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You wake up one day and you're another character. What happens?
Thanks to Rayse for the suggestion!
You must choose another IC character on the site and it cannot be your own alt. Have fun with this and explore some other characters! I look forward to reading your stories!
A Fool and a Father
A start of a grand adventure.
Duffy rolled over. Duffy blinked. Duffy sighed. Whilst today was no different to any other day in the long and seemingly endless summer, the bard was almost certain something was different. He clenched his buttocks, and ran the tension down his right leg to where, last night at least, he would have been met with a sharp twinge of pain as the tendons tightened around his shattered shin. Instead, he felt nothing but the once familiar rigidity of a well-toned body. This was most peculiar.
“Something tells me I’m not going to like this,” he mumbled, with dry lips and a pained expression. He lifted his hands free of the rough wool blankets and inspected them with unfamiliar eyes. Sure enough, his lithe, nimble, and well-groomed nails were gone. Instead, he was brandishing a calloused, boulder like, and war weary pair of fists. He let them drop wearily back to the bed and sighed. With a rising sense of the dramatic welling in his stomach, Duffy scooped himself out of the recess his bulk had made in the mattress and waved his legs feebly to right himself. He set the flat of his feet onto the cold flagstones of the chamber, and inspected his knees.
Each was perhaps as large as his own fists, and each supported impressive bone structure and greyish curls of hair. He began to inspect the room he found himself in, and pieced together the pieces of a hazy puzzle. The walls of the room were covered in what could only be described as trophies. There were tattered standards from Coronian regiments, pictures in ink, charcoal, and fading film, and in between each relic and recount, there were swords, shields, and sabres of a bewildering variety. It was like a war room, a place for ageing generals to discuss the matters of the day surrounding by heralds of their profession.
It was only after he had done a full inspection from his sweaty throne that Duffy drew his attention to the mammoth blade that rested at the foot of his bed near the pillows. Its hefty bulk rested conspicuously close, and the bard had to wonder how anyone half asleep could muster the strength and direction required to life such a titan of legend. Its barrelled chamber in the blade, and its bound handle were immestakible the trademark parts of the gun blade Lawmaker.
“No…” he mouthed, as if to test his disbelief. “No,” he repeated, as if a second time would swipe aside the failure of the first. “I did not wake up one random day in the body of Letho Ravenheart…” the statement sounded innocuous, unreal, and yet somehow entirely likely to happen to Duffy of all people. It was not the first time he had awakened from a heavy night’s sleep in a strange and foreign body. The previous time, he had been fortunate enough to find himself entombed in his future self. To be in the body of another, in an unknown time, place, and for an unknown duration scared the bard.
“Father!” cried a distant voice, stricken hollow by the barrier of the heavy mahogany and iron frame of the door. The light grew around the cracks between divide and stone, until Duffy realised it was still night-time, and the glow of a candle was lighting the intruder’s way. “Father, may I come in?” the voice hazarded. Duffy wondered what had drawn the voice here. From the trace of curiosity spiked with fear in the woman’s voice, he assumed he had cried out in fear, or perhaps pain, and risen from his sleep.
Wasting no time, Duffy scurried back into the folds of the blankets and covered himself. He rolled over, so that his face met with the blank wall next to the bed, and then coughed and spluttered. “Enter!” he proclaimed, in the manner that he thought the legendary captain of the ranger’s might. Truth be told, Duffy knew nothing of the man except the echoes of his deeds, and the might of his sword arm. His observance of his deeds in The Cell many years ago had come only in the form of Ruby and Lillith’s recollection to him long after the event, and the man himself had left.
The handle of the turn turned, clicked softly, and heralded its opening. The light from the corridor beyond poured in, slowly revealing the slender form of a ponytailed woman wearing white silk undergarments and curiously, a bandoleer and sword belt. Duffy could not see the stranger, but as she entered, the sound his own weapon and knife sheathes made painted a picture. She had heard something to make her reach for her blade before she ventured to the chamber.
“I heard a noise, father, are you okay?” she stopped three paces into the room, her left hand fixed to the door handle, and her right holding aloft a small candle well and dripping wick. “There was a scream, like thunder, and then a thud and a crash.” She paused for effect, testing the water, “it came from this wing of the castle.” Duffy rolled his eyes. Of course Letho lived in a castle.
