Celtic Heroes

The Official Forum for Celtic Heroes, the 3D MMORPG for iOS and Android Devices

The Farmer's Journal

The hazy sun holds high in the sky...a farmer waits patiently for a fairy to show up by a field of wheat...

My gait is slow, I run awkward...my backpack full, so full that I cannot travel as fast as others.

The man by a bonfire....he asked me collect things for his fire. I believe he is unaware that this involves me slaughtering these, flies..or they have wings..fairies or something. While I have walked far away from the castle...on the way other things wanted to start fights unaware of my strength. I offer no warning and strike them down and take their belongings. This has made things frustrating, where a simple collection of things has had me traveling miles and miles...only to stand by someone's farm on the arrival of a fairy. I nearly regret agreeing to help, but a friend mentioned that he sometimes gives out a powerful torch that I am able to hold with the same hand that hold the shield that I paid way too much money for by a river, fighting on behalf of my authoritative regime.

I wonder if the Mac bloodline know that traitors like Cullen in their own ranks reflect on bad government and a lack of insight of providing for their own people. I murmur that the nation needs a new king, yet hold my volume down, as these admonishments are the same as the Connacht terrorist organization, and I rather differentiate from a group in which I make a living murdering daily...

My thoughts digress to that homeless dirty man who claims there is a "Other world" I agreed to help him and on his behalf I have murder 5 men in black robes. 4...the last one, I can not get to, as on my way to him, some masked man in a purple robe sends me out of remission...

I see more people gathering at the farm...all of them fooled just as I, promised a torch and send on a while goose chase....we hunker around the farm scrutinizing each other agreeing to disagree on who got here first. Cooler heads prevail as we all join forces, without a single word to each other.

The fairy appears and as I swing my blade, I barely scrape her wings before one individual pounds her into the ground. No one says a word....we all run back to bonfire, disappointed in the torches we got, while being asked to get more items...I feel bamboozled. I refuse and think about the man in the castle talking about this "other world" and wonder if I am being bamboozled by him or if he suffers from a plague. Never the less, at 53 years of age I must choose who to trust wisely. I count my savings, coming close to purchasing an entire armor set made of gold...or at least it looked like gold. I shout my usual plea to buy a smuggler's coat for 2k and receive my usual non reply...time to head back to the castle to sell my catches, destroy deadweight while avoiding the crowds of people who offer challenges to test their might.

Warmly, Farmer

P.S. I still do not know what year it is, nor do I remember who I was before waking up on the beach.
World: Danu
Class: Farmer
For Liberty, and Justice for All.
Son of Dorn
Guardian of Nitro

Re: The Farmer's Journal

The scenery is as if I were on the bottom of the sea, see, colors, varying from strong to stronger burst into my pre frontal cortex in deep blues, and neon greens. Floating eyes appear to blink in my direction, right through me as their initial thoughts confirm that I am not threat, more like an unsatisfied snack if I dare move closer….

Masked in leather and fur with a worn and withered bear head carcass deployed to camouflage myself as a bear is immediately seen through. Weapons, worn to the bone, warranty worn out, as the merchant inside of the catacombs offers pennies on the dollar to sell back…

“My God is a capitalist…for any time I am too heavy, every time I am too weak, he reminds me with an offer for treasures in exchange for currency I do not have.”

Too young to venture deep into the otherworld I scourer the edges, collecting pieces of flint for a merchant, only to suffer the ramifications of being destroyed by a flying dinosaur, and eventually bamboozled by the merchant who promised me armor by showing me instead a catalog of armor that is enticing, but with a price tag that was so high, it staggered me back some, for my entire life savings, one in which I take pride in, amount to 8k gold.

There is a story on how I got to be here so young, a story of a flying man in purple and a giant in green, this will be discussed later…

A long way from the Mac Castle, my home is no more welcoming to me than this strange and new place. Men and Woman boast, with their chests out, yelling that they have ancient chests for sale, promising fortune for 15k. My savings devoted to ancient greaves to replace my worn redclaws…but I debate on gambling my life savings on an ancient chest, for the faeries in stonevale I cut down with ease, yet there are some who set me on fire, to which I have to immediately take flight, for this is a precursor to a certain death….decisions, they way in my mind, polarized like the scales of hope and despondency….tis the fate of this land.

