Support the Inn! If you are doing holiday shopping online, please use this affiliate link for Amazon. You pay the exact same prices, but the Inn earns a small referral fee. Thanks!
You are here: Home --> Forum Home --> Rules-based RPGs --> Dungeons and Dragons --> Shadows of the Empire
Related thread: Shadows of the Empire - Recruitment Related thread: Shadows of the Empire Q&A GM for this game: t_catt11 Players for this game: Eol Fefalas, Reralae, breebles, alovet, Esther Suddeth , Octavia, vibechecker628
|
vibechecker628 Occasional Visitor Karma: 3/0 28 Posts
|
Unkindness and a man
Mae'rel had many times traveled the forest in her journey alongside Ignacio, but never had she traveled the forest and ended up in a place like this. The grove itself, while beautiful, hinted something was a bit wrong. Adoran's servants always guarded sacred groves as she'd heard, but they were beautiful, they were grand, filled with flowers and life. Instead it seemed like this grove wasn't even quite alive, like it was on it's last leg and grasping. Ravens were a bird associated with disease, after all, and death, and it seemed fitting that such a group of animals were the only noticeable life, outside the plants and the man.
The man himself was the biggest problem, more so than the state of the grove or anything else. If he had been nurturing owlbears and called them sacred, it was clear his mind had long since departed, and he was beyond any reason or healing. His appearance was rugged, and Mae'rel was under the impression he had long since abandoned society and tried to make himself one with nature. Perhaps in some ways, he had succeeded, thought it most certainly cost him.
He claimed himself a servant of Adoran by wearing that necklace, as judging by it's structure, it seemed something more than just anyone would wear, and his words reinforced this further, yet, she struggled to believe he was a servant. If nothing else, she struggled to believe he still was indeed a servant. His necklace was twisted and corrupted, not just worn down by time, it looked as if it at been mutilated, but how exactly that had happened? She wasn't quite sure. What she was sure of, though, was that this didn't look to be going in the correct direction.
The Monk decided she would try to de-escalate the situation, and so she spoke to her colleagues, keeping her voice hushed, "This man seems unwell. I do not know what he wants, or who he is, but he seems to serve, or rather, served the Keeper of Seasons. His necklace is not right, it should not be ravaged as it has been, and this grove is not right either."
And then, the monk made herself known to the man, offering a bow. "My apologies. I am a servant of the Blue Lady, and I take it you serve Keeper Adoran?"
(OOC: Assuming he confirms, read further down for if he denies/does not answer)
"We did not seek to disturb your grove" Mae'rel continued, "We only sought answers to the strange behavior of the Owlbears within the area. I sincerely apologize for any disturbance caused." She halted, hoping the man would explain the strange circumstances without her prompting further.
(OOC: ALTERNATE DIALOGUE if he denies/does not answer)
"Regardless of who you serve, even if yourself only." The monk paused, contemplating her next words, "We did not mean to intrude upon your privacy, and I apologize for any disruptions we may have caused. I ask only if you know anything of the owlbears which live nearby."
Posted on 2025-02-02 at 15:55:05.
Edited on 2025-02-02 at 15:56:05 by vibechecker628
|
Reralae Dreamer of Bladesong Karma: 144/12 2530 Posts
|
Twisted Nature
Many voices spoke as they met with the unusual forest caretaker, and Isilmewen chose not to add her voice to the ones already addressing him; the better to not overwhelm with words if he was indeed as unaccustomed to speech as he sounded to her ears. How long had he traveled alone for his voice to be as it was? And more importantly, why eschew the company of the people who would still offer hospitality? Even if she herself knew the feeling of preferring the wild and open of the table of chance upon which she witnessed many wonders, Isilmewen would never sever her ties to her kin and friends.
But such thoughts had to wait. Isilmewen felt the tension in her body, like her own bowstring when it was ready to let fly. Something felt amiss. And she was determined to find out what it was.
While the others held his attention, and he theirs, Isilmewen's gaze went to the trees beyond the man's grove. As she spotted Dax making slight movements, she gave a slight nod, as she continued to scan and keep her wits. She would shift her balance and position, move enough in an attempt to pierce the natural concealment that might block from sight the man's companions, whom they had only seen the prints of prior. If she could spot them before any ambush were made, that alone might bring the tilt of fortune back into favor for the group, even if this man had tried to rig the encounter his way.
