounds lay just beyond the inner walls, set across a wide stretch of leveled stone.
Pavilions stood in ordered rows, marked by noble colors and sigils. Practice rings lined the grounds, bordered in low iron, and long tables sat beneath shaded awnings where scribes worked through a steady line of entrants.
The place was crowded, as it should have been.
Voices carried. Steel rang from the practice rings. Movement filled the space from end to end.
But nothing pressed.
There were no arguments over position. No disputes over rank or recognition. Even the mercenaries kept themselves in check, their usual edge dulled into something quieter.
Agernath slowed as he approached the registration tables, watching.
A man ahead of him gave his name with the kind of expectation that usually demanded acknowledgment.
The scribe dipped his pen before the man had finished speaking.
“Accepted.”
No question followed. No request for proof. The name was already being written.
The man hesitated, as if waiting for something more, but nothing came. After a moment, he moved on.
The next stepped forward.
The same exchange followed. Name given. Ink set to parchment. Acceptance granted before the moment had fully formed.
A few in line shifted, noticing. Most did not.
It settled into a rhythm that was too clean to be chance.
When Agernath reached the table, the scribe continued writing for a moment longer, finishing the previous entry before the pen came to a stop.
Then he looked up.
It was the first time since entering the grounds that anyone had held Agernath’s gaze.
So the original idea was from a dnd play by post campaign someone created around ten or so years ago. I am using it as a jumping off point for the roleplay.
The Queen’s Tournament has drawn attention from across the realm. Fighters, nobles, and those looking to be seen.
The city is clean. Too clean.
No rot. No unrest. Nothing that can be pointed to.
And yet something in the capital is aware of being watched.
Characters drawn here for their own reasons may begin to notice that something is wrong. OOC: This isn’t a fixed setting. If you join, you’re free to bring in your own factions, locations, or threads and have them matter. I’m more interested in building something that evolves through play than something pre-defined. Tone will lean serious and grounded. Violence and darker themes may be present, but the focus is on character and atmosphere.
Each section can be expanded. Read in order for full context.
Lightning rolled in the distance, moments before thunder split the night. Again and again, the sky flashed, and each crack of thunder cast the temple's shadow long across the ground.
In restless, fevered sleep, Teronis felt his mind drawn into a realm beyond time itself. It was a realm of light, yet the light offered him no source. It did not shine from above nor rise from below, but bore in from all sides, close and unyielding, without warmth and without shadow.
This was not the first time he had stood in that place. As the Seer, he accepted the visions that rushed past him.
Then one vision became clearer than the rest. It was about a man; his armor blue trimmed in gold, with eyes of light, and his blade gleaming purely in the darkness that surrounded him, and the look upon his face was pure conviction.
Startled awake by the vision, Teronis knew that he'd been granted a small peek into the future and that he'd been given the quest of seeking this person out.
At the same time, but far away, came the sounds of a babe crying from inside a small farmer's home. A small miracle to the father and mother inside, as they'd been trying for years to really start a family, and now they held their son in their arms. The midwife who had attended knew, as soon as the child was born, that he was different.
A soft glow permeated his body; he had eyes that were white with the faintest hint of blue, and, though not completely unheard of, he had a full head of onyx black hair. His parents named the child Agernath after his grandfather and gave him the last name Solas, after the god of light whose presence left nothing hidden and nothing untouched. They saw him as their miracle, a light in their darkness. In the villages, it was believed that Solas’s light found its way into the lives that needed it most, not to ease their burden, but to show them what they were meant to face.
Years passed, and Agernath grew into a capable farm boy, his days shaped by routine and quiet labor. On the anniversary of his birth, the same night Teronis had received his vision, the Seer arrived at the farmhouse. Agernath answered the door.
For a moment, Teronis said nothing. He studied the boy, as if confirming something only he could see, and then a slow, certain smile crossed his face.
