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Death came to Camlann. He snuck around the furious figures in bloodied plate armor, screaming and terrible in their fury towards their foes on the other side of the previously beautiful fields before the arrival of the armies, each side mirror images of themselves. Careful to avoid the clash of knights and heroes, Death decided to tap the shoulders of some figures in his way, reducing them to lifeless corpses to expedite his travel, before finally making his way to the top of a hill, where he could watch the armies do his dirty work for him.
That is, at least, what you believe happened as you gaze at the throng of bodies littering the ground and the Earth slickened with blood and metal. Glancing at the hill, you find that Death must be smiling, based on the massive road of corpses leading to the base of it. Even now, you see your own forces slashing and stabbing their way to try and make their way to the top. Hearing a sharp whistling sound, you snap yourself out of your thoughts and raise Excalibur high to defend yourself, the deafening report of steel on steel reminding you of your successful block. Looking at the offender, a faceless knight screaming in his mindless rage, you don't bother blocking his follow-up swing, swiftly swinging low and catching your foe in the leg, sending him sprawling and clutching his leg.
Without a second glance, you raise your armored boot high and bring it crashing down on the neck of the knight, snapping his neck with a sickening crunch, alike to breaking a tree branch underfoot. Looking back at the hill, you hear a familiar voice shouts from the top, "I am Mordred! True King of the Britons, and rightful heir to the throne. Who among you would dispute this claim? My blade waits eagerly!" Spitting on the ground, you narrow your eyes and focus on the black-armored knave who spoke the challenge, and know that you will not leave him unanswered.
Your fellow Knights seem to know this too, as a contingent break away from the melee at the hill and bow before you, offering up their respects in ragged breaths. Facing Sir Bedivere of the Round Table, you let your raised brow do the talking to the dented and bloodied helmets in front of you. "My King, we are worried that you will meet your end on that hill. Mordred is no mere barbarian, he is known across the land to be peerless with the blade and..." he trails off.
Rounding on him, you offer your own question, "And?"
Sir Bedivere and the rest of the knights look down ashamedly instead of looking you in the eyes, and he answers for the group, "He is much younger than you, my King. Even your legendary prowess with the blade may not be enough to stop the Usurper, furious and filled with the blood of youth as he is."
"I will not allow Mordred to live any longer, even at the cost of my own life," you say resolutely, "He has wrought enough destruction upon this land, our land, and I will not be a witness to my life's work be undone before mine own eyes."
(1/2)
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>>966017
Recognizing your intent, the knights kneel once more in respect, and you tap each of them with Excalibur to stand them proudly. Sir Bedivere nods as he stands and points at the knights fighting to the death with Mordred's forces on the hill, "Then we will stand with you, my King. What would you have us do?"
>Rally the men, charge into the fray and smash the enemy to pieces. You will deal with Mordred.
>Draw our forces back into a defensive position. We will break them on our wall as they come down the hill and maximize their casualties.
>Retreat our men, I will challenge Mordred to single combat. If his army remains, send for reinforcements and hunt them all down.
(2/2)
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>>966022
>Draw our forces back into a defensive position. We will break them on our wall as they come down the hill and maximize their casualties.
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>>966037
Called, writing now.
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"Fall the men back, form a line and meet the foe at the bottom of the hill."
Sir Bedivere nods and the group of knights hurries back into the fray, yelling and shouting over the din of battle. You watch as your forces pull back as best they can, slashing and stabbing at the encroaching enemy. Forming a cohesive mass, your men manage to organize themselves with absolute discipline, their fury tempered by your presence and gaze.
Mordred's forces, comprised of rogue knights, armored bandits, and other such scum lack the ability to function as a proper army and decide to chase your men down the hill with a great roar, their bloodlust taking precedence over common sense. You smile as the ragtag army of the Usurper charges down the slope with incredible force, gravity lending momentum to their swings and feet. The wall of knights takes the shock of the charge well, buckling in a few places, but instantly stabilizing and engaging the foe.
Your men contain the enemy force, and slowly but surely, begin to overwhelm them from the sides and breaking the center of their line with steady movements. At the top of the hill, you catch a glimpse of Mordred and his bodyguards, shouting obscenities at his men as his forces are pushed back again and again.
