“Before, you were home. Well, maybe not home. But definitely somewhere else. But the next thing you saw was shadows engulfing you, and then you’re floating through space, the stars twinkling around you, the night sky moving in purple swirls. And then you made it here. Macca.
“This is the story all of you know. Macca, the land where your troubles may not have started, but they certainly got worse. Macca is a massive city resembling Victorian era London, covered in pollution, but completely abandoned. Except for the shadows. They hunt whenever the sun is not in sight-and the sun is rarely in sight due to the smog covering it. You’ve seen many go to the shadows, turned, hurt, loved ones lost. But after appearing in the center of Macca, you somehow found your way out. Maybe it was your wits that saved you. Maybe agility. Perhaps just pure strength. But you know this-if a shadow kills you, you become one.
“Where are you now, you may ask? I’ll tell you. Outside of the city, there is a small town where all of the survivors ended up. Daschaka. Daschaka is a small town filled with people from all over the multiverse, people like you who were sucked in through the shadowy portals. They want one thing-to survive. Some of them want other things. Some want to cure their loved ones. Some want to find out what happened in Macca that created the shadows. Some want to go home.”
With that, the bard steps down from his stage and takes a bow. Nobody cheers. There is no happiness here. Only gray.
RULES:
Keep things appropriate, please. No gore, and no 18+ scenes. If you REALLY want to do that… do it in PMs.
Try to be respectful. Nobody likes a jerk.
Do not use swear words, if you need to curse, say (GP) instead.
Cut your quote chains! It’s a hard lesson to learn, but it must be learned.
Speak OOC like *this*
If someone tells you not to do something because it triggers them, please do not do it.
Listen to the mods! (Bananer28046, Gonzalo and all his alts.)
Put the name of a city in your first post.
Remember the rules of permission, permission to attack, permission to kill, permission to romance, permission to hurt, permission to do anything sexual.
Use any stat block you want :3. The point of this thread is to survive and solve the mystery of what happened in Macca. You may also bring in a character from any world you want.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
Hello! Call me Gato (Cat in Spanish) In this place where you're not here, in this place where I was with you Your eyes are too kind, and I'm covered in wounds. Don't let me love you. They say people are born different. We brainwashed in the same system. They expect perfection. So how can we be different? NOW, ALL HAIL MERLIN, AND THE GREAT MERLIN ARMY. GIVE ME A 4D8 ATTEMPT: [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll]=[roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
Faster and faster as darkness descends. You trip and you fall but can't get up again. This tale has been written with blood staining pen. You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
The village is a small wooden village, with a tavern at the very center. There are walls around it, made of wooden spikes. In the tavern, the only splashes of color come from the bard, who stands at the center, playing a song. He has sleek black hair in a long braid, and bright green eyes. He wears a tattered, faded green suit, and carries a battered lute which he’s playing a ballad on.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
A being walks along the central road of Daschaka, dressed in a long red robe with golden etchings sewn into fabric. Covering the creature's visage is a cracked deer skull, and upon the brow of the skull, two twisting antlers rise upwards. Spindly black hands emerge from the robe's sleeves, and rhythmically thumping into the ground is a long mahogany staff, wreathed in flame.
The thing's footsteps are silent and smooth, seemingly gliding along the road, brushing a hand against walls of various buildings, before coming to the tavern, and stepping inside.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Faster and faster as darkness descends. You trip and you fall but can't get up again. This tale has been written with blood staining pen. You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
A being walks along the central road of Daschaka, dressed in a long red robe with golden etchings sewn into fabric. Covering the creature's visage is a cracked deer skull, and upon the brow of the skull, two twisting antlers rise upwards. Spindly black hands emerge from the robe's sleeves, and rhythmically thumping into the ground is a long mahogany staff, wreathed in flame.
The thing's footsteps are silent and smooth, seemingly gliding along the road, brushing a hand against walls of various buildings, before coming to the tavern, and stepping inside.
