Chapter 1
Long ago, in a land forgotten, the dark lord's armies were intent on devouring both the worlds and heavens. Only one could stop them, a fabled chosen one called out by prophecy would hold the fate of all the realms in their hands. Their final clash destined to take place at the gates of heaven themselves; Only when the dark lord arrived things didn’t go according to plan. The chosen one was; well, a no show I suppose. The dark lord, deeply troubled by this, sent forth acolytes across the lands to scour for the missing chosen one, so they may be brought before him to bring about the final battle to determine the fate of everything. So too did the agents of heaven send forth angelic messengers to bring the hero to stand before evil and smite it.
But neither side has been having much luck, with that so tonight’s tale takes place in this very land where Urang axeslayer, Magellan Maneater and Simon the bald were on an adventure.
In the mist covered valley forest of Haven there is but a single road that twists and turns throughout. Intersecting upon occasion the river Moolen maw. Upon this road an event transpired, it was one fair, albeit fog ridden day, as most days tend to be in Haven. A trio of seekers were about chasing the chosen one, prophesied to be to topple the dark lord Gestalt.
Danger was around every corner as agents of the dark lord roamed the lands, causing the general kind of mayhem which if often alluded to but rarely seen. Though in this valley such things are common for aforementioned reasons. They: the seekers, travel in a carriage searching high and low for their quarry. The time is about quarter to noon or as close as one can get to discerning that it’s not quite lunchtime, without the use of a sundial.
“Why are we fucking here, nothing we try here seems to work?” Urang groaned swinging his beefy war axe at a dangling overhead branch. The branch flung off into the brush bring forth the sound of birds, flapping wildly to take flight in panic.
“As far as I’m aware incidence of copulation have been few and far between as of late,” Magellan retorted. She pursed her thin purple lips and glared off into the fog.
“You know that’s not what I meant, I don’t see the merit in twisting my words,” Urang said clutching his axe like an infant, despite the bumpy road he stayed stood up in the open top carriage, eyeing up low hanging branches to take swings at.
“You see no point in poetry then?” Magellan retorted, a noticeable air distraction in her voice. Urang scoffed.
“Course not, a hobby for queers,” said Urang, the driver, Simon the bald, pivoted round a hairless brow focused a set of deep sunken eyes to give a harrowing glare of utter malice. The cart began to veer towards the edge of the track.
“Eyes on the road Simon,” Magellan suggested wistfully. His stare continued as the horses began to mount the verge.
“Sorry!” Urang snapped. Simon let a slither of a smile slide across his lips, turning back to the road.
“It’s best not to vex Simon,” Magellan said, bringing her gaze, along with her plush round features back to face Urang. “Your next nap might be your last.” Urang considered this for a moment.
“Orcs don’t sleep,” he said flatly.
“Not the point,” Magellan replied curtly pulling up a set of long black silk gloves that reached to her exposed upper arm. Urang furled his brow running a thick rough nail along crocodilian olive skin. He paused a long moment before concluding,
“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said.
Magellan pulled out a burgundy leather bound tome and began to thumb through the pages.
“Well,” Urang grunted insistently flashing a set of boarish tusks. Magellan’s emerald green eyes peered above the book for an instant, before submerging back to recommence the perusing.
Urang rolled his eyes before a scent on the wind caught his attention. He sniffed wildly drawing the smell to his nose. It filled with promises of honey glazed ham, roast veggies and flowery rich lamb broth.
“Food,” he let out in a low murmur.
“You’ve already eaten, two loaves of bread for breakfast, and you can’t still be hungry,” Magellan spoke into her book, irreverent.
“I could go for another, but no, I can smell food cooking, not my kind though,” Simon gave the pair a glancing over his shoulder.
“Where about?” Magellan sighed, snapping the tome closed in one hand.
Urang scanned the air, craning his neck on way and another, punctuated with a set a grunt like sniffs.
“Ahead, half a mile,” he said, then paused. “There’s something else…” an arrow skirted past Magellan’s head, narrowly missing her fizzled curly locks. The cart came to a standstill as Simon calmly laid the reins to one side, sitting calmly, straight backed with crossed arms. “...Bandits,” Urang finished.
“Hadn’t noticed,” Magellan retorted with a heavy glaze of sarcasm.
“Your money or your lifes,” shout a green tight clade figure stood ahead in the road, Bow clasped in one hand.