(Similar to Dax, but instead of going for a flank, Isilmewen is going to take opportunity to try and maintain awareness of their surroundings, even if it might need a bit of movement to get a better view through the foliage. She has reason to believe that his owlbear companion(s) might be nearby, as they were also part of the trail)
Posted on 2025-02-04 at 21:03:12.
Edited on 2025-02-04 at 21:04:01 by Reralae
|
breebles #1 Kibibi Karma: 58/1 1858 Posts
|
I've Got a Baaaaad Feeling About This
Rosariel dutifully followed the charcoal robes of the mage ahead of her as they slowly made their way through the brush, not really noticing them or any of her companions as the silence of the forest spoke deafeningly in her ears, drowning out most other thoughts. It had never been this quiet. These were not her home woods, but all of them spoke, they all had a language. Since the raven, these had been silent. It made her more nervous than anything she had ever come across, anything she had ever stalked, or that had ever stalked her.
The power to command monstrosities was terrifying but not unheard of. To command the will of nature itself? Taudor Salka’s rage and disgust poured into Rosariel at the thought. Her own violent anger clouding her vision so much that she nearly ran into Seleniniel as the sharp mage stepped back
Rosariel’s right arm instinctively flew up behind her as she jerked her head forward again, seeking the source of her party’s sudden halt. The fingers of her right hand fingered her bowstring as the practiced fingers of her left sought out the component pouch she needed.
The man spoke and the hand of hers ready to grasp her bow slowly lowered, though the other remained poised to snatch up her components should the need arise. She looked to the back of the bladesinger’s head, expecting their composed bladesinger to be their liaison with this odd stranger, but to her surprise it was the bofear who stepped forward first. Her left hand moved from the pouch it had been hovering over to instead hover over the components for an aid spell, her other hand reached to grasp the antler bone that hung at her neck, a prayer to the huntress ready on her lips in case healing was necessary.
The bladesinger and monk soon followed in their assurances that they meant no harm, and Rosariel squinted at the weathered, wild appearance of the old Sylvari man, awash in the raucous cries of the ravens. This seemed to be where the sound of the forest had gone. That realization made the hair on her arms stand on ends, and her knuckles whiten around the antler bone. She wanted to reach for her bow, her fingers itched for it. If this man proved to be responsible for the creation of the owlbears, for the manipulation of the woods, then she had no patience for any of the answers he had ready to leak into their ears. All she needed was to hear him say it.
She sighed irritatedly, the urge to fall back and find an angle that wouldn’t put her companions in danger should she loose an arrow on the man growing with her rising anxiety over how eerie this entire situation was. Obligation won out this time, and she remained close enough to their front line fighters in case they needed her assistance. Either way she hoped an end to this blasted hunt was near.
Posted on 2025-02-05 at 03:15:15.
|
t_catt11 Fun is Mandatory RDI Staff Karma: 379/54 7183 Posts
|
we're all mad here...
At Ruadhrí's words, the elder syl began laughing - a disquieting noise, to be sure, somehow reminiscient of brittle old sticks clacking together in the dry autumn wind. "You do not seek to disgrace my grove, you say, but here you are, doing so with your very stink!" He paused, his face very akin to one who had inhaled the smell of rotten meat. "The stench of cities lies on you all. Pfagh. Even those of you who should know better."
His rhuemy eyes roamed the group before settling on the kneeling form of the bofear. "And what manner of beast be you, anyway? Are you thier attack haun, here to protect your masters? Here you are, speaking our tongue like a caragpholg chewing on a stump, yet the children of the stars let you speak for them?" More brittle laughter.
"I take it 'Darvem' is your barbarian word for the lord of the forests, eh? I do not recall a place among the dance of the earth for cow folk..." He trailed off, but then, his voice took an odd tone. "Though to be fair, the dance of the earth has places for many who may not have originally joined it. Yes, yes..." his voice trailed off for a moment.
Then, Arathea spoke up, and the old syl's bearing shifted again.
"Ah, here it is. The false flowery words of the court. I had wondered when their sound would accompany your stink." He shook his head.
At the mention of the owlbears, the old syl's expression grew dark and dangerous. "Insolent whelp, you speak of subjects you know nothing of. Natural life, hah!" He gestured at Ruadhrí. "You travel with a creature such as that, something from a wet nurse's tale to frighten children into bedtime, and you dare lecture me about natural life?" The laughter returned, with a cruel edge.