Inside, over a warm meal, Teronis spoke of that night years ago, of the vision he had been given, and of the role Agernath was meant to play in a world that struggled against encroaching darkness.
His mother listened in silence before speaking. She told Teronis of her prayers, how she had begged the gods for a child and believed herself unanswered. When Agernath was born, she had called it a miracle. Now, hearing this, that word felt heavier than it once had.
Teronis asked to take the boy with him, to train him within the Order of the Eternal Light.
His father did not answer immediately.
Instead, he looked at Agernath, really looked at him, as if trying to memorize something that would not stay.
They agreed, but not easily.
The next morning came too quickly. There were no speeches, no grand reassurances. Just a packed bag, a long embrace, and the quiet understanding that the life Agernath knew had already ended.
As he left, Agernath did not look back until he was told to.
By then, the farmhouse felt farther away than it should have.
Ten years passed by, and his training with Teronis was fairly brutal, but each lesson he learned stuck. Each day, he was tutored in the basics of swordsmanship, combat, and social tactics, and the conjuring of spells. Agernath pushed through his training until it became second nature, even learning to control his spells with the ease of a well-fitted cloak. Eventually, his training revealed a surprise: Agernath could produce a semi-permanent light upon anything he touched. Teronis warned him not to rely on it. Light that lingered, he said, did so for a reason, and not always one the wielder would want to understand.
Through his travels with his mentor, Agernath encountered a multitude of monsters: undead scourges, unnatural beasts that brought death, and other such things, all vanquished by the light. Each time they came upon darkness that needed to be cleansed, Agernath showed no hesitation and rid the world of the evil that was slowly spreading throughout it.
Due to this strength, Teronis contacted the other members of the Order and arranged for Agernath to train under four of its most seasoned warriors, each tasked with shaping him in a different discipline.
The first was a swordsman who believed hesitation was a flaw to be cut away, drilling him relentlessly until action came faster than thought.
The second was a healer who forbade him from drawing his blade at all, forcing him instead to tend to wounds he could not close with light alone.
The third spoke little and watched more, teaching him that what was not seen often mattered more than what stood before him.
The last cared nothing for form or doctrine, pushing him into battles he could not win cleanly, until he learned that survival often came at a cost he could not measure in the moment.
Over the next four years, each took him in turn.
That lesson stayed with him more than any blade form or spellwork. There had been a time when the light answered him without hesitation, and he had mistaken that ease for certainty. By the time he reached his eighteenth year, Agernath no longer saw the light as a weapon to be wielded freely, but as something to be carried with restraint.
They brought him to the Order’s central temple and reunited him with Teronis. With his mentor's approval and endorsement, Agernath was granted the rank of neophyte, along with all the responsibilities that came with it.
Driven by the belief that the light had chosen him to cleanse the world, Agernath threw himself into every battle that promised an end to it. In the quiet that followed, he would test himself against the silence, waiting to see if the names would stay this time. They rarely did.
He became one of the Order’s most tireless champions. His victories earned him recognition, marks of honor that others admired and quietly resented, though few understood what it cost him to keep earning them.
But not every battle ended in light.
Agernath remembered the ones who didn't make it back. At first, he carried their names with him, whispering them under his breath after each mission, lips moving in the dark as if the act alone could keep them from fading.
Sometimes he would catch himself reaching for a name he could no longer recall.
Eventually, he stopped.
He began taking assignments on his own, ignoring his peers' concerns. To them, it looked like ambition, a hunger for recognition. In truth, it was something quieter and far less noble. It was easier this way. Fewer voices. Fewer faces. Fewer moments where he had to pretend he still remembered who they had been. Alone, there were fewer names to remember.
Working this way made him reckless. He pushed further than he should have, stayed longer than was safe, and treated survival like an afterthought. There were times he stood in the aftermath of a fight, light still clinging to his hands, and did not immediately leave, as if waiting to see if it would be enough this time.