“Lives,” Magellan replied with a look of disdain.
The figure looked flustered for a moment, a grandiose pose dissolved into a cacophony of fidgets, he dusted himself off and coughed loudly, clearing his throat.
“I am Sir Crow the green. Here to right wrongs and redistribute excess profits to the populous that originally produced them, so as to challenge hegemony of our feudal state and see our workers empowered in this ongoing class struggle.” Urang gave the man a long stare, face perplexed.
“You’re not green, you’re just wearing green,” said Urang.
Sir Crow strolled up to the carriage his cheeks flushing red.
“That’s what you took away from my introduction?” he asked offense woven into his expression. Urang nodded, then pointed at the man
“Now you’re a red crow,” he said, amusement playing brash in his voice.
“You oaf, how unruly a comment,” Crow stammered. Magellan leaned over across the cart.
“You did just threaten his life, you’re in no position complain about unruliness,” Magellan observed. Crow slapped his thighs are let out a theatrical chuckle.
“You’re surrounded by my fellow revolutionaries, I think you’ll find you are at my mercy,” he spread his arms out the the surrounding smattering of foliage: bushes, shrubs, ferns and fallen logs.
Magellan smirked, “I don’t see anyone.” Simon glanced over, a worried expression showing on his smooth pale face. Crows bottom lip upturned with the crease of on his brow, they weren’t taking him seriously, a fact the required remedy.
“That’s it I’m done playing around with you fascists, Kill the bald one!” Crow shrieked veins popping on his forehead. The whistle of an arrow came from the brush striking Simon in the neck. He erupted into spasm as a spray of sulphurous smelling blood ran down his neck. He clutched at the wound making inarticale noises through coarse rasping. His tunic soaked through with the rapid exodus of blood.
“Someone put him out his misery,” Crow called looking away from the sight, gut churning. his call brought another arrow. This one planted itself through his skull, ending Simons torment.
Urang and Magellan exchanged looks.
“What did you do that for?” Magellan asked slighted with annoyance.
“You weren’t taking me seriously,” Crow retorted looking away, chin raised. Magellan rolled her eyes face glower, pulling out a book from her bag. She sprung it open and began to read.
“What is she doing, is that some sort of sorcery? I’ll kill her too you know!” Crow spat the words at an indifferent Urang who seemed preoccupied picking food out his teeth.
“She doesn’t like people who kill to impress, says they’re…. Melodramatic,” Urang said in a flat tone.
“She has a name,” Magellan sassed from behind her book. The red on crows face deepened to a brilliant purple.
“You’re really testing my nerves. Witch! put the book down or orc dies,” crow hissed, he was frothing at the mouth with a look in his eyes like a rabid dog. Magellan paused for a long moment to consider, eyes flickering back and forth like a pendulum between the book and Urang, real strain showing in her expression.
Urang’s jaw dropped in horrid amazement. Crow prepared to raise his hand and give the order before Magellan snapped the book shut and set it down in her lap.
“Not the point,” Magellan replied curtly pulling up a set of long black silk gloves that reached to her exposed upper arm. Urang furled his brow running a thick rough nail along crocodilian olive skin. He paused a long moment before concluding,
“You still haven’t answered my question,” he said.
Magellan pulled out a burgundy leather bound tome and began to thumb through the pages.
“Well,” Urang grunted insistently flashing a set of boarish tusks. Magellan’s emerald green eyes peered above the book for an instant, before submerging back to recommence the perusing.
Urang rolled his eyes before a scent on the wind caught his attention. He sniffed wildly drawing the smell to his nose. It filled with promises of honey glazed ham, roast veggies and flowery rich lamb broth.
“Food,” he let out in a low murmur.
“You’ve already eaten, two loaves of bread for breakfast, and you can’t still be hungry,” Magellan spoke into her book, irreverent.
“I could go for another, but no, I can smell food cooking, not my kind though,” Simon gave the pair a glancing over his shoulder.
“Where about?” Magellan sighed, snapping the tome closed in one hand.
Urang scanned the air, craning his neck on way and another, punctuated with a set a grunt like sniffs.
“Ahead, half a mile,” he said, then paused. “There’s something else…” an arrow skirted past Magellan’s head, narrowly missing her fizzled curly locks. The cart came to a standstill as Simon calmly laid the reins to one side, sitting calmly, straight backed with crossed arms. “...Bandits,” Urang finished.