Then, Mae'rel added her query, but the ancient syl seemed uninterested in answering. She persisted, wondering if he knew anything of the owlbears nearby.
"So it *is* that, then," he spoke with venom in his voice. "You are here to serve the cities... gnawing and biting, cracking and breaking, letting those who know nothing of the depth of this world to decide what is and is not worthy of life? You are here to mindlessly kill that which you cannot understand or control?" His voice rose in both timbre and volume, with a deep look of passion on his face. "You come here to my grove, seeking to water its loam with the blood of those who refuse to bow the knee to the arrogant aredhelea?"
His eyes grew wild, his hands gripped the staff tightly. "I will give you more chance than you deserve, despoilers from the baradea of the false - leave this place now, and never return." His voice was like steel - no, like witchwood itself, with an ancient, hard edge of deep malice.
The gray-haired elder cocked his head. As he did so, the very floor of the forest seemed to undulate near the syl's feet. Momentarily, a half dozen forms stood to their feet, forming a screen between the party and the elder syl.
The... things that stood on two legs were horrors beyond comprehension. They were corpses of sylvari, quite obviously dead, with greenish mottled skin, missing pieces of flesh, eyes - at least those still present - that obviously saw nothing. But from the corpses sprouted mushroom-like fungi of a deep purplish and orange colors. The fungi appeared to be randomly scattered, sticking out from eye sockets, from faces, from arms, from anywhere on the body, with sizes from an acorn up to a gunt melon. The movements of the creatures were slow and stilted, yet they seemed entirely capable of locomotion - and more.
"If you prefer," the old syl intoned, "you may die here, and water the loam with your own blood, instead." A chorus of raven calls echoed all through the grove, as if the great black dulinea were laughing at the party's situation.
The ancient face held nothing but savage hate. "Choose now."
Posted on 2025-02-05 at 18:16:14.
Edited on 2025-02-05 at 18:19:26 by t_catt11
|
Octavia Regular Visitor Karma: 6/0 65 Posts
|
He done did it now...
As soon as the man called him - what he could only assume meant hound, as the raspy voice of the old man was all but unintelligble to him - you could almost see smoke come out of his nose. Ruadhri stood, ready to turn this man into aged wagyu when he heard the man start traling off about who goes to Darvems land and those who go, his rage begining to sate as he plopped a leaf in his mouth in an attempt to keep this civil.
"All you had to do was shut the Damnu up..." Ruadhrí mutters to himself as Arathea speaks, one negotiater, bhean snoby Ruadhrí eyes the aggitated, man with every muscle screaming at him to pick up his weapon and cleave this fossil back into the history books but Ruadhrí only bowed his head, determined to keep this interaction peacful. "We do not wish to kill anything great sine draoi, nor do I take the company cobblestone under my feet before fallen leaves, no matter how thorny." Ruadhrí's plead to handle this without blood is silenced by the man beginning another rant about how horrible cities are and then the old coot says the words that will earn him an early grave if he does anything short of dismember Ruadhrí...
"My people, are far more connected with the heart of the world than your scheming, backstabbing race of walking twigs could ever think to be! Choose your words carefully, sine draoi." Ruadhrí picked up the great ax at his feet, holding it low to his waist. "I do not serve, nor will I ever serve anyone or anything but my treada. The Kazari learned it and now, if your stuck up, arrogent damnu's wish to try it, they will meet the same fate" Ruadhrí tried to keep his cool, now the fossil will get up with the times or be dug up after this moment becomes the distant past.
"Mallacht an talmhainn..." Ruadhrí mutters under his breath, loosely translating to 'earth curse' as the corpses gain more toadstools than an amphibia diner. "Black magic! Why discrase the earth by rooting up its food and using it for untimely deaths to those who grace it?" Ruadhrí's faith in the earth spirit kindered rage... and disgust of such a man taking his name and commiting such a hanus act. Ruadhrí had every voice and sound in his head screaming to kill the abominations, all he needed was a go ahead to butcher the spoiled meat... or he would give himseld one.
Posted on 2025-02-05 at 23:04:09.
|
Esther Suddeth Occasional Visitor Karma: 6/1 47 Posts
|
He's a witch!!!!