Gripping Excalibur tightly, you make your way to the top, swinging and stabbing at those who make their way to stop you. Leaving a trail of bodies in your wake, you make your way to Mordred and his guard with ease. Facing the Usurper, you barely get the chance to open your mouth to speak before you are charged by his bodyguards. Even with Excalibur, you are quickly on the defensive, facing the most skilled of his traitor knights all at once.
With an incredible effort and more than a little luck, you punch, kick, slash, stab, and headbutt your way through to Mordred, waiting patiently for you on the other side of his comrades. As the last of his bodyguards falls to the Earth, lifeless, you look up from your panting to see Mordred clapping slowly in front of you. "Commendable work...Father. Your skill with a blade has remained even when your youth has fled," he says with a slight, malicious grin, "But I wonder if Lancelot could have done better."
Spitting at his feet, you lean on Excalibur until you can stand up properly amid your sweat and blood-stained armor, "You've not earned the right to call me your father, traitor. And your cursed tongue is unworthier still of mentioning Lancelot!"
Laughing, Mordred draws his blade, a longsword of masterful craft, venomous snakes and malevolent dragons adorning it, fitting the wielder perfectly. "And what will you do about it, old man? If you want your kingdom back, you'll need to slay me yourself. And forgive me, but I believe you are unfit for the task."
Gripping Excalibur in both hands, you answer him with a roar and charge across the corpse-strewn grass to meet him.
>Roll 1d100
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Rolled 19 (1d100)
>>966364
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>>966422
I'm doom. Someone else roll.
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Rolled 79 (1d100)
>>966364
I hope I fail
Horribly
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>>966456
FUCK
Saber lives another day
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>>966456
Hooray!
>>
Rolled 87 (1d100)
>>966364
>>
Almost done with update. RL stuff right now. Be done in an hour.
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>>967189
Nice
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>>966657
Leaping at Mordred with an overhand slash, he catches Excalibur with his own blade and counters with a lightning-fast swing that you barely manage to block yourself. Pressing the attack, he launches an intense series of attacks that transform his sword into a steel blur, singing through the air with an evil hiss. Ducking, parrying and dodging, you use every trick in the book to keep him off balance and stall for time against his relentless assault.
Eventually, he begins to tire, and you capitalize on this yourself after a particularly nasty crushing swing that nearly causes you to buckle from the sheer might of the impact. Seizing on the vulnerability of his extended positioning, you push yourself and Excalibur to the side, catching Mordred off-guard and release your left hand and wind it back. As Mordred's eyes react to your sudden movement, you send your gauntleted left hand blasting forwards and crashing into his black helmet with enough force to snap his head backward.
Bringing your hands together on Excalibur, you land blow after blow on his armored torso, then his arms and legs, until he collapses to the ground in a bloodied heap of steel and wreckage. Falling to your knees in exhaustion, you pant for what seems like an eternity as your body struggles to recover from your all-out onslaught, and silence reigns amid the bodies on the hill.
Getting to your feet, you see Mordred crawling to his sword, inch by inch, hauling his broken body across the bloodied Earth. Slowly walking your way over, you raise Excalibur over your head in preparation for the finishing blow, and Mordred raises his head to stare into your eyes. You look back into those bloodshot features, and all those feelings of anger and hatred slowly fade away and you drop Excalibur to your side.
You remove his helmet and the two of you look at each other, your face filled with regret, and his filled with an almost insane fury. "They say monsters are made, not born, and now...now I know that it is too late to fix things between us," you say with a heavy sigh, "I have failed you, my son." You pick up his sword with your free hand and place it in his outstretched gauntlet, then hauling him to his feet.
"I only hope that you can find it in you to forgive me."
(1/2)
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>>967414
You bring him in for a hug, and the two of you embrace for a few tenuous seconds. Suddenly you feel a sharp pain in your chest, and you look down to see his blade buried in your chest, suddenly having pierced your plate with impunity. Looking up into the berserk eyes of your illegitimate son, you find yourself facing something that isn't fully human anymore. Stepping back and clutching your wound, you see a pitch black aura surrounding Mordred, originating from his cursed blade.
"I've gone too far to go back now," he says with a wicked smile on his face, "And I've paid too steep a price to lose here!" Pushing on you, he forces you back with a flurry of attacks, each carrying a horrific amount of force. With your injury, defense soon becomes untenable and Excalibur is eventually thrown from your grasp following his assault.
Grimacing, you stagger on your feet for a weapon, any weapon at all to defend yourself from the demon standing in front of you, and you find a spear from one of the fallen knights on the hill. Using it to stand yourself up, you manage to raise it in defiance as the Mordred-fiend begins to slowly walk forward, menace in each step.