The bard grins as he sees the thing. “Oy! Ello! New survivor, folks!” He plays a happy tune and makes his cape billow in the soft dusty breeze. “And who might you be, my friend?”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
A being walks along the central road of Daschaka, dressed in a long red robe with golden etchings sewn into fabric. Covering the creature's visage is a cracked deer skull, and upon the brow of the skull, two twisting antlers rise upwards. Spindly black hands emerge from the robe's sleeves, and rhythmically thumping into the ground is a long mahogany staff, wreathed in flame.
The thing's footsteps are silent and smooth, seemingly gliding along the road, brushing a hand against walls of various buildings, before coming to the tavern, and stepping inside.
The bard grins as he sees the thing. “Oy! Ello! New survivor, folks!” He plays a happy tune and makes his cape billow in the soft dusty breeze. “And who might you be, my friend?”
The bearing waves a hand dismissively.
"Oh, just a wanderer... A collector of odd trinkets... And what might your name be...?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Faster and faster as darkness descends. You trip and you fall but can't get up again. This tale has been written with blood staining pen. You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
A being walks along the central road of Daschaka, dressed in a long red robe with golden etchings sewn into fabric. Covering the creature's visage is a cracked deer skull, and upon the brow of the skull, two twisting antlers rise upwards. Spindly black hands emerge from the robe's sleeves, and rhythmically thumping into the ground is a long mahogany staff, wreathed in flame.
The thing's footsteps are silent and smooth, seemingly gliding along the road, brushing a hand against walls of various buildings, before coming to the tavern, and stepping inside.
The bard grins as he sees the thing. “Oy! Ello! New survivor, folks!” He plays a happy tune and makes his cape billow in the soft dusty breeze. “And who might you be, my friend?”
The bearing waves a hand dismissively.
"Oh, just a wanderer... A collector of odd trinkets... And what might your name be...?"
“I am Duan, bard of the village! We’ve got a shy one here, eh?”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
A being walks along the central road of Daschaka, dressed in a long red robe with golden etchings sewn into fabric. Covering the creature's visage is a cracked deer skull, and upon the brow of the skull, two twisting antlers rise upwards. Spindly black hands emerge from the robe's sleeves, and rhythmically thumping into the ground is a long mahogany staff, wreathed in flame.
The thing's footsteps are silent and smooth, seemingly gliding along the road, brushing a hand against walls of various buildings, before coming to the tavern, and stepping inside.
The bard grins as he sees the thing. “Oy! Ello! New survivor, folks!” He plays a happy tune and makes his cape billow in the soft dusty breeze. “And who might you be, my friend?”
The bearing waves a hand dismissively.
"Oh, just a wanderer... A collector of odd trinkets... And what might your name be...?"
“I am Duan, bard of the village! We’ve got a shy one here, eh?”
"Duan, eh? I like you. You've got spirit. Refusing to have your voice dampened by the hopeless fog that surrounds you."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Faster and faster as darkness descends. You trip and you fall but can't get up again. This tale has been written with blood staining pen. You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
A being walks along the central road of Daschaka, dressed in a long red robe with golden etchings sewn into fabric. Covering the creature's visage is a cracked deer skull, and upon the brow of the skull, two twisting antlers rise upwards. Spindly black hands emerge from the robe's sleeves, and rhythmically thumping into the ground is a long mahogany staff, wreathed in flame.
The thing's footsteps are silent and smooth, seemingly gliding along the road, brushing a hand against walls of various buildings, before coming to the tavern, and stepping inside.
The bard grins as he sees the thing. “Oy! Ello! New survivor, folks!” He plays a happy tune and makes his cape billow in the soft dusty breeze. “And who might you be, my friend?”
The bearing waves a hand dismissively.
"Oh, just a wanderer... A collector of odd trinkets... And what might your name be...?"
“I am Duan, bard of the village! We’ve got a shy one here, eh?”
"Duan, eh? I like you. You've got spirit. Refusing to have your voice dampened by the hopeless fog that surrounds you."