Arathea analyzed with calm dediaction as the man in front of her continued, the words, the insults he let out were of the type to instill anger. But she was better than that, instead she remained calm as she the "priest" in front of her gave his speech. She analyzed the surroundings, envisioning in her mind placements for Dak, Isilmewen, and all ther other companions she had with her. However it came to be that this was no normal speech, not even the common ravings you would expect from a mad man. Arathea saw the hands rise from the ground, rotting and clearly dead, then she saw the bodies they belonged to. She had never seen the undead before, never seen such monsters against all creation, let alone any that carried fungi on them. The sight was sickening, their rotting flesh and lifeless eyes, and the scent they carried made the smell of the man who raised them seem like sweet perfume in comparison.
Arathea seeked to be strategic about this, to give time for those capable of ranged combat to hopefully find flanking positions and provide support. Taking any time to form more complex strategy however was not an option, Ruadhrí had made sure of that. The display of rage frustrated Arathea almost as much as the slander of the "priest" did, the absolute lack of consideration for anything greater than his own rage made Arathea want to pull her hair out. Now was not the time for her to get lost in her own rage still, and no matter how frustrated she was with her ally she had to remain focused on preparing for battle herself. She signaled Dak and Isilmewen to move into position to provide cover fire before calling out. "Clerics,Seleniniel, I trust you three to do your thing! I'd advise focusing the living threat rather than his undead allies."
She now focused herself, beggining to sing while her hand went down to grip at her blade. As the world started to slow she began to charge forward, seeking to hopefully cut through the undead and reach their master. She believed that, while he had the sense of the owlbears fought just recently, Ruadhrí would still deal a spectacular amount of damage to these enemies. Keeping steady Arathea thrusted her blade forward, hoping that this could end with haste. These monsters were the most disturbing things she'd ever had to face before, they were absolutely putrid and the term 'beast' would seem like an honor to them. Arathea had heard stories of undead monsters from other companions in her time, but nothing could have prepared her for the horrors she now faced. No matter what still, she now had a duty to put them down, and to stop this vile witch who raised them.
Posted on 2025-02-09 at 02:20:02.
Edited on 2025-02-09 at 02:23:51 by Esther Suddeth
|
alovet Regular Visitor Karma: 11/0 74 Posts
|
Boring conversation anyway...
Now that’s interesting. Half her mind studied the fungal undead with detached interest as they sprouted from the earth around the clearly mad… priest, it seemed. While she didn’t share the common prejudices around necromancy, Seleniniel had never cared much for the school. It felt.. coercive, in the way it co-opted living flesh for another’s purposes. Still, she appreciated a display of such powerful magic, no matter the school…
She shook off the momentary reverie and tried to focus past the knot in her stomach that had grown tighter as the hermit gushed his vitriol. These things surely meant blood spilling–hopefully less of theirs and more of whatever flowed in the veins of the marionettes. Ruadhri had clearly reached the same conclusion. Seleniniel’s eyes flicked across the others, but no silver tongue was going to solve this… the rest seemed poised for a signal, which quickly came, as the bladesinger bared steel and began her song. Good enough.
Her palm closed around the tallow ball just long enough to let the heat from her hand soften its outer skin, then rolled the softened wax, first through yellowgold- then black-powdered pockets. Her hand crushed the catalyst as she lifted it skyward from the charcoal robe, bits of softened wax seeping between her fingers while she visualized the intricate routine of her phantom hand gesturing directly at the madman. The brilliant orange sphere sprung to life behind the frontline as Seleniniel attempted to engulf the priest in flames.
[[Casts Flaming Sphere, her primary target is the old syl, but if she can catch some of the shroom zombies in the damage radius without endangering Ruadrhi and Arathea, she will. As combat progresses, she will try to position the sphere to best corral/flank the zombies to support the two frontline attackers, then she will focus on the old guy. Her spells will depend on what the priest is doing/what kind of magic he’s deploying against them. Likely chromatic orb and/or magic missile. If the ravens attack, she may have to change her plan.]]
Posted on 2025-02-09 at 11:14:13.
|
vibechecker628 Occasional Visitor Karma: 3/0 28 Posts
|
Never found my way around a word like a wound.