“Hadn’t noticed,” Magellan retorted with a heavy glaze of sarcasm.
“Your money or your lifes,” shout a green tight clade figure stood ahead in the road, Bow clasped in one hand.
“Lives,” Magellan replied with a look of disdain.
The figure looked flustered for a moment, a grandiose pose dissolved into a cacophony of fidgets, he dusted himself off and coughed loudly, clearing his throat.
“I am Sir Crow the green. Here to right wrongs and redistribute excess profits to the populous that originally produced them, so as to challenge hegemony of our feudal state and see our workers empowered in this ongoing class struggle.” Urang gave the man a long stare, face perplexed.
“You’re not green, you’re just wearing green,” said Urang.
Sir Crow strolled up to the carriage his cheeks flushing red.
“That’s what you took away from my introduction?” he asked offense woven into his expression. Urang nodded, then pointed at the man
“Now you’re a red crow,” he said, amusement playing brash in his voice.
“You oaf, how unruly a comment,” Crow stammered. Magellan leaned over across the cart.
“You did just threaten his life, you’re in no position complain about unruliness,” Magellan observed. Crow slapped his thighs are let out a theatrical chuckle.
“You’re surrounded by my fellow revolutionaries, I think you’ll find you are at my mercy,” he spread his arms out the the surrounding smattering of foliage: bushes, shrubs, ferns and fallen logs.
Magellan smirked, “I don’t see anyone.” Simon glanced over, a worried expression showing on his smooth pale face. Crows bottom lip upturned with the crease of on his brow, they weren’t taking him seriously, a fact the required remedy.
“That’s it I’m done playing around with you fascists, Kill the bald one!” Crow shrieked veins popping on his forehead. The whistle of an arrow came from the brush striking Simon in the neck. He erupted into spasm as a spray of sulphurous smelling blood ran down his neck. He clutched at the wound making inarticale noises through coarse rasping. His tunic soaked through with the rapid exodus of blood.
“Someone put him out his misery,” Crow called looking away from the sight, gut churning. his call brought another arrow. This one planted itself through his skull, ending Simons torment.
Urang and Magellan exchanged looks.
“What did you do that for?” Magellan asked slighted with annoyance.
“You weren’t taking me seriously,” Crow retorted looking away, chin raised. Magellan rolled her eyes face glower, pulling out a book from her bag. She sprung it open and began to read.
“What is she doing, is that some sort of sorcery? I’ll kill her too you know!” Crow spat the words at an indifferent Urang who seemed preoccupied picking food out his teeth.
“She doesn’t like people who kill to impress, says they’re…. Melodramatic,” Urang said in a flat tone.
“She has a name,” Magellan sassed from behind her book. The red on crows face deepened to a brilliant purple.
“You’re really testing my nerves. Witch! put the book down or orc dies,” crow hissed, he was frothing at the mouth with a look in his eyes like a rabid dog. Magellan paused for a long moment to consider, eyes flickering back and forth like a pendulum between the book and Urang, real strain showing in her expression.
Urang’s jaw dropped in horrid amazement. Crow prepared to raise his hand and give the order before Magellan snapped the book shut and set it down in her lap.
“Was it really that hard?” Urang asked aghast. Magellan averted her gaze.
“Not at all, my hands were just a bit stiff. I’d never let your life get in the way of my reading,” she blurted the words and when urang’s scowl didn’t dissipate she ran back over what she said. she corrected herself with a raised finger, “other way round.”Urang kept scowling.
“Anyway, where do you get off threatening people for not listening?” Magellan asked crow in a none-too discrete Segway.
“I’m am an agent of the oppressed, a freedom fighter against tyranny, we are a social movement to end exploitation!” Crows fists flew back and forth from his chest to the air in an ignoble fluttering of passions. Containing her amusement with ease, Magellan watched on, stroking the spine of her book as if it were a cat, she cast another glance into the bushes.
“Yes, well I suppose the question is what about that gives you permission, in your eyes, to harm us,” she said. Crow looked at Magellan as if she were slow of mind. He flicked his chin up triumphant.
“You’re fascists, members of a corrupt exploiting ruling class, you’ll do anything to perpetuate your system of class warfare, so we must we willing to act in turn.”
Urang leant over to Crow then whispered in his ear.
“Simon was a baker.” crow slapped Urang’s scaly face with the back of his hand.