He bows. “Indeed. This fog is but a mere trifle compared to the adventures that heroes have faced in the past. Not me, of course, I could never go through hardships worse than this, but the great heroes of old. In order to impress them, I must stand strong so that I have the right to sing their song!”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
A being walks along the central road of Daschaka, dressed in a long red robe with golden etchings sewn into fabric. Covering the creature's visage is a cracked deer skull, and upon the brow of the skull, two twisting antlers rise upwards. Spindly black hands emerge from the robe's sleeves, and rhythmically thumping into the ground is a long mahogany staff, wreathed in flame.
The thing's footsteps are silent and smooth, seemingly gliding along the road, brushing a hand against walls of various buildings, before coming to the tavern, and stepping inside.
The bard grins as he sees the thing. “Oy! Ello! New survivor, folks!” He plays a happy tune and makes his cape billow in the soft dusty breeze. “And who might you be, my friend?”
The bearing waves a hand dismissively.
"Oh, just a wanderer... A collector of odd trinkets... And what might your name be...?"
“I am Duan, bard of the village! We’ve got a shy one here, eh?”
"Duan, eh? I like you. You've got spirit. Refusing to have your voice dampened by the hopeless fog that surrounds you."
He bows. “Indeed. This fog is but a mere trifle compared to the adventures that heroes have faced in the past. Not me, of course, I could never go through hardships worse than this, but the great heroes of old. In order to impress them, I must stand strong so that I have the right to sing their song!”
"Interesting... And where do you hail from, Duan...?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Faster and faster as darkness descends. You trip and you fall but can't get up again. This tale has been written with blood staining pen. You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
A being walks along the central road of Daschaka, dressed in a long red robe with golden etchings sewn into fabric. Covering the creature's visage is a cracked deer skull, and upon the brow of the skull, two twisting antlers rise upwards. Spindly black hands emerge from the robe's sleeves, and rhythmically thumping into the ground is a long mahogany staff, wreathed in flame.
The thing's footsteps are silent and smooth, seemingly gliding along the road, brushing a hand against walls of various buildings, before coming to the tavern, and stepping inside.
The bard grins as he sees the thing. “Oy! Ello! New survivor, folks!” He plays a happy tune and makes his cape billow in the soft dusty breeze. “And who might you be, my friend?”
The bearing waves a hand dismissively.
"Oh, just a wanderer... A collector of odd trinkets... And what might your name be...?"
“I am Duan, bard of the village! We’ve got a shy one here, eh?”
"Duan, eh? I like you. You've got spirit. Refusing to have your voice dampened by the hopeless fog that surrounds you."
He bows. “Indeed. This fog is but a mere trifle compared to the adventures that heroes have faced in the past. Not me, of course, I could never go through hardships worse than this, but the great heroes of old. In order to impress them, I must stand strong so that I have the right to sing their song!”
"Interesting... And where do you hail from, Duan...?"
He continues on like he has not heard the question. “Great heroes are not what we think they are. They are strong in heart as well as body. They will take on any challenge to save those in need!” He lets out a false grin.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
A being walks along the central road of Daschaka, dressed in a long red robe with golden etchings sewn into fabric. Covering the creature's visage is a cracked deer skull, and upon the brow of the skull, two twisting antlers rise upwards. Spindly black hands emerge from the robe's sleeves, and rhythmically thumping into the ground is a long mahogany staff, wreathed in flame.
The thing's footsteps are silent and smooth, seemingly gliding along the road, brushing a hand against walls of various buildings, before coming to the tavern, and stepping inside.
The bard grins as he sees the thing. “Oy! Ello! New survivor, folks!” He plays a happy tune and makes his cape billow in the soft dusty breeze. “And who might you be, my friend?”
The bearing waves a hand dismissively.
"Oh, just a wanderer... A collector of odd trinkets... And what might your name be...?"
“I am Duan, bard of the village! We’ve got a shy one here, eh?”
"Duan, eh? I like you. You've got spirit. Refusing to have your voice dampened by the hopeless fog that surrounds you."
He bows. “Indeed. This fog is but a mere trifle compared to the adventures that heroes have faced in the past. Not me, of course, I could never go through hardships worse than this, but the great heroes of old. In order to impress them, I must stand strong so that I have the right to sing their song!”