“It is nothing, daughter,” he sorely wished he knew the woman’s name, “perhaps thunder or the guards’ card game gone sour.” The tension that formed in the room pierced even the blanket cocoon. Duffy had slipped up.
“The guards’ left months ago, father, you sent them away…” her voice was softer, but somehow, that made it all the more threatening. Duffy had little choice but to shift his bulk and roll over. His grizzled expression met with the woman’s, and then he recognised her.
“Then a storm it is, Lorelei.” He tried to smile, but he was not sure which muscles in his ageing face were for which emotion. He came across half asleep, aloof, and from the look of worry on Lorelei’s face, a liar.
Throwing caution to the wind, the woman advanced across the room with exasperated steps. She half threw the candle to the floor, and the flame danced and cast shadows and shapes across the menagerie of relics. Her hands delicately reached out to rest on her father’s shoulders, and she cocked her head to level with his. There was a cautionary caring in each and every of her movements. Whatever troubles the Ravenheart family had gone through over the many years of the civil war and beyond, they had clearly, in Duffy’s eyes, forged a very strong bond between father and daughter. “Has it happened again?” she asked; as if she expected her half asleep relative to instantly know what she implied. “Are you being called back to compete?” she continued. “It is nearly time for The Oxfordshire Open.”
That title sent a shiver down Duffy’s bulky spine. He had remembered the last time, but he had only watched the horrors unleashed in the name of entertainment. He had always wondered what it would be like to swap bodies and do harm to your enemies with their own blades. This, however, did not feel like a good and sporting exchange. There was something else at work.
“Letho entered that?” Duffy asked, pleasantly surprised. His question faded into awkward tension, and then an unsheathing sound that was all too familiar to the bard. Lorelei, despite her concern, pounced back, whipped the rapier down, and held its point between her father’s eyes.
“Who, are, you?” she seethed. Duffy blinked. The look on Lorelei’s face suggested to Duffy that her fears had been confirmed. He wondered just how often Letho switched bodies with strangers, and how he himself might acquire the ability to do so.
“I,” Duffy moved, very slowly, into an upright position. He shuffled to the end of the bed with the sword’s point perfectly poised to lobotomise him all the while. It was a remarkably sharp tip, and the sword, polished, unused in weeks, glinted in the back light of the torches in the corridor beyond. The candle snuffed out in the commotion, and the smell of smoke filled both their nostrils. “I am Duffy…” he made to say his surname, but Lorelei snatched the word right from his mouth.
“Bracken?” she dropped her jaw slightly, and with it, her guard. Letho, apparently much stronger than his ageing appearance suggested, knocked the sword tip to one side and leapt with a grunt to the right. His feet flapped against the stone, and the paintings hanging in between the tapestries and photographs rocked on their hooks. Lorelei retreated and span, levelled the blade at Duffy’s midriff, and then made for the door like a quicksilver assassin. Whatever she did for a living, her father had clearly had a hand in her upbringing.
“Do I know you?” he cocked his head inquisitively.
“My father spoke words of you, once or twice.” There was sardonic in her words that the tension failed to mask. Duffy believed her, but assumed those words were not likely to be kind and complimentary. “There was also the incident with the airship.”
Not so long ago, in the grand scheme of Duffy’s long life, he had been called upon by Letho to acquire a floating ship from the company of ‘thieves’ the captain had selected to be found bereft of their vessel. Along with a dragon fond wizard and a strange and plucky woman from an unknown land, they had, to say the least, been most unsuccessful. Whilst they had been eagles that dared, by the end, they left one another’s presence none the wiser, and considerably poorer for their efforts.
“Yes.” He said with a deadpanned expression. “Yes, there was that, too.” He remembered the painful experience of Lorelei’s teleportation summons, though he had never met the women in the flesh. There was an aura about her that was not quite as strong or commanding as Letho’s, but it was vibrant and impressive all the same. “Now that we are acquainted, how do we go about avoiding the trauma of you stabbing your father?”
“It would not be the first time,” she said with a chirp, “though that was an unfortunate accident,” she made to chuckle, but when she realised she was being unarmed with wit and words, she redoubled her grip on the handle of her sword, and advanced two steps with it extended. “Oh very clever, bard.”