“He was complicit,” crow screeched. Urangs face remained in unmarked, his expression unchanged. Crow clasped his throbbing hand with the other, blowing on it and prancing on the spot.
“Bloody orc, your kind always facilitating the capital driven violence,” Crow said. Magellan looked the man over the strange man in green tights with one emotion coming to mind, pity.
“That’s racist,” Magellan posited, staring at her nails.
“At the least an unhelpful stereotype,” Urang followed up. The rush of purple struck back into crows face with vengeance. His lip quivered and his eyes became bloodshot, sweat cusped on his brow.
“Hand over the goods or I kill you. Now!” crow barked. His teeth grated as he drew the string of his bow. Magellan reached into her pocket and pulled out seal and began to twist it round in her palm idly.
“Stop that,” crow shrieked, eying the seal. “What is that thing, some sort of foul witchcraft.” Magellan shook her head calmly with a reassuring smile, humouring the man before her.
“It’s your death warrant,” Magellan’s smile dropped like a curtain. As she tossed the seal to Crow. The green tight clade bandit/social activist thumbled around, juggling his bow and the seal at once.
He slung the bow over his shoulder and peered at the seal, on it marked in silver was the symbol of the dark hex. A single open eye surrounded in a hexagonal cage. Crows eyes shot wide.
“You… you killed the dark lord's servants?” Urang took his turn to roll the eyes and swept back a dangling strand of the long hair, fallen from his knotted braid.
“Or,” Magellan queried.
Crow choked on his own phlegm. “Or you are servant for… The dark…urmm.. Yeah I’ll be going now, I think.” He turned from the carriage and set eyes on the dead driver. “Wasn’t he bald a moment ago,” crow remarked aloud, looking up a tan man with tied back locks of reddish hair and a flour stained apron upon his front. “Even his clothes have…” crow hesitated to finish the thought.
“I told you he was a baker, well I guess he’s a bandit now,” Urang chuckled, standing up in the carriage and appearing to stretch.
Crow turned round to face the orc. “what’s that supposed to mean?” a look of worry crossed his face. He felt a tapping on his shoulder and spun around. He peered into the fog, the panic rising in his heart.
“He’s behind you”, Urang and Magellan shouted in unison. Crow turned around again, face to face with a pale man in a black tunic. His breath smelt of the same broth crow and his men had eaten round the fire last night. The man’s eyes were wide with a hollow excitement, keen but muted in emotion.
“But you were dead,” Crow took a step back; but as he did Simon stepped forwards. Refusing to leave Crow’s personal space.
Crow looked down and noticed blood and dirt on Simon’s hands and with it surmised his follower’s fates. Conflicting urges pulled on his crow, the urge to at once turn and run away from the man before him, competing with urge not to leave himself exposed. he was not alone, in the woods with a trio strangers. His hands wriggled.
“How is he alive?” crow squealed, Taking another step only for it to be echoed by Simon. “It’s more fun if we don’t tell you but I assure you, his is the birth of tragedy,” Magellan replied handing a length of rope to Urang.
Crow took another step his hands becoming clammy. His foot caught on an outstretched stone and he fell down landing bottom first in the mud.
Urang chuckled as he approached,
“it looks as though you crapped yourself,” he said. Magellan tutted, bring her book back out and burying herself in it. Crow moved to climb back to his feet, now overrun with panic. An arm slipped around his neck and held him in an arm lock, He could feel Simon breathing heavily down his neck. He kicked wildly sending up spurts of mud into the air.
“Calm him down a tad would’ya,” Urang said knotting rope in his hands a few paces back. Simon squeezed pulling Crow up against his cold moist skin. He stilled an expression of revolt on his face.
“Feels like a frog doesn’t it” said Urang conversationally while binding crow’s feet.
“Please let me go, this is all a mistake,” crow whimpered. Urang shrugged and turned to Magellan.
“Attacking a band of acolytes was a mistake. The kind of thing anyone could have blundered into, but you’ve been very rude,” Magellan said, eyes stayed fixed to her book.
“I say we keel haul him,” Urang suggested. Magellan set down her book and pointed at Urang with an upturned hand.
“I’ve told you before. That only works on a ship,” she said, Urang looked at the rope once more.
“Tie him to the back of the cart then, it is my turn to choose after all,” he said. Magellan gave a dismissive gesture, returning to her reading. Urang began to drag crow through the mud towards the cart.