"Interesting... And where do you hail from, Duan...?"
He continues on like he has not heard the question. “Great heroes are not what we think they are. They are strong in heart as well as body. They will take on any challenge to save those in need!” He lets out a false grin.
"... And where are you from."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Faster and faster as darkness descends. You trip and you fall but can't get up again. This tale has been written with blood staining pen. You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
A being walks along the central road of Daschaka, dressed in a long red robe with golden etchings sewn into fabric. Covering the creature's visage is a cracked deer skull, and upon the brow of the skull, two twisting antlers rise upwards. Spindly black hands emerge from the robe's sleeves, and rhythmically thumping into the ground is a long mahogany staff, wreathed in flame.
The thing's footsteps are silent and smooth, seemingly gliding along the road, brushing a hand against walls of various buildings, before coming to the tavern, and stepping inside.
The bard grins as he sees the thing. “Oy! Ello! New survivor, folks!” He plays a happy tune and makes his cape billow in the soft dusty breeze. “And who might you be, my friend?”
The bearing waves a hand dismissively.
"Oh, just a wanderer... A collector of odd trinkets... And what might your name be...?"
“I am Duan, bard of the village! We’ve got a shy one here, eh?”
"Duan, eh? I like you. You've got spirit. Refusing to have your voice dampened by the hopeless fog that surrounds you."
He bows. “Indeed. This fog is but a mere trifle compared to the adventures that heroes have faced in the past. Not me, of course, I could never go through hardships worse than this, but the great heroes of old. In order to impress them, I must stand strong so that I have the right to sing their song!”
"Interesting... And where do you hail from, Duan...?"
He continues on like he has not heard the question. “Great heroes are not what we think they are. They are strong in heart as well as body. They will take on any challenge to save those in need!” He lets out a false grin.
"... And where are you from."
“Oh, here and there,”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
A being walks along the central road of Daschaka, dressed in a long red robe with golden etchings sewn into fabric. Covering the creature's visage is a cracked deer skull, and upon the brow of the skull, two twisting antlers rise upwards. Spindly black hands emerge from the robe's sleeves, and rhythmically thumping into the ground is a long mahogany staff, wreathed in flame.
The thing's footsteps are silent and smooth, seemingly gliding along the road, brushing a hand against walls of various buildings, before coming to the tavern, and stepping inside.
The bard grins as he sees the thing. “Oy! Ello! New survivor, folks!” He plays a happy tune and makes his cape billow in the soft dusty breeze. “And who might you be, my friend?”
The bearing waves a hand dismissively.
"Oh, just a wanderer... A collector of odd trinkets... And what might your name be...?"
“I am Duan, bard of the village! We’ve got a shy one here, eh?”
"Duan, eh? I like you. You've got spirit. Refusing to have your voice dampened by the hopeless fog that surrounds you."
He bows. “Indeed. This fog is but a mere trifle compared to the adventures that heroes have faced in the past. Not me, of course, I could never go through hardships worse than this, but the great heroes of old. In order to impress them, I must stand strong so that I have the right to sing their song!”
"Interesting... And where do you hail from, Duan...?"
He continues on like he has not heard the question. “Great heroes are not what we think they are. They are strong in heart as well as body. They will take on any challenge to save those in need!” He lets out a false grin.
"... And where are you from."
“Oh, here and there,”
"Ah, well that isn't much of an answer, is it Duon...?"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Faster and faster as darkness descends. You trip and you fall but can't get up again. This tale has been written with blood staining pen. You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
“Now, as I was saying, heroes are powerful in the heart. That is what makes a hero worthy of a song. I am the hero to sing these songs, not to be in these songs. Do you think you are a hero worthy of a song, friend?”
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
“Now, as I was saying, heroes are powerful in the heart. That is what makes a hero worthy of a song. I am the hero to sing these songs, not to be in these songs. Do you think you are a hero worthy of a song, friend?”
"Well, calling me a hero would be a bit of a stretch, but there are most definitely songs made about me, that's for sure!"