And it was true. Mae'rel never did negiotate quite as well, or speak as good, as she could heal. Even beyond The Blue Lady's blessing, Mae'rel was quite skilled, more than even an average healer without miracles, in healing wounds. Herb ointments, grafting, surgical workings, and suturing all being skills she used throughout her time assisting Master Ignacio, but he was the one who did any speaking to political figures or even the religious ones who were members of their church. She was, in a way, charismatic, but truly she was only appealing to those who understood her more, otherwise she often provoked, as she did just now. The old man seemed to take her words offensively, though if he was supporting inherently evil creatures, such as undead and owlbears, she wasn't sure she would have done things differently, even given a do-over.
(OOC: Casting sanctuary on self ASAP, hopefully before full combat breaks out)
Retrieving a small silver mirror from her bag, Mae'rel grasped the rose around her neck, and it's thornless stem, before uttering a quiet prayer as she passed the hand clasping the symbol in front of her face, and once her hand had passed infront of the mirror, she disappeared from view, at least to the creatures who were none the wiser. After that, she took a moment to actually analyze the situation. The ravens seemed to be with the man, at least to some extent, so it was possible they were a threat. As for the undead.. he clearly controlled them, though they were admittedly strange, different from normal stories she'd heard. This was her first time confronting such a threat, so she supposed that stories perhaps had just simplified the undead, but she'd never heard of fungus being involved. Master Ignacio would have been most intrigued by such creatures, after all, in his early days, he was an adventurer before a Monk, and so he had seen many things, including undead.
The man was obviously the largest threat, due to his loose mind, and his powerful magic, it was clear that it would be difficult to end the battle without pacifying him. She worried about the fungus covering the undead, if it possessed poison, or would allow the undead to pass it, which would be worse still. As such, she decided she would support the two fighters once again, as a spectre along the frontlines, unnoticed by any who did not sense her presence, and that she would trust her warriors to snuff out those who were aware of her interference.
So she prepared herself for chaos to begin, keeping an eye up and her hands ready to seal the wounds of her comrades.
Posted on 2025-02-10 at 17:20:37.
Edited on 2025-02-10 at 17:25:00 by vibechecker628
|
breebles #1 Kibibi Karma: 58/1 1858 Posts
|
Get off my plane
Rosariel took an agitated step forward as the lunatic spoke, defending his freakish creations, belittling their bofear ally, claiming their defilement of the grounds he’d walk his damnations across. If no one else here would end his tirade, Rosariel would shortly.
And then he made their decision for them. The tension she had felt holding herself back in lieu of their leaders’ honeyed words snapped all at once as undead hands rose from the ground. Out of the corner of her eye, she barely caught the movement of Seleniniel’s arm through her charcoal sleeve as she began her incantation, and their dove masked monk flitted into nothing as Rosariel raced past both of them, out of the treeline, and toward the blasphemes of nature and the world itself.
Pulling a bright green piece of foxfire from its pouch, Rosariel spoke to Taudor Salka, and as she did the Huntress spoke back in the explosion of bioluminescence that sprang forth from her hands, carried violently up on the wind and crashing down atop the undead atrocities and their maker.
((Faerie Fire on as many undead and the creepy ol’ priest man, without hitting any allies))
Though the spell had left her, the anger of her goddess remained, twisting her stomach with disgust and a rage that made her nearly as blind as Ruadhrí in battle. As Rosariel approached she grasped the piece of stag antler that jostled against her chest with one hand, the tinier pieces of the antler clamouring at the wrist of her other hand as she held it out to the abominations before her.
Rosariel had never encountered the undead before. She had read about them, the infection they left on the land, in the various tomes she had scoured in search of knowledge; in her self-composed education in the ways of the Huntress. She knew the traditions and the rituals, had read the tales and the remedies, had recited the prayers and the pleas. But she had not known of the anger. She could feel it burning her gut, clawing its way up through her throat, coloring her vision and the sounds that escaped her.
Her next words were spoken through clenched teeth, her consent to allow Taudor Salka to channel her energy through her and rid them of these creatures. “Huntress, these woods are yours. Sacred to you alone. Use me to cast this filth out of your grove. Turn them so that we may vanquish them from your realm.” And once more she was flooded with the will of her goddess, a divine surge like the wind that had captured her spell before flowed through her and blossomed forth from her outstretched hand in search of the undead before her.
((Attempting to turn undead))
A fleeting feeling of emptiness overcame her once the channel had left her body, but the heat of what she could only assume was Seleniniel’s giant ball of fire brought her back to herself and the needs of her allies. Without another moment wasted, Rosariel’s hands reached for her component pouches as she raced the rest of the way to support her fighters.