“You’re lucky it’s not Simon’s turn,” Urang remarked cheerfully. Simon peered over with an eerie smiled eyes flickering over to crow’s knees while twirling and arrow between his fingers.
Back over at the cart and simon pushed the baker’s body from the driver’s seat and reacquiring his position on the cart. Urang tied the rope to the cart with practiced elegance. Crow looked up distressed.
“Please let me go” he asked, his proud voice now frail. Urang squatted down beside him and began rifling through his pockets.
“Is your father a major general or something?” Urang asked, Crow eyes darted around looking for a way out of the deepening madness he found himself In.
“What are you talking about? How is that a relevant question?” Crow replied, Urang looked at him with stern conviction.
“Need a good excuse not to eat you, ransom might do,” Urang said, his voice grizzly. Magellan let out in a snigger as crow worked frantically to try and shed himself of his bonds. Urang flicked through the content of crow’s pocket emptying then into the palm of his hand. A cut throat razor; rusty handled but with an expertly polished blade, a small black pocket book worn along the spine and a small pot of hand moisturiser.
“Not at all, my hands were just a bit stiff. I’d never let your life get in the way of my reading,” she blurted the words and when urang’s scowl didn’t dissipate she ran back over what she said. she corrected herself with a raised finger, “other way round.”Urang kept scowling.
“Anyway, where do you get off threatening people for not listening?” Magellan asked crow in a none-too discrete Segway.
“I’m am an agent of the oppressed, a freedom fighter against tyranny, we are a social movement to end exploitation!” Crows fists flew back and forth from his chest to the air in an ignoble fluttering of passions. Containing her amusement with ease, Magellan watched on, stroking the spine of her book as if it were a cat, she cast another glance into the bushes.
“Yes, well I suppose the question is what about that gives you permission, in your eyes, to harm us,” she said. Crow looked at Magellan as if she were slow of mind. He flicked his chin up triumphant.
“You’re fascists, members of a corrupt exploiting ruling class, you’ll do anything to perpetuate your system of class warfare, so we must we willing to act in turn.”
Urang leant over to Crow then whispered in his ear.
“Simon was a baker.” crow slapped Urang’s scaly face with the back of his hand.
“He was complicit,” crow screeched. Urangs face remained in unmarked, his expression unchanged. Crow clasped his throbbing hand with the other, blowing on it and prancing on the spot.
“Bloody orc, your kind always facilitating the capital driven violence,” Crow said. Magellan looked the man over the strange man in green tights with one emotion coming to mind, pity.
“That’s racist,” Magellan posited, staring at her nails.
“At the least an unhelpful stereotype,” Urang followed up. The rush of purple struck back into crows face with vengeance. His lip quivered and his eyes became bloodshot, sweat cusped on his brow.
“Hand over the goods or I kill you. Now!” crow barked. His teeth grated as he drew the string of his bow. Magellan reached into her pocket and pulled out seal and began to twist it round in her palm idly.
“Stop that,” crow shrieked, eying the seal. “What is that thing, some sort of foul witchcraft.” Magellan shook her head calmly with a reassuring smile, humouring the man before her.
“It’s your death warrant,” Magellan’s smile dropped like a curtain. As she tossed the seal to Crow. The green tight clade bandit/social activist thumbled around, juggling his bow and the seal at once.
He slung the bow over his shoulder and peered at the seal, on it marked in silver was the symbol of the dark hex. A single open eye surrounded in a hexagonal cage. Crows eyes shot wide.
“You… you killed the dark lord's servants?” Urang took his turn to roll the eyes and swept back a dangling strand of the long hair, fallen from his knotted braid.
“Or,” Magellan queried.
Crow choked on his own phlegm. “Or you are servant for… The dark…urmm.. Yeah I’ll be going now, I think.” He turned from the carriage and set eyes on the dead driver. “Wasn’t he bald a moment ago,” crow remarked aloud, looking up a tan man with tied back locks of reddish hair and a flour stained apron upon his front. “Even his clothes have…” crow hesitated to finish the thought.
“I told you he was a baker, well I guess he’s a bandit now,” Urang chuckled, standing up in the carriage and appearing to stretch.
Crow turned round to face the orc. “what’s that supposed to mean?” a look of worry crossed his face. He felt a tapping on his shoulder and spun around. He peered into the fog, the panic rising in his heart.