“Look, Lorelei. Let me level with you some.” He gestured down the length of his body, which was an impressive lattice of muscle, scars, and memories and stopped at his feet. “I am unarmed, unfamiliar with the muscles in this towering inferno of strength, and completely clueless as to what I’m doing in Letho Ravenheart’s…no, wait, the Letho Ravenheart’s body…the least you can do is perhaps try to make this easier to deal with by putting,” he jabbed a finger at her sword, “that away.”
Lorelei hesitated. Her hair moved in silken waves as she swaggered to the doorway, and then, with a sigh, she sheathed the rapier and adjusted the sword belt so the tip hung by her ankles. She gestured Duffy into the light of the corridor, but retreated backwards to keep fixated on him, no trust showing in her eyes, only restraint and caution. She showed no fear, either, which unnerved the bard. He padded out into the corridor, which ran into the distance behind Lorelei, and to the left. Either side of the passage was line with similar doors every twenty feet or so. He tried to count, but when he hit twenty rooms, he gave in. The castle, wherever it was, was on the scale of the Ixian Knight’s home, and much grander, if more drab, than Brandybuck Tor.
“You’re definitely not a duplicate,” she said softly. She examined the maze of scars, layer upon layer of victory and malice, and then stared straight into her father’s eyes. “You do however talk different, sound different, and feel different.” She rested her hands on her hips.
“Yes,” Duffy nodded, with a heavy dose of patronising tone. “That’s because it’s Duffy!”
“But how did this happen?” Lorelei shrugged, “it took a chorus of sixteen mages, and three days to prepare the swapping ritual for the Oxfordshire Open. Both parties had to agree beforehand, and pledge blood and soul to the Oath of the tournament.” She cocked her head. “Did you pledge to the Oath?” Duffy shook his head. “So who or what has the power to just flit heroes and villains across time and space?”
Duffy shrugged. He was none the wiser, but Lorelei couldn’t discern mirth in the stern grimace of her war-torn father’s face. He looked every bit sincere.
“One minute, I was drinking in the college lector room, and the next?” he pointed back to the door, “I awoke here.”
“College?” she asked inquisitively. As she put her question forward, she turned on a swift ankle and began to advance down the corridor away from her father. Duffy took it as a sign to follow, and made clunky steps behind her as the lethargy of his apparent switcheroo began to fade.
“The Collegiate of the Bardic Conjuror,” Duffy replied, as if the title were common knowledge in every country in the northern continent’s expanse.
“Which is…where, exactly?” the more Lorelei spoke, the dryer she became. The dryer and pithier she became, the more Duffy began to like her. She was remarkably familiar to Ruby, though with better dress sense and less of a penchant for burning things when she got angry.
Duffy took a few moments to compose him. He ran his clunky hands behind his ears, but found no hair to tuck there. He reached for the spot on his hip he often pressed to alleviate his aching shin, but found only muscle, and a bone structure that felt as if it had been hewn from rock, as opposed to man. He felt utterly uncomfortable in someone else’s skin. He knew Duffy; he knew the man, the flesh, and the form. Inside Letho’s battle-worn body, he was out of his depth entirely. The more they progressed along the path to discovering just what had happened to them both, the more the bard was undone.
“It is in Istien University…”
Lorelei nodded, as if her doubts were confirmed. “Raiaera.” She turned away, and continued her advance. Duffy followed, though he kept his distance. He had no doubt whatsoever that she knew how to kill him with that sword quicker than he could gather his wits. “It would have to be something to do with elves.”
“Well, they made the wine, sure.” Duffy shrugged.
They walked for what seemed like an hour, twisting and turning through the lofty under croft of the castle. They came at last, after spiralling up staircases and trudging through wine cellars, to what appeared to be a grand hall. The long, rectangular structure was topped with criss-crossing beams of hefty oak, and the grain of the wood shone with varnish and paint that formed spirals, knots, and ancient scripture. It was almost like a Salvarian ale house, though bereft of wool clad barbarians and roasting meat.
“This is an impressive home, Lorelei.” Duffy nodded in appreciation, and absent-minded, he walked to the centre of the chalk circle she gestured to at the dead centre of the grand space. The cold air seemed to dance off Letho’s grizzled skin, but he watched her pull her robes tighter around her body and bite her lip.