"This kingdom is mine. Nay, the world is mine. And this sword will make it so!" he shouts as he lunges at you with dreadful speed.
A lifetime of warfare and chivalry has taught you to find the most hidden vulnerabilities in battle, and in the moment before he strikes, you notice one in this demon of yours. Overconfident and impatient, the beast has left himself wide open by going for an overhead strike, and you commit every iota of strength you have left in a charge forwards. Thrusting with all your might, you impale Mordred through the chest as the two of you rush together, his armor rent apart by your spear from the momentum.
Coughing up black blood as he wriggles on your weapon, he retaliates by bringing his blade down upon you, slashing your torso open and spraying blood everywhere. "I hope we will meet again one day, Mordred," you say before coughing up some blood of your own, "I hope that we will be able to make things right, my son." You pull the spear from his chest and watch as his body falls lifeless to the ground before limping backward yourself and collapsing. You set yourself against a corpse and look at the sky, wondering if things could have turned out differently and whether you could have feasibly changed anything.
Closing your eyes for a moment, you nearly drift away until you feel strong hands shaking you back and forth, and you open your eyes once more to find Sir Bedivere and the survivors of the battle gathered around you. "Must not look very chivalric at the moment, I trust?" you say with a wry grin, but nobody smiles or even acknowledges your jest, and you become acutely aware of their collective grief, a touching display of their affection to you.
Struggling to your knees, you point at Excalibur, and one of the knights hands the blade to you gladly. (2/3)
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>>967739
Staring at the gleaming blade, you take one last look at it before handing it to Sir Bedivere and fixing him with your gaze. "Return this to the Lady of the Lake after I pass."
One look at his face, and you know your command will be carried out. Resolve freezes his face like stone, and his jaw sets in place. Good, like a true knight.
Looking around at your comrades, you chuckle as your vision fades, and you feel yourself slip, "Try not to make a mess of things after I leave. Oh, and tell Lancelot that I harbor no ill-will and that he had best keep up appearances on his return to Camelot."
Instantly, one of your Round Table knights, Sir Lucan, asks you puzzledly, "What for, my King?"
You smile and add, "For his coronation, of course." And with that, you decide now would be as good a time as ever to sleep, and you fade away.
---------
You awaken again, surprisingly enough, in a strange metal chamber, lit by an equally strange device hanging overhead and illuminating your surroundings. Attempting to move, you notice yourself strapped down on a table, and more interestingly, in white robes rather than in your armor. Glancing around the room, you notice a strange black surface in the shape of a square and a note. Leaning forward to read it, you find that it says: "Please stay where you are. I will be with you shortly, apologies for the delay!" in neat, black ink.
Wondering why the note would mention staying put when you are strapped down like you are, you struggle against your bindings and find the material pinning you looser than you had imagined. With a little more effort, you are sure you could break free and reach the metal door on the opposite side of the room, but the note states that you should stay.
>Break free and see what is behind the door
>Stay put and wait patiently
>Remain in the room after breaking free and instead call out with your voice to see if anybody is around
(3/3)
Note: Holy fuck I need to get my priorities straight. Session tomorrow should be much more active. Sorry for anybody who was waiting.
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>>968534
>>Remain in the room after breaking free and instead call out with your voice to see if anybody is around
Just to be clear, its a male Arthur, not Arturia which we see in the OP right?
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>>968540
Yes. You'll meet Arturia in a bit.
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>>968534
>Remain in the room after breaking free and instead call out with your voice to see if anybody is around
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>>968534
>Remain in the room after breaking free and instead call out with your voice to see if anybody is around
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>>969277
>>969111
>>968540
You break free of your restraints with ease and stretch out your limbs before looking around the room again. Besides the black surface, the door at the end, and the chair you were strapped to, the place looks completely barren. Opting to follow the advice of the note, you decide against checking out the door and instead cough your voice together, finally managing to get some past your parched throat.
"Can anybody hear me? I am Arthur, King of the Britons."
Suddenly, you hear a strange buzzing sound, and the black square on the wall flickers to life somehow. Instead of remaining completely black, the thing begins to absorb colors, and you leap back against the cold metal wall in surprise. A picture begins to form, and the slim, inhumanly perfect form of Morgan Le Fay, enchantress extraordinaire, appears on the screen in front of you in a wooden cabin, fireplace blazing away..