A man in purple, for no reason, approached me on a flying broom during my slaying of pigs, helped me murder most of the rest of the men in black robes, and to my surprise, the crazy man in the castle came through with a promise of a new land, yet he did not tell me of the dangers within it, for I thought this “Crom” was jailed, yet it appears his influence is saturated in this land.

The very last man in the black robe to die was a tale indeed. The man in purple is part of a Army to which another member volunteered his time to help me. His requirement was that I following him, no matter what I saw along the path….the horror I witness was enough to induce post traumatic stress disorder…

This man was a fearless jovial giant, draped in a deep green armor. He appeared to be on a death wish, running past enemies screaming “stay with me…do not look behind you no matter what!”

I looked….I should have listened…

Behind us appeared to be a number of wild white horses, shirtless men, and glowing white …things…beating on him. To my surprise…they seemed to ignore me. I felt relieved and ashamed at the same time, for the Clan has gone to great lengths to be of patronage, with nothing in return. My mantra from this part has been this, etching this on all of my belongings…

“When I become strong, I will help the weak and thus change the cycle of strife of Danu”

This has usually be riposted by a new name that has been bestowed upon me, which sounds like New…or Boob. Perhaps this combination of New, and Boob, and thus, Newb…is what everyone is called before one ascends to greatness. I owe it to these men and woman….to become great. I digress….

The Man in green appears to collect nearly every enemy in the immediate area before preforming a dance, ….and ambidextrous, twirling, with an unflinching face….cold…steely look in his eyes….twas something I can only describe as a “Ball Room Dance of Absolute Murder and Mayhem.”

This is the man you want dead?

Yes sir…

Then kill him.

I swing my blade, only wisping his black robe upward, to which the man turned around and laughed….

As his mouth opened to speak…the Man in green thrusted his, pitchfork through the back of his head…creating a human shish kabob….the blood splattering on my already filthy smugglers coat.

“Go back to town, talk to the crazy man…you may then go to the otherworld, you may want to buy some new armor, for if you are too weak for this land, trust that you are too weak for what lies beyond that portal…"

And before I can utter thank you and my mantra to change the climate of Danu…he disappeared…seemingly annoyed for my boisterous excitement…a sign that in my triumphs he only saw baby steps…

I am 62 years of age, and heading back to once again slay pigs and faeries, and sell their wears in pursuit of some pants that can prevent me from catching fire so easily….this otherworld is a place I must graduate into, and although I am too weak to survive here….trust that I will be back, for Danu demands it.

Warmly, Farmer

P.S. I still do not recollect who I was before I came ashore, but I found my boat. And the boat is too large for only one to operate as the four sets of oars suggest others came, or tried to come with me. Perhaps I will meet them one day.
World: Danu
Class: Farmer
For Liberty, and Justice for All.
Son of Dorn
Guardian of Nitro

Re: The Farmer's Journal

I just have to say that your writing skills are pretty amazing :) you caught and kept my attention. I hope you keep adding to this journal and if you need any help along your journey I will be happy to help.
Mortimer: Lvl 195 Warrior (Dps)
Zepheron: Lvl 156 Ranger
Xerath: Lvl 146 Mage

Re: The Farmer's Journal

A soft breeze sways a wheat field back and forth, like a church sermon; the hazy, pastel yellow staffs of wheat sway back and forth like a metronome momentarily blocking the farmer’s view, of a Faerie that will arrive at the precise moment I lose my patience…waiting…..waiting.

My plan is simple…a self awareness of my exploitation of labor in killing a faeries, to be entered in a lottery for torches, with a slim chance of gaining a valuable one, knowing that I will most likely get one that even the youngest of adventurers will turn their heads in taking…for free.

Fooled, Fooled again, still my hope is as bright as the torch I carry in my offhand. For the farmer’s luck will changed, and the plight of the Newb has swayed back and forth, just like the field of wheat that he settles in…. patiently.

Stronger, wiser, and luckier…I have learned a few things. Deployed new strategies for gold, some obviously in vain, and some surprisingly to my triumph.

Still anything was better than last night….

I recall stumbling in a place purely meant for testing of might. The lady at the front desk asked me to train…

For what?

For gold and experience.

Sign here.

You are to fight a Baston…he is somewhere past the hall, in the stadium.


Men and Woman scream, cheer, laugh, harass each other. Arguments over who had the right to kill what. A Horrible place. I stand on the edge of the sand, crusted edges of burgundy must be blood. The stench is as if I were slaying pigs…no….even worse, something else is rotting here.