“My father thinks so, though he seems to stagnate here of late.” She sighed. Spreading her arms and proud, as if to divide the sea, the woman glared at her father’s body. “Let us not dawdle. If my father’s…” she pursed her lips, “if my father’s spirit is in the elven heartland, then we have little time to waste.”
Duffy chuckled with his newfound and gruff voice. “How do you propose to just hop over there, exactly?” he rested his hands on his hips. The presence of the circle was not lost on him, but he did not understand enough about the conventional schools of sorcery to grasp what it could mean.
“You may have come out of the previous encounter with my father empty handed, Duffy.” She pointed to the ceiling, which faded into and out of view. Something masqueraded its presence, as if the night from outside the castle walls was being summoned to the woman’s open, cupped, and holy hands. “My father, however, did not.”
“What does that mean?”
Duffy did not catch her reply. With a well of energy, they both shot upwards, quite literally through time and space, and in Duffy’s case, through several rotations and projectile bouts of vomiting. Though Letho was used to the inertia caused by Lorelei’s teleportation magic, he, entombed in a steel cage, was not. When the night sky materialised into view once again, Duffy found himself atop a tall tower, in the dark of a moonlight sonata, and suddenly very cold. Against the freezing temperatures of the rural wastes, Letho’s muscles offered little protection.
“Look up, Duffy Bracken.” Wasting no time, Lorelei gathered her energy, drew it down into her feet, and began to spiral on her toes to cast a second spell. Light ribbons formed around her as she did so, and they burst into vibrant and turquoise flames.
Duffy looked up; shivering and cursing under his freezing breath with every bit of imagination he could manage. There, hovering above the tower was a shadow that was as wondrous as it was colossal. It was immestakible the airship they had tried to steal. Whilst the bard felt betrayed, his betrayal was easily swept aside by the realisation that he might well be reunited with his broken, but very much preferred self. He hesitated.
“Wait!” he roared. His roar was treble that of his own body, and he flinched behind its might. He burst into laughter, and then shook his head again. The strangeness and lateness and coldness of the air were undoing his usual level headedness. “I forgot…or rather, Letho forgot something!” Lorelei’s expression of annoyance did nothing to undo Duffy’s determination. He stepped back, then forth, and then drove his granite fist into the rock formation of the tower’s platform.
Though the bard had exchanged bodies, his soul was the conduit of his power, and his strength to call upon it was trebled in Letho’s form. He sang a little ditty under his breath, and drew on the energy of his surroundings to reach down through the rock and the rubble and the ruin into the shadows below. He heard a lion’s roar, and a beat of dark wings, and then silence. Something flashes in the sky overhead, and illuminated the behemoth hull of the airship. As Lorelei’s spell gathered momentum, the engines above burst into life, and the spiralling lights about her began to reach and branch out towards him. She was conjuring a gateway to the deck, and to the adventure beyond.
In the final moments of her spell, Lawmaker jetted upwards into its waiting master’s hand. The weight of the blade as Duffy gripped it’s hilt shocked him, and he nearly dropped it. He did not have the faintest clue how to wield the six foot sword, but if they ever found it's true owner, he was sure he would want it in his hand.
With a flash, they were away.
With a strange meeting of mirth and mettle, Lorelei and Duffy began a trial of error, annoyance, and reunion with old heroes and older gods.
The wind howled, lightning flashes, and spirits whispered.
The light of morning finally crept into the small room where Artemis lay resting his weary body. Slowly, he turned over in his bed, stretching his arms and yawning. However, when he yawned, no sound came out, and he paused suddenly with a bemused look on his face. He blinked a few times before swinging his legs over the edge of the bed as he always did to begin his day, yet what he saw this particular day were not the legs he awoke to every morning.
Panic began to fill Artemis' thoughts and his heart pounded out of his chest. He looked at his arms and his hands, then at the room around him. Suddenly he realized he had not woken up where he remembered going to sleep. This was not the Bearded Gnome, nor was this Salvar at all; outside of the window there was a port of some kind rather than the familiar city of Knife's Edge with its flurries of snow.
Suddenly, Artemis recognized the small bay - this was Radasanth of Corone. Why was he here? And what the hell had happened to his body?
He looked around the room, searching for some sort of reflective surface. Who was he? What did he look like? What was going on?