"Arthur, old friend! Glad to see you're awake!" she says with a sly smile, and you figure she's the one orchestrating all of this, as per usual.
"Friend?" you respond with a growl mixed with a grin. "Good to know you honor me as such, sorceress."
Morgan chuckles, before planting an arm on her hip and pointing at your chest, "Could I at least get some thanks for bringing you back?" You remove the robe covering your torso and find your chest miraculously intact. Nodding, you visibly stifle your hostility and give her a thumbs-up.
The Sorceress smiles at your gesture and continues, "Now I know you might be slightly confused about all of this and you have your questions, but I would like to offer an alternative to all of that."
The frown on your face gives her your response in record time, and she shrugs her shoulders. "Try the door now, and I'll show you what I mean." You walk to the door and push yourself through, appearing in the cabin shown on the screen, Morgan sitting in an exquisitely hand-carved rocking chair and sipping with a mug of something hot, from the steam rising above it.
"Tell me, Arthur, what do you know about Christmas?"
>"I know a fair amount about it."
>"Not much."
>"No clue what it's about."
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>>969825
>"Not much."
You mean the Winter Solstice?
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>>969825
>"Not much."
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>>970140
"I am not overly familiar with it, I am afraid. Most of my winters were spent ruling the realm and with the amount of fighting and managing done, I just never had the time."
Morgan looks taken aback at your statement, but composes herself immediately, only leaving you with an instant of surprise. "Unfortunate, but I understand that kingship must be tougher than I had ever imagined. Personally, I would just use my magic to cut corners, but I understand that such an option would not be available to you, Merlin being such a boring stickler for the rules and all.
"Either way," she continues readily, "I will tell you now, that by the end of this little endeavor the two of us will be on soon, you will know Christmas in full. "Endeavor?" you ask puzzledly, "For what reason would I have for helping you, wicked sorceress and troublemaker that you are?" At your question, Morgan frowns and holds up a finger, and suddenly you feel a deep pain in your chest.
Wracked by momentary pain, you fight through it and attempt to charge Morgan until the pain suddenly leaves, and you are left breathless on your feet a few steps from the sorceress. "Look, Arthur," she says sincerely, "I would like to put the past between us and make amends, but you see, if you refuse, I'd be forced to do some unsavory things. The stakes are rather high for this particular situation, you see."
"I need you to help me out, Arthur, and it would really, really, help if we could be friends." Gritting your teeth, you fume at her for a few seconds, but soon find your anger dissipating like when you faced Mordred at Camlann. You just can't hold a grudge anymore, not after what you've seen and done.
Extending a hand, you smile and Morgan returns it and the two of you hold a warm handshake. Morgan puts her little mug down, and snaps her fingers, materializing an identical mug in her hands, and handing it to you.Noticing the little bag of leaves in the mug, you nearly ask about it, but decide to continue your sip out of politeness. Tasting a dark, bitter flavor to it, you decide you rather like it, and the two of you share a moment of drink.
Moving on, Morgan sets her mug down on the arm of her chair and rises to her feet and waits for you to finish drinking. After you hand over the cup and watching her place that on the opposite arm of her chair, she beckons to the door leading out of the cabin and realizes that you aren't properly dressed for the cold and that in fact, neither is she.
Snapping her fingers twice, you find yourself suddenly stuck wearing your full set of armor and Excalibur sheathed on your back. Looking at Morgan, she is now dressed in a heavy fur coat, made from some unknown animal. Opening the door, the two of you walk into the frigid wind, beating against your faces and heavy with the fall of snow.
She leads and you follow, and the two of you travel in silence for what seems like hours on end, walking slowly through the icy landscape of the wilderness. (1/2)
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>>971299
Eventually, the two of you make your way to the top of a hill, and upon reaching the top, a strange castle becomes visible, looming above the surrounding forests gleaming with snow.
Belching smoke and lit from top to bottom with lights of some kind, you are completely shocked at the sheer scale of the structure. There must be thousands of inhabitants in that building, and yet the forests surrounding it are not nearly as depleted as they should be.
"Why are you showing me this?" you ask Morgan slowly, noting the slight smile on her face.
"I wanted to show you what we're dealing with here," she says carefully, "You see, the man who owns this building wants me to accomplish a certain task, and refusing is absolutely out of the question."