Shaking. Trying to keep still, not to be noticed by the histrionic crowd, only to take one step on the sand, lose my footing and my entire foot in the process. Death happened so quickly that I was unaware of it until I found myself inside of the castle…

Shakes head…

As the wheat sways, the faerie comes into view. I shout my bluff. “The torch faerie is here, killing him, you may want to show up for the lottery” This bluff is a shameful one,, as it leaves the impression that I could kill her alone. The ploy is a trick to ask for help, masked in a lost opportunity if one is late…

This reminds of my wrotings to my unborn child…I write my first principle for those being called a Newb.

1. One must shed one’s pride in order to advance.

Suddenly a man appears…fast…flying…stops. Blue and red wears with certification on his person that reads, “Always Faithful.”

I quickly jump out of the wheat and ask to work together, yet by his fourth swing, the faerie is cut into several yellow chucks meandered across the farm…the torseo flying and lost in the wheat field, leaving and imprint on the rows of wheat. Where have I seen this befo...the dance....it was the same as the Green Giant who assisted me into the otherworld. Blades, spinning...in that sweeping familiar pattern, except his eyes were difference. The Green Giant eyes were cold and steely looking....this man's eyes and face were as if he was possessed...an acute malice and excited, tongue wagging with saliva projecting outward...almost sexually explicit..as if every sweep of his blades was an pleasurable.....sexual...release.

Disgusting I thought...this man identifies his might with sexual gratification...as if his fighting technique served as his libido. No doubt heavily influenced by this "Crom" demon the crazy man in the castle made reference to...

But…you are Always Faithful….what..happen

The man flies pass me, he smirks and said, “The faerie does not hold anything you need”

But Sir, you are Always Faithful? No wait..the torch….see my strategy to gain gold…ugh…where are you going.


But you are Always Loya...Faithful….to whom? The juxtaposition of the name of his army and his character was as polarizing as night and day...and as fast as he appeared he vanished.

My words fall on death ears…my eyes turn as red as the bear head eyes on top of my head….angered and shaken. Pouting…I walk back into the field of wheat.

Whats this? The Faeries dead torso lays on a row of wheat and inadvertently pushes a green box into plain view. This stupid green box is always here…someone keeps dropping it. I keep collecting these boxes. I have so many crowns I do not know what to do with them, they fill my bank and then some…so much I had to find others to hold them for me. And who’s birthday is so grand that he or she has thousands of boxes scattered through these farms? Venting my back and shoulders become heavy, although I am 63 I feel as if I were 13.

The farmer holds his face still, feeling the corners of his jaws heavy, frowning..shaking…his jaw feels like iron, weighing a thousand pounds at the least…

It was then the annoying waving pastel shafts of wheat served to mask his tears.

Life is hard…some help, some torment…tis the will of Danu.

And just when all hope was lost, the Farmer yells

“Selling these damn green boxes!!!.....er…10 thousand gold….52 Boxes!!!!”

Why would anyone want these boxes I utter…I have tried to sell the crowns overflowing in my bank the particulars and inquiries have always been “Do you have a white one? Or Black one? Then I am not interested.”.

Angered I run back to the castle, then suddenly.. a tap on my shoulder

No words….

10k gold shoved in my face.

I quickly gather my boxes and give to the man, who says nothing.

Thank you sir, quickly deepening his voice, for it was then obvious to the consumer that I had just been crying…

Tears running down the face of the farmer collected on the inside fringes of my coat. I have ran the range of emotions…sad, anger, confusion, despair, excitement…this all amounts to a hyper vigilance that is encompassed in the very will of Danu.

My savings now amount to 23k gold the most I have ever seen in my lifetime. My tears of despair from losing the faerie has turned to tears of joy in only a matter of seconds.

Upon the door of the castle, my mind dancing, strutting imagining myself in stonevale, “This time I am not just window shopping sir.” I laugh. Wipe my tears and look back at the farm and pretend momentarily that I am noble. Then is comes to me as I stop….

Turn around

And look at the fields of wheat littered with chunks of faerie flesh

…No 2. Principles to my unborn child and those that are called Newbs reads.

2. Know that Danu views you as the field of wheat by the farm high shore, swaying back and forth on the pendulum of hope and despondency.