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Faster and faster as darkness descends. You trip and you fall but can't get up again. This tale has been written with blood staining pen. You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
“Now, as I was saying, heroes are powerful in the heart. That is what makes a hero worthy of a song. I am the hero to sing these songs, not to be in these songs. Do you think you are a hero worthy of a song, friend?”
"Well, calling me a hero would be a bit of a stretch, but there are most definitely songs made about me, that's for sure!"
“Oh! May I hear one! I love songs!” He grins, relieved to have changed the subject.
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
“Now, as I was saying, heroes are powerful in the heart. That is what makes a hero worthy of a song. I am the hero to sing these songs, not to be in these songs. Do you think you are a hero worthy of a song, friend?”
"Well, calling me a hero would be a bit of a stretch, but there are most definitely songs made about me, that's for sure!"
“Oh! May I hear one! I love songs!” He grins, relieved to have changed the subject.
"Oh, I wouldn't know any off the top of my head... but if I happen to remember any, I will tell you..."
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
Faster and faster as darkness descends. You trip and you fall but can't get up again. This tale has been written with blood staining pen. You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
To post a comment, please login or register a new account.
“Before, you were home. Well, maybe not home. But definitely somewhere else. But the next thing you saw was shadows engulfing you, and then you’re floating through space, the stars twinkling around you, the night sky moving in purple swirls. And then you made it here. Macca.
“This is the story all of you know. Macca, the land where your troubles may not have started, but they certainly got worse. Macca is a massive city resembling Victorian era London, covered in pollution, but completely abandoned. Except for the shadows. They hunt whenever the sun is not in sight-and the sun is rarely in sight due to the smog covering it. You’ve seen many go to the shadows, turned, hurt, loved ones lost. But after appearing in the center of Macca, you somehow found your way out. Maybe it was your wits that saved you. Maybe agility. Perhaps just pure strength. But you know this-if a shadow kills you, you become one.
“Where are you now, you may ask? I’ll tell you. Outside of the city, there is a small town where all of the survivors ended up. Daschaka. Daschaka is a small town filled with people from all over the multiverse, people like you who were sucked in through the shadowy portals. They want one thing-to survive. Some of them want other things. Some want to cure their loved ones. Some want to find out what happened in Macca that created the shadows. Some want to go home.”
With that, the bard steps down from his stage and takes a bow. Nobody cheers. There is no happiness here. Only gray.
RULES:
Keep things appropriate, please. No gore, and no 18+ scenes. If you REALLY want to do that… do it in PMs.
Try to be respectful. Nobody likes a jerk.
Do not use swear words, if you need to curse, say (GP) instead.
Cut your quote chains! It’s a hard lesson to learn, but it must be learned.
Speak OOC like *this*
If someone tells you not to do something because it triggers them, please do not do it.
Listen to the mods! (Bananer28046, Gonzalo and all his alts.)
Put the name of a city in your first post.
Remember the rules of permission, permission to attack, permission to kill, permission to romance, permission to hurt, permission to do anything sexual.
Use any stat block you want :3. The point of this thread is to survive and solve the mystery of what happened in Macca. You may also bring in a character from any world you want.
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
Professional idiot! Trans! Pansexual pancake!
Extended Signature!
*YO, this looks fun new york*
Hello! Call me Gato (Cat in Spanish)
In this place where you're not here, in this place where I was with you
Your eyes are too kind, and I'm covered in wounds. Don't let me love you.
They say people are born different. We brainwashed in the same system. They expect perfection. So how can we be different?
NOW, ALL HAIL MERLIN, AND THE GREAT MERLIN ARMY. GIVE ME A 4D8 ATTEMPT: [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll]=[roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
*this seems interesting, Seattle*
Artise
Totally not part Asian
Has cars (cats)
*George, Washington!*
Faster and faster as darkness descends.
You trip and you fall but can't get up again.
This tale has been written with blood staining pen.