"You're one of the most powerful magic wielders in the land, Morgan, I can hardly imagine an individual who could force you to their bidding."
"That, my dear friend," she says with a raised eyebrow, "Is where you happen to be wrong. Now I won't name this individual, but suffice to say, he holds power greater than you can imagine."
"The world could be his if only he desired it. Lucky for everybody, then, that he only uses his might in the name of Christmas."
You frown, "So he's threatening you to accomplish this...task of yours?"
Morgan catches a snowflake in one of her hands and watches it melt slowly before looking you in the eyes and smiling, "Threaten...is a strong word for it. And really, I'm only one servant of many, at least for the season. There are plenty of more powerful individuals serving this man with tasks like ours if that makes you feel any better."
It doesn't, but you let her continue.
"I brought you back for a reason, Arthur. Me and you, we're going to have ourselves a proper Christmas in Camelot." She performs a grandiose gesture with her hands, "It'll be fantastic, you'll finally get to have a real Christmas and romp over your old stomping grounds!"
"What's the catch, Morgan?" you ask her in deadpan, you're no stranger to her deceitful ways. Actually, most individuals involved with magic and other supernatural occurrences haven't proved very trustworthy so far, so you might be inclined to cut her some slack.
"Fine, fine, I'll make it quick," she says, slightly annoyed at your indecorum, "We'll be heading to a different Camelot altogether. But at least it'll be before Camlann."
"What?"
"Magic, Arthur. Welcome to Magic."
>"What do you mean by 'different'?"
>"How long can we stay there?"
>"Can you explain a little better?"
(2/2)
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Fuck I need to include images with every post. Shit looks wacky.
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>>971309
>"What do you mean by 'different'?"
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>>971309
>>"What do you mean by 'different'?"
>>
>>971309
>"What do you mean by 'different'?"
>>
>>
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>>971425
>>971544
>>971826
"What do you mean by 'different'?" you ask slowly, knowing full well you are out of your depth.
"Alright, let me try to put it this way," Morgan says with a thoughtful look, "Imagine this world, where we are right now, but with slight differences."
"What kind of differences are we talking about, Morgan?"
She chuckles and flashes a sheepish grin, "That's the fun part of it all, Arty old pal!" "It wouldn't be fun if we knew everything about it, would take away from the experience, you could say."
You narrow your eyebrows and freeze her with a look colder than ice. "This doesn't sound like an opportunity for fun you know." Morgan scowls, "Bah, just shut your trap you prissy nob. On the other hand, would you prefer to keep your armor and Excalibur when we cross over to the New Camelot, or would you like to try something more...festive?"
"Why? You still haven't told me what we're even going to be doing there, Morgan!"
She crosses her arms and pouts, "Well I won't tell you if you won't answer me first. Hmph!"
You have no idea how to react to this particular situation. Dealing with women never really was your thing, despite what your progeny and lovers will claim. You just did what kings do, you suppose.
>"I'll keep the armor, and Excalibur too."
>"I guess I can try on something new."
>Got anything else in mind? Anything special?"
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>>973540
>I'll keep Excalibur, though I suppose I could try a change in clothing.
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>>973540
>"I'll keep the armor, and Excalibur too."
Just have ProtoSaber wear a Santa hat.
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>>973540
>I'll keep Excalibur, though I suppose I could try a change in clothing.
Blend in to avoid trouble, but always be able to fight back, just in case.
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>>973540
>I'll keep Excalibur, though I suppose I could try a change in clothing.
>>
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>>973540
>"I'll keep the armor, and Excalibur too.
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"I won't be parted from Excalibur, but a change of clothing couldn't hurt."
"Excellent!" Morgan says with that mischevious smile of hers, and suddenly, you feel rather anxious.
She turns away, and you hear her mumbling to herself various words and phrases in languages besides English, leaving you even more nervous than before. Facing knights in combat is one thing, trying to predict the actions of an eccentric sorceress is another completely.
Trying to take your mind off of it, you pull Excalibur from your sheath and run your hand over the flawless metal. You suddenly remember your last command to Sir Bedivere at Camlann, and you tap Morgan on the shoulder.
"Mhm, yes Arthur?" she murmurs, clearly busy with her devilish magically-attuned busy-bodying.
"How did you get Excalibur back? The Lady of the Lake was supposed to be keeping it after Camlann."
Morgan chuckles and shrugs her shoulders, "She's nice enough for somebody who lives in a lake you know. Helped that I mentioned I'd be bringing you back."