Warmly, Farmer

P.S. On a reexamining of the boat that took me to shore there are only three sets of ores, and not four in which I previously thought.

P.S.S. Note to self: Before you use your 23k, please stop by the warrior trainers and re examined the pamphlet on the wall written by Sir Blaze. This is to ensure that every gold spent will be well spent, as your previous purchase of the castle’s RedClaw line has served little use against those who use fire and ice to fight.
World: Danu
Class: Farmer
For Liberty, and Justice for All.
Son of Dorn
Guardian of Nitro

Re: The Farmer's Journal

The air is musty.

The area is…dark, vast and wide. It is hard to imagine that we are underground.

Many things have changed, the green giant who helped me before has now changed his appearance to that of the fairy that I kill for torches, no doubt to mock the gods. The floating purple man now wears a colorful blue and red gown and wields a shield that would take six lifetimes for me to put a down payment on according to the luxury item shop, only entering it in the market to sell to acquire more wears that I could only dream of. And a raider of the lost arc appeared from no wear and quickly provided me with pieces of a manual in order learn the sweeping menacing dance the Green giant once displayed to me in a destruction of druids in stonevale…

Past the bridge and oversized rats there is a merchant selling clothes. Unusual…the Farmer thinks, “how are you still in business?”, my advice to head to the castle to sell wears falls upon deaf ears.

A Farmer, hardly recognizable in a trench like attire and leather mask covering his face, holds a torch for light…moving deeper inside the mine, to see an entire hidden army of pirates. “too much attention devoted to the eradication of the connacht terrorist group…they are other forces building numbers under ground and out of side of the Mac Empire.”

Stronger and wiser… the force of Danu is like a heavy iron plate unto his soul. Smashing and crushing his dirty existence, the weight acts upon his filthy disposition in the way the environmental pressure unto coal over ions slowly produces a diamond.

I am the coal, soon to become a diamond.
I am the newb, soon to become a veteran.

My last assignment for the Mac empire came from the collaboration with that other army by the shalemont territory. I am to murder yet again, this time its double agents for the Connacht terrorist group. Like any standouts from a terrorist group, the defectors are hard to find and I grew tired and left the river in pursuit of other ways to acquire wealth.

My superiors call….”Holy hell, there is a giant in Lir Reach!!!!”

Giant? I am weak, yet I will help.

Travelling to the northern peninsula was easy; for the Farmer now travels light…so light he may use the highway of blue glowing stones to travel…

A Giant indeed, much too strong for the clan that has accepted me can handle. My leader calls for the collaboration of another much more stronger army. Soon we are side by side by a floating army, most of them sitting nonchalantly on broomsticks, carpets and clouds. The irony of this army, lead by a tiny, twitching man. Stands close to the giant, unafraid, eyes filled with a cold conviction and turns around and looks in our direction…

“Are you ready?”

I look away quickly…embarrassed that my envy of his floating army lead me to buy an overpriced floating staff myself…to which I ride, hoping no one notices it is the very poorest of staffs, in horrible condition and extremely slow…
Without anymore prepping, the small twitching man slams his sword into the foot of the giant. 40 men and woman, dance around the giant, running around to its backside. So many people, that at times it was hard to get close to strike. I feel as if we are collectively chopping down a large tree, a large violent, axe wielding tree.

Breath…I can do this

Remember your combinations…

Shatter, swing, sweep, pummel…Shatter, swing, sweep, pummel…Shatter…what?

Amidst the masses of floating armies, in-between the clutter of great men and women the little twitching man looks as if he is stressed. His face grimaces as if he is holding the entirety of Danu upon his shoulders. He bends but he does not break.

“Unbreakable” I thought.

Then it happens…fast, and unnoticeable. The twitching man locks eyes on the Farmer… I know it, he knows it…his eyes widens and shines. In a split second mutuality is confirmed. The raging giant slams his axe unto the top of the tiny twitching man’s head and at the very last second….he throws of his blades up in a criss-cross fashion holding the axe…the entire weight of the Gaint, and Danu in a single blow, with his eyes locked upon mine.

He is the diamond..once..long ago..much longer before my existence..could he have been a piece of coal such as I?

The Giant blows cold air upon the little man and he freezes, “holy hell, the twitching man yells” Frozen the giant turns around and reeks havoc on the army, body parts flying, the strategy becomes crystal clear in my mind to which I yell to my army, but due to my weak reputation falls on deaf ears….