You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
The village is a small wooden village, with a tavern at the very center. There are walls around it, made of wooden spikes. In the tavern, the only splashes of color come from the bard, who stands at the center, playing a song. He has sleek black hair in a long braid, and bright green eyes. He wears a tattered, faded green suit, and carries a battered lute which he’s playing a ballad on.
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
Professional idiot! Trans! Pansexual pancake!
Extended Signature!
A being walks along the central road of Daschaka, dressed in a long red robe with golden etchings sewn into fabric. Covering the creature's visage is a cracked deer skull, and upon the brow of the skull, two twisting antlers rise upwards. Spindly black hands emerge from the robe's sleeves, and rhythmically thumping into the ground is a long mahogany staff, wreathed in flame.
The thing's footsteps are silent and smooth, seemingly gliding along the road, brushing a hand against walls of various buildings, before coming to the tavern, and stepping inside.
Faster and faster as darkness descends.
You trip and you fall but can't get up again.
This tale has been written with blood staining pen.
You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
The bard grins as he sees the thing. “Oy! Ello! New survivor, folks!” He plays a happy tune and makes his cape billow in the soft dusty breeze. “And who might you be, my friend?”
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
Professional idiot! Trans! Pansexual pancake!
Extended Signature!
The bearing waves a hand dismissively.
"Oh, just a wanderer... A collector of odd trinkets... And what might your name be...?"
Faster and faster as darkness descends.
You trip and you fall but can't get up again.
This tale has been written with blood staining pen.
You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
“I am Duan, bard of the village! We’ve got a shy one here, eh?”
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
Professional idiot! Trans! Pansexual pancake!
Extended Signature!
"Duan, eh? I like you. You've got spirit. Refusing to have your voice dampened by the hopeless fog that surrounds you."
Faster and faster as darkness descends.
You trip and you fall but can't get up again.
This tale has been written with blood staining pen.
You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
He bows. “Indeed. This fog is but a mere trifle compared to the adventures that heroes have faced in the past. Not me, of course, I could never go through hardships worse than this, but the great heroes of old. In order to impress them, I must stand strong so that I have the right to sing their song!”
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
Professional idiot! Trans! Pansexual pancake!
Extended Signature!
"Interesting... And where do you hail from, Duan...?"
Faster and faster as darkness descends.
You trip and you fall but can't get up again.
This tale has been written with blood staining pen.
You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
He continues on like he has not heard the question. “Great heroes are not what we think they are. They are strong in heart as well as body. They will take on any challenge to save those in need!” He lets out a false grin.
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
Professional idiot! Trans! Pansexual pancake!
Extended Signature!
"... And where are you from."
Faster and faster as darkness descends.
You trip and you fall but can't get up again.
This tale has been written with blood staining pen.
You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
“Oh, here and there,”
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
Professional idiot! Trans! Pansexual pancake!
Extended Signature!
"Ah, well that isn't much of an answer, is it Duon...?"
Faster and faster as darkness descends.
You trip and you fall but can't get up again.
This tale has been written with blood staining pen.
You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
*cut*
“Now, as I was saying, heroes are powerful in the heart. That is what makes a hero worthy of a song. I am the hero to sing these songs, not to be in these songs. Do you think you are a hero worthy of a song, friend?”
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
Professional idiot! Trans! Pansexual pancake!
Extended Signature!
"Well, calling me a hero would be a bit of a stretch, but there are most definitely songs made about me, that's for sure!"
Faster and faster as darkness descends.
You trip and you fall but can't get up again.
This tale has been written with blood staining pen.
You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.
“Oh! May I hear one! I love songs!” He grins, relieved to have changed the subject.
If I’m being annoying, tell me to shut up. Seriously. Just say “Bananer shut up.” And I will. For a few seconds!
Don’t listen to the folks down at Adohands. It’s good for me to overwork myself.
Professional idiot! Trans! Pansexual pancake!
Extended Signature!
"Oh, I wouldn't know any off the top of my head... but if I happen to remember any, I will tell you..."
Faster and faster as darkness descends.
You trip and you fall but can't get up again.
This tale has been written with blood staining pen.
You’re here for this page but won’t see how it ends.