Reports of his conduct reached the High Marshal on more than one occasion, each followed by a formal reprimand that did little to change his behavior. Within the Order, his name began to carry weight, though not always the kind that brought comfort.
Between missions, Agernath drank until sleep took him. When the call came, he was already deep in the bottom of a bottle.
By dawn, he was in the saddle.
The town was already lost when he arrived.
Smoke hung low over the streets. The dead did not lie still. He drove his mount straight into them, steel and light carving a path through bodies that should not have moved.
Another rider joined the charge.
White armor. A familiar silhouette.
Teronis.
There was no time for words. They broke the horde together, pushing toward the center where the resistance had failed. The closer they rode, the worse it became. Bodies piled high. Not fallen. Placed.
At the center stood the thing that made them.
Agernath did not slow.
They split without meaning to. The press of bodies forced them apart. One moment, Teronis was at his side, the next he was gone behind a wall of grasping hands and rotting flesh.
Agernath cut his way forward, trying to reach him.
Then he saw it.
Teronis was thrown from his horse.
A rusted morningstar rising above him.
"No…" Agernath pushed harder, and that hesitation cost him. Hands dragged him from the saddle. Fingers like hooks pulled at his armor, his throat, his legs. He tore free, burning what little power he had left to clear the space around him.
By the time he stood again, it was already happening.
Teronis was on one knee. Armor split. Blood where there should have been light.
Agernath reached for him.
Too far.
Teronis met his eyes, said nothing, and threw his greatsword.
Agernath caught it on instinct.
It screamed the moment his hand closed around the hilt.
He barely had time to look up before the morningstar came down.
The sound of it landing didn't match anything human.
Something in Agernath broke.
He tried to call the light again. There was nothing left to give. Still, he reached for it, forced it, demanded it answer him.
The world went white.
Agernath was no longer standing in the ruined town.
There was no ground beneath him. No sky above.
Only light.
It wasn't warm. It wasn't gentle. It burned.
It filled his vision until there was nothing else, until even the shadow of his own body began to thin and dissolve. He tried to breathe and felt his lungs seize, air replaced by something sharper, brighter, forcing its way into him whether he could endure it or not.
His wounds did not heal.
They ignited.
Burned away.
Pain flared, then twisted into something else, something that refused to let him collapse, refused to let him die, holding him upright in a body that no longer felt entirely his own.
A child of light.
The voice did not come from around him. It came from within, threading through thought and memory, impossible to separate from his own mind.
You burn with it.
Agernath tried to speak. Tried to deny it. Tried to hold onto something that was still his. The light pressed harder.
Not as a force against him, but as something that refused to leave room for anything else. You seek to end what took him.
Not a question.
A verdict.
The pressure built, not crushing, but filling every space inside him, leaving no room for doubt, for grief, for anything that did not align.
You already carry what is mine.
The words settled into him like something remembered, not given.
Then stand.
The command was quiet.
Absolute.
The light surged.
And the world broke open.
As Agernath's vision cleared, the world rushed back in all at once.
Teronis lay at his feet.
The ground around him still glowed, heat rising in wavering lines where the light had burned itself into the earth. The nearest undead had been reduced to blackened shapes, their forms barely holding together as smoke curled from what remained.
The sword was still in his hand.
He hadn't realized he was gripping it.
It pulsed against his palm, not like steel but like something alive, something urging him forward, drawing his attention to the thing that had done this.
The abomination.
It moved through the thinning horde, slow and deliberate, its frame too tall, its limbs set at angles that did not quite match the shape of a man. The rusted morningstar dragged at its side before rising, as if the weight meant nothing.
Agernath stepped forward to meet it.
The blade flared.
The light tore outward in a sudden, violent cascade, driving heat ahead of it in a wave that stung the skin and filled the air with a sharp, cracking sound, like something breaking faster than it could be heard. The ruined square groaned beneath it as shadows fled, and the undead recoiled, then surged again, straining toward him, their advance breaking against the light.