You frown, "Just like that?"
"Just like that."
"Was she not concerned at all that you have a less-than-spotless reputation in the land?"
Morgan shrugs her shoulders, "After what she did to Merlin, I wasn't going to argue with her, Arty. Just grabbed the sword and left. Maybe I should have brought the stone, would have been a funny gag for a bit."
You leave it at that, and the two of you maintain a peaceful silence, well, speaking-wise. The damn wind that was freezing the place solid would have made proper communication moot in either case.
After a short wait, Morgan exclaims some unfamiliar phrase and leaps up in triumph. "I got it down finally! Third time really is the charm."
She snaps her fingers and you become enveloped in a sudden cloud of white smoke, briefly warming the air and completely removing your vision for a few tenuous seconds. Looking down at your clothing after the smoke clears, you find yourself clad in a high-class nobleman outfit, the kind that you personally despise. A complaint on your lips, you face Morgan and find her dressed like a queen and suddenly it all comes together.
"We're..what, infiltrating this other Camelot as nobles?" you demand with not a little distaste.
"Arty," Morgan says with a frown, "You really talk too much sometimes, and I know it sounds awfully hypocritical coming from me but you really need to slow the questions down. I'll explain a little better when we get there because we want to get this done as fast as possible, trust me, much safer that way."
"Oh, by the way, are you or are you not, a people person?" she says with a perfectly neutral expression, faring well against your frustrated scrutiny at her question.
>Yes?
>No?
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>>976270
> I don't know, does people include you?
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>>976270
>>Yes?
Arthur was a king after all
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>>976270
>Yes?
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>>976293
>>976409
>>976601
"I don't know, does people include you?"
Morgan looks at you and just stands there dumbfounded, and you cross your arms and set your jaw in irritation. "Yes, yes I am. I wouldn't be bothering with your trickery and misdirections, more becoming of an attention-starved adolescent than a famous sorceress, you bothersome twit."
Recovering from your little quip, Morgan smiles and snaps her fingers once more and a violent, tearing noise reports an incandescent, glowing void in the space between the two of you. The portal, if that is what it is, seems to bend and shimmer in the cold winter night, and the snowflakes that touch the bright shape seem to disappear on contact as if they had never been there at all.
"You're full of surprises, your highness, I like that in a man." She giggles and you tilt your head in disbelief, intensifying your contemptuous look until even ice seems to melt under your gaze. "Fine, fine, I'll keep my word," Morgan says as her mirth slowly dissipates under your deadly stare, "Our objective is to restore the state of Christmas spirit to acceptable levels for my employer and to ensure the success of future Christmas spirits in this Camelot. To this end, we will need to visit several individuals and solve their problems, and convert them to the Christmas spirit."
"I see. Any particular individuals we need to pay a visit to?" you ask earnestly, wondering what could possibly be so important about restoring Christmas spirit in Camelot. You weren't the foremost proponent of the holiday, but you could hardly consider it something more pressing than repelling barbarians from your lands or crushing the foolishness of rebels.
"Details will be further provided on arrival, facilitated by a contact from my employer. We just need to stick around to meet them, hence the disguises." Morgan relays to you with an honest, mostly-trustworthy tone. "I asked you if you were a people person because this portal leads straight inside Camelot castle and introducing ourselves as otherworldly visitors would go rather poorly. Makes the job much easier, don't have to deal with the guards, the various runes Merlin put on the damn place, and..."
"What do you mean it leads into the castle? Do you even have an exact location where the damn thing will even take us?"
"Well," Morgan grins nervously, "The only stable portal I could find was directly outside the Round Table room."
You nearly lose your cool, but the icy wind makes it impossible to rid yourself of the bloody thing. "So, do we have identities we can assume?"
"Well, you're supposed to be a nobleman. And I'm supposed to be your wife. You can work with that, right?"
Things have looked better, but they've also looked worse, you suppose.
> "Stay behind me, I'll take care of the talking."
> "I know a few names I can drop, but you'll need to come up with some of it."
> "Can you toss a spell into the mix? I might need a little help."
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>>979023
>> "I know a few names I can drop, but you'll need to come up with some of it."
“I can deal with most of it but under this circumstances there will probably be questions that I would not know how to answers”
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Will have to postpone for a short bit. Might just make a new thread for this at this point when I return.
Thread posts: 43
Thread images: 12
Thread images: 12