((Depending on positioning and how bad off they are, Rosariel will attempt an Aid on Arathea, otherwise will spam Cure Light Wounds on whoever needs it most. If someone gets poisoned she’d prioritize a slow poison spell if she can get there in time))
Posted on 2025-02-10 at 23:29:04.
Edited on 2025-02-11 at 19:02:48 by breebles
|
Reralae Dreamer of Bladesong Karma: 144/12 2530 Posts
|
A suspicion confirmed, a tragedy unfolds
"You are..."
The words trailed from Isilmewen's lips, but she didn't hold the same rancor that her companions held. Righteous as it was, she couldn't hold the same feeling herself, and instead looked forlorn as she took a steadied breath.
"Nature is many things. But one thing I am reminded again, and again, is that it adapts. You, who would search for a place for those yet to find theirs, you have forgotten the harmonies that must be observed. I think I can recognize your vision, but this is not the path there," Isilmewen spoke, her words tinged with sorrow, her hand shakily drawing an arrow from her hip quiver, "Even we have to step in when a predator would threaten too large a domain. Or prune overgrowth, that the plants flourish better."
It didn't matter if her words failed to land, her heart wouldn't let her leave it unspoken. And somehow, Isilmewen had the feeling that this man's views had fossilized over a very long time. Far longer than any of them had in this moment to chisel open to seed with renewed perspectives.
With the fungi taking up the frontline, she knew what she had to do. She slipped back to borrow cover of the trees as she steadied her aim. Even as far gone as he seemed, Isilmewen hesitated to do more than necessary to disable him. Would it be possible to find a thread of reason that would bring him, this man who had seen untold years, back to Adaron's guidance?
The prospect seemed unlikely, but... What kind of maiden would she be if she didn't try the table at times like this?
"Haren'salkya," Isilmewen breathed, "May I share this dance?"
If favor was hers to hold this time, perhaps she could yet prevent the tragedy from reaching it's conclusion.
((OOC: Isilmewen is targeting the presumably fallen cleric with her arrows, but going to focus on trying to disable him - if she can shoot to dislodge his casting focus and/or materials, she'll try to. Else, she'll try for non lethal shots, arm most likely.))
Posted on 2025-02-13 at 11:17:59.
|
Eol Fefalas Lord of the Possums RDI Staff Karma: 475/29 8872 Posts
|
Yeah... not ideal... buuuut....
As the obviously twisted cleric of Keithee went on about his tirade, his invectives spiraling ever deeper into the dark vision of what he thought nature ought be, Dak exchanged faint nods and other unspoken communiques as he began to slip off into the trees dotting the left side of the grove. The more martially inclined of the party started their surge forward at the same time, and even the spell slingers, arcane and divine alike, started to call on their abilities to engage the ancient Syl and his summoned minions. As the fungus encrusted undead sprouted from the earth to join the battle to come, he gave a shake of his head…
Wonderful, the halfling thought as he dipped and darted between the trunks and stones to find a practical position from which to provide cover fire, Just what we need after the owlbears! Shambling shroom-men! As he maneuvered, his mind played over possible options of attack he might take, and his eyes darted between the corrupt cleric, the recently raised mushroom men, and the squawking omen-bringers perched in the trees. Why am I feeling that we’re outflanked?
…He glanced, one last time, to where Isilmewen had dipped into cover on the opposite side of the coppice, flashed his old friend a hopeful smile and a nod as he thumbed the haft of the dart in his hand and then, let it fly. I suppose we’ll see how this goes, he sighed to himself as the dart whistled through the air, let us hope we all live to laugh about it later, hm?
((OOC: Dak will continue to try and put himself in a flanking position on the old Syl, providing cover fire and/or distraction as needed with darts. Should he expend his supply, he’ll switch to his sling staff for the same purpose and, should opportunity present, he’ll definitely go for the backstab where the witchling and his minions are concerned. Additionally, if he can suss out S’s flaming sphere in time, and thinks he can do so without catching any of the frontliners in his own party in the “rain” he’ll uncork a flask of oil and toss it toward the old dude for added effect… I hope… *crosses fingers*))
Posted on 2025-02-13 at 16:19:56.
|
|
|
View/Edit Your Profile | Staff List | Contact Us
Use of the RDINN forums or chatrooms constitutes agreement with our Terms of Service.You must enable cookies and javascript to use all features of this site.
|
|