His grip tightened.
Something in his chest twisted, rose, and broke loose.
He tried to steady his breath.
Failed.
And the words came anyway.
"Where there is darkness..."
His voice caught, then sharpened, no longer entirely his own.
"...I will bring light."
The blade burned brighter.
"Where there is innocence, I will stand."
The ground beneath his feet glowed hotter, cracks of light spreading outward.
"Where there is evil..."
He stepped forward.
"I will end it."
The final words didn't rise.
They fell.
Heavy. Certain. Unavoidable.
The abomination answered with motion, the morningstar cutting through the air toward him.
Agernath did not hesitate.
Agernath awoke in a room he did not recognize, in a bed he did not remember reaching.
His armor was gone. His weapons, too.
Bandages wrapped his body. His left arm had been set by magic, but the pain remained, dull and persistent, like something that refused to be forgotten.
He tried to sit up.
"Lie back."
The voice was firm. Not unkind.
Agernath turned his head. The High Marshal stood at the bedside, armor polished, war maul resting at his side. His expression was steady, though the lines in his face had deepened.
"The men we sent found nothing left to save," Macharius said. "The village was still burning when they arrived. White fire. They said it did not behave like a flame."
He stepped closer.
"They found you standing over him. Your blade was still buried in the creature. You were unconscious, but you would not let go of the hilt."
Agernath swallowed.
"It was already too late," he said quietly. "Teronis… he joined me on the charge."
Macharius nodded once.
"He often saw what others could not."
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
"You survived something you should not have," the High Marshal continued, resting a hand briefly on Agernath's shoulder. "Call it strength if you like. I call it something else."
He straightened.
"There will be a ceremony. For him. And for you."
His tone softened, just slightly.
"Rest. You will need it."
When the High Marshal left, the room felt larger than it should have.
Agernath shifted, wincing, and his eyes caught on the blade resting against the far wall.
Teronis' greatsword.
Not resting.
Waiting.
The realization came slowly.
It was his now.
Nearly a month after the fall of the western village, the Order gathered to honor Marshal Teronis the Seer. The procession moved in silence. The High Marshal led. Agernath followed close behind. Others carried the body.
No one spoke.
When the pyre was lit, the fire burned clean and bright. A single voice began the hymn, and the rest followed, low and steady, carrying the sound upward as the flames took him.
Agernath did not join them. He tried, briefly, to form the words, but his mind caught on Teronis’s name and went no further.
He watched until there was nothing left but ash.
The Order returned to the temple.
Agernath's ceremony began.
High Marshal Macharius spoke of what had been witnessed. Of the village. Of the battle. Of what Agernath had done.
When he finished, he stepped forward.
"Rise."
Agernath did.
"From this day, you stand as Battle-Brother of the Order."
A pause.
"And as the Blade of Light."
The words settled over the gathered ranks. Then came the response. Not loud at first, but building.
Approval.
Recognition.
Expectation.
A relic was brought forth. Hardened leather gauntlets, worn but intact, with black iron studs set across the back of the hands and fingers.
"Battle-Brother Takkok bore these," Macharius said. "He did not fall easily. See that you do not either." Agernath took them.
They were heavier than they looked.
It happened in a controlled space, within the walls of the Order’s training hall.
It was meant to be a warm-up.
A measured exchange. A test of recovery, not of strength.
The man across from him was experienced, chosen for that reason. Someone who would not push too far, who understood the purpose of the exercise and the limits it required.
Agernath expected nothing more from him than control. It was the only thing that kept a spar from becoming something else.
The first strike came from him.
A probing motion. Nothing committed.
Agernath answered it cleanly, turning the blow aside with minimal effort. The second followed, slightly faster, testing his footing, his timing. He met that one as well, the motion familiar, controlled, exactly as it had been taught.
There was no strain in it. No hesitation.