“Hear yee!! When the Giant blows cold air on the tiny twitching man….we are to run back for this is the strategy of the giant!!!! If yee values life, do as I do…and reap the benefits of life, for death is a sign of weakness”

Once, twice, thrice…no one listens.

The battle produces a multitude of instant graveyards with body parts raining unto the Hairy’s campfire. Yet…I have not died, still locking eyes on the tiny twitching man who’s tiny frame with the ability to carry the giant’s full weight seems as if he defies the laws of psychics…

Time passes, body parts flinging outward from the giant unapologetic swings, chunks of the army flaring outward like a blender without a top. The sky red with blood. And as I look up, I see the Giant appears to be tired, hurt..weakened. Soon to fall. A sense of pride washes over the Farmer’s face. Weak and humble, he has survived to this point. With a war around him, spells, swings, a hail of arrows blackening the sky. The Giant….Fa..

Tiiimbeeer….then like as if the very Gods themselves, souls of the once young Wardens in the sky of Danu..smile down upon my soul and grant me……

The Gaint falls backwards. Killing the last few bystanders who fail to get out of the way…his axe…awkwardly swings backwards out of its soon to be dead grasps. The axe..swinging in the air…falls…wait…looks as if it will land on my head!!!! Get back I utter…then in an instance, randomly and unjustifiably

The Giant Axe, falls right into my carrying pouch…

Amidst the pats on the back of the tiny twitching man. Murmurs ring about, louder and louder…”what did the giant drop”…”who received the treasure”

Holy hell…how did I…a young and weak man, end up with this giant Axe…for I cannot even hold it, it requires strength that I have not yet mustered. Yet it has landed inside of my pouch!

The crowd of 40 or so surround the young farmer. My superior whispers to me…”Let me see it”

Shamefully I show him the axe…with the power to deliver 280 damage in a single blow…I become prepared to show respect to the clan that has showed me patronage waiting for him to ask to hand it over. For they have provided me with fragments to attain a few pieces of warden armor…while at the same time feeling cheated, perhaps I can gain some gold for my loyalty… A crowd of men and woman appear angered, cursing the Gods for them to reward such an unworthy weakling such as I…

Nice Axe” My superior utters…before vanishing and asking for nothing, one by one both armies pick themselves from the instant graveyard and vanish until it is only I and the twitching small man, who graciously fought the Giant head on.

The coal, and the diamond. For one day I will be the diamond, fighting for the justice of coal as the little twitching man did for the benefit of Danu and coals..everywhere.

Warmly, Farmer

P.S. I have long forgotten about how I washed upon shore and efforts of finding out who else was on that boat has withered. Sir Blaze manual has proved effective, yet some of his teachings do not line up with the reality of Danu as his down playing of dexterity appears to be foolish. Life is till hard, yet within the hardness becomes the shedding of a newb, to reveal what will soon to become a diamond.
World: Danu
Class: Farmer
For Liberty, and Justice for All.
Son of Dorn
Guardian of Nitro

Re: The Farmer's Journal

Pirate: You have murdered us countless times, steal our wears to sell. Yet you work for an organization that has casted you to the bottom. You blood, your existence, captured in an unchanging structure of classism. You seek strength, killing the same people who escaped your caste system. Do you think you can ever be a Mac nobility?

Farmer: I am a newb, this is the passage of and hazing of one who will be great, and then I can bring peace to this land. You are only in the way, only useful to me to swing my warden’s blade into in pursuit of higher levels, tiers of strength.

Pirate: You seek to change Danu, by participating in what you despise in order for it to change…you are quite the paradoxical figure.

Farmer: I grow tired of your propaganda, die you filthy maggot…give me your dubloons.

Shatter, Swing, Sweep, Double, Pummel….”Lay down”

The farmer ravishes the corpse of the Pirate, who has little for profit, digging deeper into his pirate pants…blood spatters on the face of the Farmer unflinching, he reflects on the menacing figure during Journal entry 2, a sickly figure and laughs hysterically.

“Have I lost my way?....so soon…I am like the figure who once robbed me of my faerie at the farm. Shall I ever be a hero?”

