welian
#BlackLivesMatter
[div class=mgrpBackground][DIV class=mgrpBody][DIV class=mgrpHeader]The Wizard, the Egg, and the Internet[/DIV]
It all started when you joined the team, when you rolled up to the Twilight Palace on the rocky western coast of Silverwood. The kingdom had collectively had enough of Lord Xandiel’s shit. He wasn’t even a real lord, you know? He was like, King Brenevan’s third cousin removed.
It doesn’t matter. When the bounties failed, the king took things into his own hands - which is to say, he outsourced the matter to you. Not you specifically. But you. And the others who answered his call. A powerful team of travelers, promised all sorts of riches from solid gold coins, to marriages with Princesses Verity, Purity, and Chastity, to vast tracts of land, to the pardoning of any particular crime you’ve committed.
You and the rest of this team have been chasing this socially challenged, beanpole of a cold, soulless nerd, literal red-headed step-child and master of annoying laughs across the continent of Wishborne - and then some, the Demi-goddess of Whitewater is still quite angry about whoever peed in her sacred hotspring, but it’s ride-or-die at this point and you ain’t no snitch - but we’re getting off topic again.
The point is, you were all staring Xandiel in his cold, beady eyes. He was cornered. It was a raging thunderstorm outside, in the middle of summer, and everyone was quite ready to cut off his head and shit in his severed trachea.
And then.
AND THEN.
This fucking bastard pulled one last trick. A burlap sack slung over his shoulder, he opened a portal into the floor and fall backward into it, wheezing that fucking annoying laugh that will haunt people in the dead of night.
What else could you do, besides jump in, swearing to all the gods above and below that you'd all wring his neck and cook his bones into broth?[/DIV][/DIV] [class=mgrpButton] display: inline-block; margin: 15px; padding: 15px; line-height: 1em; text-align: center; font-size: large; color: #8181b3; [/class] [class=mgrpButtonSelect] display: inline-block; margin: 15px; padding: 15px; line-height: 1em; text-align: center; font-size: large; border-radius: 12px; background: #d9dde7; color: #8181b3; [/class] [class=mgrpHeader] padding: 25px; color: #8181b3; font-size: xx-large; text-align: center; [/class] [class=mgrpBody] margin:auto; max-width: 600px; background: #fcfbfd; padding: 15px; text-align: left; line-height: 1.6em; color: #555555; [/class] [class=mgrpBackground] padding: 50px; background-image: url('https://i.postimg.cc/LsBTz51f/interlaced.png'); background-repeat: repeat; [/class]
[div class=mgrpButtonSelect]Story[/div]
[div class=mgrpButton]Discussion[/div]
[div class=mgrpButton]Setting[/div]
[div class=mgrpButton]Profiles[/div]
Once upon on a time, in a world far away, it was a dark and stormy night. And then it wasn't.It all started when you joined the team, when you rolled up to the Twilight Palace on the rocky western coast of Silverwood. The kingdom had collectively had enough of Lord Xandiel’s shit. He wasn’t even a real lord, you know? He was like, King Brenevan’s third cousin removed.
It doesn’t matter. When the bounties failed, the king took things into his own hands - which is to say, he outsourced the matter to you. Not you specifically. But you. And the others who answered his call. A powerful team of travelers, promised all sorts of riches from solid gold coins, to marriages with Princesses Verity, Purity, and Chastity, to vast tracts of land, to the pardoning of any particular crime you’ve committed.
You and the rest of this team have been chasing this socially challenged, beanpole of a cold, soulless nerd, literal red-headed step-child and master of annoying laughs across the continent of Wishborne - and then some, the Demi-goddess of Whitewater is still quite angry about whoever peed in her sacred hotspring, but it’s ride-or-die at this point and you ain’t no snitch - but we’re getting off topic again.
The point is, you were all staring Xandiel in his cold, beady eyes. He was cornered. It was a raging thunderstorm outside, in the middle of summer, and everyone was quite ready to cut off his head and shit in his severed trachea.
And then.
AND THEN.
This fucking bastard pulled one last trick. A burlap sack slung over his shoulder, he opened a portal into the floor and fall backward into it, wheezing that fucking annoying laugh that will haunt people in the dead of night.
What else could you do, besides jump in, swearing to all the gods above and below that you'd all wring his neck and cook his bones into broth?[/DIV][/DIV] [class=mgrpButton] display: inline-block; margin: 15px; padding: 15px; line-height: 1em; text-align: center; font-size: large; color: #8181b3; [/class] [class=mgrpButtonSelect] display: inline-block; margin: 15px; padding: 15px; line-height: 1em; text-align: center; font-size: large; border-radius: 12px; background: #d9dde7; color: #8181b3; [/class] [class=mgrpHeader] padding: 25px; color: #8181b3; font-size: xx-large; text-align: center; [/class] [class=mgrpBody] margin:auto; max-width: 600px; background: #fcfbfd; padding: 15px; text-align: left; line-height: 1.6em; color: #555555; [/class] [class=mgrpBackground] padding: 50px; background-image: url('https://i.postimg.cc/LsBTz51f/interlaced.png'); background-repeat: repeat; [/class]
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