By the third, something shifted.
Not in the man before him.
In the space between the strike and the answer, where thought should have settled.
It did not come from the man in front of him.
It came from the blade.
Not in voice. Not in thought.
The world did not disappear. It narrowed. The edges of the room remained, the sound of movement, the presence of others watching, the faint scent of oiled steel in the air, but none of it mattered.
There was only a line.
A single point of failure.
Something that needed to end.
Not because of what it was.
But because it was there.
Agernath moved.
He did not remember choosing to. The motion was already underway by the time the thought could have formed, his body committing to it with a precision that allowed no space for correction. By the time awareness caught up, the outcome had already been decided.
The strike was clean.
Too clean.
Steel met steel, then slipped past it. The exchange broke, not as a spar should, but as something final. The man across from him barely had time to react before the motion resolved, his footing lost, his guard gone, the outcome decided in a way that had never been intended.
The room returned slowly.
Not all at once, but in pieces, and not in the order he expected.
The motion had already finished.
He was only now catching up to it.
The sound of heavy breathing. The sound of boots on stone. Those watching held for a beat too long before moving.
Agernath stood where he had finished the motion, the blade still in his hand.
His grip had not loosened.
He became aware of it gradually, the tightness in his fingers, the way they held the hilt not out of effort, but out of certainty.
It took conscious thought to release it.
Not because he could not.
But because, in the moment before he did, there was nothing in him that suggested he should, and nothing that rose to oppose it. The absence did not register as wrong. It simply was.
Name: Agernath Solas Alias: The Blade of Light Age: 35 Gender: Male Race: Aasimar Occupation: Battle-Brother of the Order of the Eternal Light Affiliation: Order of the Eternal Light
Core Concept
A veteran holy warrior shaped to bring decisive end to unnatural darkness, carrying both divine light and something far less understood within him.
Agernath does not hesitate when action is required. As he commits, doubt gives way to clarity, and clarity to inevitability.
The only question left is whether he can choose to stop—or whether, when the moment comes, he will no longer want to.
Temperament: Controlled and deliberate. Narrows under pressure.
Values:
Order must be maintained
The vulnerable must be protected
Evil is to be ended, not negotiated with
Social Behavior:
Formal and respectful
Speaks little, observes more
Acts without drawing attention to it
Habits:
Sleeps lightly
Positions himself deliberately in any space
Ends conversations once their purpose is fulfilled
Motivation & Conflict
Primary Goal: Eliminate sources of unnatural darkness
Secondary Goals:
Maintain control in combat
Understand the true nature of the Light within him
Fears:
Losing the ability to choose restraint
Realizing he no longer wants to
Internal Conflict: He no longer hesitates in the moment. The conflict comes after—when it felt necessary… and easier than it should have.
Abilities & Skillset
Primary:
Greatsword combat (efficient, decisive)
Radiant smiting and divine channeling
Frontline control
Secondary:
Battlefield positioning
Threat prioritization
Reading intent and escalation
Special Abilities:
Radiant-enhanced spellcasting (Paladin/Warlock)
Light-based magic and pressure
Divine Sense
Internal Experience:
Using his power sharpens perception and reduces hesitation. As pressure increases, thought narrows into clarity, and action becomes easier the more he commits. Continued engagement reinforces this state, making it increasingly difficult to question or disengage.
Limitations:
Power intensifies under stress and injury
Darkness creates psychological strain
Sustained engagement narrows awareness and reduces adaptability
Once fully engaged, disengagement becomes difficult
Strengths & Weaknesses
Strengths:
Highly controlled combatant
Unshakable resolve
Exceptional focus
Endurance under pressure
Weaknesses:
Overcommits when a target must be ended
Struggles to disengage
Narrow worldview
Growing reliance on the blade’s clarity
Equipment
Greatsword of Vengeance — Teronis’ Blade
A magical greatsword that cannot be willingly released.