“He’s behind you”, Urang and Magellan shouted in unison. Crow turned around again, face to face with a pale man in a black tunic. His breath smelt of the same broth crow and his men had eaten round the fire last night. The man’s eyes were wide with a hollow excitement, keen but muted in emotion.
“But you were dead,” Crow took a step back; but as he did Simon stepped forwards. Refusing to leave Crow’s personal space.
Crow looked down and noticed blood and dirt on Simon’s hands and with it surmised his follower’s fates. Conflicting urges pulled on his crow, the urge to at once turn and run away from the man before him, competing with urge not to leave himself exposed. he was not alone, in the woods with a trio strangers. His hands wriggled.
“How is he alive?” crow squealed, Taking another step only for it to be echoed by Simon. “It’s more fun if we don’t tell you but I assure you, his is the birth of tragedy,” Magellan replied handing a length of rope to Urang.
Crow took another step his hands becoming clammy. His foot caught on an outstretched stone and he fell down landing bottom first in the mud.
Urang chuckled as he approached,
“it looks as though you crapped yourself,” he said. Magellan tutted, bring her book back out and burying herself in it. Crow moved to climb back to his feet, now overrun with panic. An arm slipped around his neck and held him in an arm lock, He could feel Simon breathing heavily down his neck. He kicked wildly sending up spurts of mud into the air.
“Calm him down a tad would’ya,” Urang said knotting rope in his hands a few paces back. Simon squeezed pulling Crow up against his cold moist skin. He stilled an expression of revolt on his face.
“Feels like a frog doesn’t it” said Urang conversationally while binding crow’s feet.
“Please let me go, this is all a mistake,” crow whimpered. Urang shrugged and turned to Magellan.
“Attacking a band of acolytes was a mistake. The kind of thing anyone could have blundered into, but you’ve been very rude,” Magellan said, eyes stayed fixed to her book.
“I say we keel haul him,” Urang suggested. Magellan set down her book and pointed at Urang with an upturned hand.
“I’ve told you before. That only works on a ship,” she said, Urang looked at the rope once more.
“Tie him to the back of the cart then, it is my turn to choose after all,” he said. Magellan gave a dismissive gesture, returning to her reading. Urang began to drag crow through the mud towards the cart.
“You’re lucky it’s not Simon’s turn,” Urang remarked cheerfully. Simon peered over with an eerie smiled eyes flickering over to crow’s knees while twirling and arrow between his fingers.
Back over at the cart and simon pushed the baker’s body from the driver’s seat and reacquiring his position on the cart. Urang tied the rope to the cart with practiced elegance. Crow looked up distressed.
“Please let me go” he asked, his proud voice now frail. Urang squatted down beside him and began rifling through his pockets.
“Is your father a major general or something?” Urang asked, Crow eyes darted around looking for a way out of the deepening madness he found himself In.
“What are you talking about? How is that a relevant question?” Crow replied, Urang looked at him with stern conviction.
“Need a good excuse not to eat you, ransom might do,” Urang said, his voice grizzly. Magellan let out in a snigger as crow worked frantically to try and shed himself of his bonds. Urang flicked through the content of crow’s pocket emptying then into the palm of his hand. A cut throat razor; rusty handled but with an expertly polished blade, a small black pocket book worn along the spine and a small pot of hand moisturiser.
“Some man of people you are,” Urang scoffed.
“This’ll set you back a fair handful,” he waved the pot in front of crow’s eyes shaking it like a petite bell.
“I seized it from a landowning fascist,” Crow insisted regaining some composure.
Magellan spoke with words drizzled in condescension.
“Redistributing their wealth to the neediest, that being yourself?”
“I seized it from a landowning fascist,” Crow insisted regaining some composure.
Magellan spoke with words drizzled in condescension.
“Redistributing their wealth to the neediest, that being yourself?”
The cart took off dragging a screeching crow in its wake. upon the first rock, larger than a fist, they encountered crows head strayed into its path, swifty knocking the man into unconsciousness.
“Stupid, barely two minutes and he’s out cold, we should have gone with Simon’s idea,” Magellan declare before gesturing for Urang to retrieve him from the ground. He did so grumbling.
“Stupid, barely two minutes and he’s out cold, we should have gone with Simon’s idea,” Magellan declare before gesturing for Urang to retrieve him from the ground. He did so grumbling.
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