The farmer pulls a pamphlet from the dead pirate, which reads the following:

Celtic society: Warriors and craftsmen (this included druids and bards) were held in high regard in Celtic society and were considered to be part of the noble class. A king or chief was in charge. Farmers were part of the lower class in Celtic society. Despite their reputation as being barbaric, they were quite skilled in metal working and made fine jewelry from gold, silver, copper and bronze. Celts took great care in their appearance and frowned on those who let their bodies get soft. Brightly colored cloaks, golden torcs and bronze armlets adorned their bodies to express their wealth and high rank. Celtic women wore makeup and styled their hair in plaits.



Superiors call: “There is a dragon outside of the castle…hurry”

General: No newbs! BRING IDOLS you maggot Farmer, do not invite others outsiders of the clan for this treasure is mine…ours!

The Farmer hurrys, to die, to hurry, to die

Farmer: I cannot afford Idols, I seek no treasure only to be part of the collective!

General: Newbs, they are only 200g!

The Farmer swings is blade brushing the dragons wing..only to accidentally catch fire….the dragon turns…tail swinging knocking the farmer several hundred paces backwards…dazed and barely clinging to life…an epiphany arises. Gazing at the sun..he blacks out…or whites out…choking on four front teeth that have been knocked out of position and deep into his esophagus. Fighting to live…his last breath…he feels alone. Locked into his position as a maggot life the pirate I ruthlessly destoryed. Locked into the caste system of lower economic status. Worthless.

“Had the pirate been right?” Clinging to the pamphlet he wipes the blood from his face and pulls off his brown mask.

Farmer: “The loot I am uninterested in General, but as our forces become weakened, I have to wonder, is it this caste system, the reprimanding of newbs and the call to control our financial decisions is the cause of us hemorrhaging the army of members.”

The General pauses, then goes on an assault on things I do not understand. Others, much more stronger than I align in the General’s agreement. An argument rises in which two classes, the Strong and the Weak speak two fundamentally different languages…privilege appears to be the Elephant in the room. Blinding both of us of the commonality of wanting to achieve greatness. Then the hammer drops…

General: I believe it is my time to leave this clan.

Farmer: You have more support here than I for I am new. Now that our principles are asserted and an agreement of disagreement has solidified, it is only right that I leave…for me to remain here with the burden of causing a general to seek elsewhere, will only set me up for more of this newb plight. But I stand firm, for my savings are dedicated to the heroic amulet; therefore the clan requirement to keep a healthy stock of Idols is something I can only achieve once I am 100 years. For I will be useless to the clan without it.

Shaken, the Farmer sees the General drop his own rank while others chime in. During the delegation of treasure from the dead dragon..the Farmer quietly relieves his duties of the clan.

Farmer: I apologize, I tried, yet this has all turned downhill. I want to thank you, and the Green Giant for the help in my younger years

Floating Purple Man: What are you taking about?

Farmer: I had to leave the clan, an argument about my finances occurred and..I..I..well I am unsure, yet this General appears to be repulsed by my presence. And so (interrupted)

Floating Purple Man, motions his hands causing me to stop rambling:

“No worries, seek and explore and take interest in your new endeavors.”

The Farmer feels heavy. Lost. Alone. Pain washes over his bloodstained face.


Pirate: You are back for more?

Farmer: Yes, die you filthy low life maggot.

The Pirate grimaces from the first swing, falling backwards into a summersault clinging to life, with the same frightened look the Farmer had with his entanglement of the dragon minutes before..

Pirate: Please…

Farmer: Tell me where that lady is..you know the one who leads he massive army...tell me or die..

Pirate: Last heard, she was in the Sewers… And what happened to your army?


Wait..perhaps I should seek peace alone. For moving from clan to clean would reflect as far from loyal. No doubt I would have to explain, for I have ignore their calls for recruitment for some time. This a confusion time, yet a as the Purple Floating Man said, a time to explore and to seek new endeavors.

P.S. This is a period of mourning. The past several days have been a mixture of triumphs and tragedies. A new set of armor, a small fortune created by murder and the under selling of market value of presents, a leaving of a support system mixed with a sense of freedom. Yet the self-awareness of the obvious: Life is shorter and colder alone. The Narrative is troubled and I may not survive. Yet let it be my principles that I carry to the afterlife if I do not make it.
World: Danu
Class: Farmer
For Liberty, and Justice for All.
Son of Dorn
Guardian of Nitro

Who is online

Users browsing this forum: No registered users and 3 guests