When Agernath commits to a target, the blade reinforces that focus. Strikes become more precise and decisive the longer engagement is maintained, as if the path to resolution is being steadily cleared.
This blade is not simply a weapon. It is the result of Teronis’ death, his will, and the Light’s intervention merging into something enduring.
It does not rage. It does not speak.
It clarifies.
Using it sharpens perception and reduces hesitation. As focus deepens, the world narrows to a single point of resolution, making continued action feel increasingly necessary.
This clarity comes at a cost. Sustained engagement reduces Agernath’s awareness of anything beyond his chosen target, making it difficult to disengage or respond to new threats.
If pushed too far, that narrowing becomes absolute. He may commit beyond reason, ignoring critical changes in the battlefield and resolving the wrong fight completely.
Agernath does not feel controlled.
He feels free.
Other Gear:
Adamantine Plate Armor
Warhammer
Javelins
Cloak of Protection
Gauntlets of Ogre Power
Background
Agernath was born marked by the Light and taken by the Order of the Eternal Light to be shaped into a weapon against darkness.
That path broke the day his mentor, Teronis, was killed in battle.
In that moment, Agernath reached beyond his limits—and something answered.
The Light did not simply empower him. It reshaped him.
Teronis’ blade became bound to that moment, carrying forward both the will of the fallen and the force that answered Agernath’s call.
Years have passed.
What remains is not grief, but pattern.
Agernath continues forward as the Blade of Light not because he seeks to become it— but because he already has.
Relationships
Teronis the Seer: Mentor. Present within the blade—not as a voice, but as direction.
High Marshal Macharius: Watches Agernath with measured trust.
Order of the Eternal Light: Source of structure, expectation, and scrutiny.
Reputation
Common Folk: A distant protector
The Order: Reliable… and concerning
Enemies: A force that does not stop
Current Status
Role: Acting as both symbol and weapon of the Order Situation: Engaging threats that do not follow known patterns
Theme
Control vs inevitability
Quote: "No personal justice takes precedence over the world’s justice."
Hidden Truth: The most dangerous moments are not when he loses control… but when nothing in him tries to stop.
A Devotion Paladin of the Order of Eternal Light, Agernath Solas carries faith the way others carry old wounds: disciplined, heavy, and difficult to set aside. Driven by conviction, tempered by loss, and touched by something within the light itself, he meets darkness with unwavering resolve and the uneasy understanding that not every power called holy is fully understood by the one who bears it.
An Avalan healer and his ancient Moonveil dragon, bound not through dominance but quiet recognition. Together they move through war with restrained grace, unsettling calm, and the patience of creatures old enough to understand that true danger rarely needs to announce itself.
A former town watch investigator and Gloom Stalker ranger, Aric Voss follows incomplete reports, uneasy patterns, and the persistent sense that things do not simply happen without cause. Practical, observant, and difficult to dissuade once pointed in a direction, he approaches mysteries the way he approaches winter roads: prepared, wary, and expecting hidden dangers beneath the surface.
A composed young Substitute Shinigami defined by movement, restraint, and pressure carried in silence. Kael Arashiro faces conflict with calm focus and disciplined force, navigating danger the way he navigates storms: controlled, deliberate, and always aware that what remains contained is not always harmless.
Wanted to say hello to everyone. I’m Zman. I’ve been roleplaying on and off for about 25 years now.
Started out on AIM and Yahoo chatrooms, bounced through places like RoleplayGateway and a handful of smaller sites along the way. These days I tend to lean toward casual to advanced play here, and I’ve got a lot of time in T1 combat play-by-post as well.
I’ve also been running and playing TTRPGs for just as long, so building systems, characters, and long-running stories is kind of my lane.
I tend to gravitate toward grounded characters and systems that hold up over time.
Member
tadcfnaf
princess
Sho Minazuki
Birdboy
King Xerxes
Sigil
Nameless Hero
darkred