He found a short sword - among a bizarre array of other weapons - in the corner of the room. Of course, short sword was the closest thing he could find to describe the blade. It was incredibly beautiful in its worksmanship, and Artemis couldn't help but admire the metalwork - he even forgot for a moment why he had sought it in the first place. The metal curved into the shape of an "s" and the smooth reflective surface held an incredibly sharp edge. Once he held the blade, his examination was interrupted by the reminder of his circumstances as the glistening surface caught enough light to show Artemis how he truly appeared.
'What the hell?'
The pair of blue eyes looking back at him, though not his own, were familiar. He knew the face, and the hair as well. Who could forget that hair? It was orange and pulled up with a rubber band. His body was tall and lanky, though still somewhat refined. Artemis felt as though his body had been stretched, and seeing the world from that altitude alone was bizarre, let alone the rest of him.
Suddenly a thought struck him - this was Sei Orlouge. This man could read minds. Artemis had interacted with him before on a couple of occasions so he knew how the man communicated. That explained the lack of sound during his yawn.
Excited to try out his new-found ability, and completely disregarding the severity of his circumstances, he put on the gray gi and black shoes in the corner of the room and rushed out of the room. He left all his weapons behind - something he would never normally do when in his own body - and made his way down the hall.
The small wooden tavern was very similar to the one he was accustomed to, and most followed a typical pattern. The first floor was where all the tables were arranged and the windows lined the walls and the bar sat against one side, lined with liquor of all kinds. The second floor was a row of rooms available for renting for those who were passing through and didn't live nearby. However, as his feet finally began to reach the creaking old wooden steps of the inn that lead to the base floor, he began to hear strange noises. It sounded like voices, but they weren't quite the same.
His face shriveled in confusion but he continued on through his apprehension. Still, the voices continued and with every step they became just slightly louder. When he had made it down the dozen or so steps leading into the main dining area of the inn, he looked around and noticed that the tavern was quite crowded, with at least a score of people eating. It was still early morning and people were getting their breakfasts in before a long day.
Artemis, in the body of Sei, dragged himself to the bar and sat down. His eyes were wide and he had cupped his hands over his ears, as though to shush all the sounds. The bartender walked up to him and noticed the bright orange hair, wondering why the hero of Radasanth was walking around with complete disregard of his station.
"Sir, I thought you preferred discretion," the bartender said, leaning on the thick mahogany wood of the bar. "Shouldn't you be wearing your cloak as usual?"
Artemis raised his eyes at the bartender, and the only thing he could do was think at the man. 'Make it stop. Make the voices stop...
The bartender cringed at that, recoiling from the painful intrusion. "Gah, what the hell was that? That hurt like hell!"
The orange-haired man's gaze fell back to mahogany as the bartender took that as a sign that the hero was not in a good mood. "I'll just get you the usual..." he said as he stepped away, wary now of the man's mood. The bartender knew Sei from his visits, and that he spoke via telepathy, but he had never felt that kind of mental strain before. He didn't realize that it was a byproduct of someone without the experience of the true Sei Orlouge attempting to use telepathy to communicate.
Artemis just sat, listening to the endless streams of consciousness that he could not prevent from intruding. He looked around the room and whomever his eyes focused on, their voices became the loudest. He could hear them over all others, yet none had anything useful to say.
One woman was contemplating ways to kill her husband as he sat across from her in silence, slurping a bowl filled with broth.
Another woman was trying to rationalize why she should buy the shoes she had seen the other day from that merchant, despite the fact that they were overprice and she was damn near broke.
Then there was a paranoid man sitting in a corner. His knees were tucked in to his chest and he rocked back and forth, contemplating the plotting of all those around him in some bizarre scheme to kill him and take away whatever he had left in his miserable life.
There was one person who actually had no thought. Or at least not anything substantial. It was an obese man shoveling piles of food in his mouth, and the best way to describe the thoughts he was having would be to say "nom nom nom" aloud.
What upset him most was when he turned to an incredibly beautiful woman, but when she turned and noticed him, her thoughts were of how absurd the man looked and how his hair looked horrific. She couldn't imagine why any woman would be interested in a man who looked like that.
Yet through it all, the only thing Artemis wanted to do was yell at the top of his lungs: "READING MINDS IS AWFUL!"
Of course, he couldn't. Instead, he thought it, and he thought it so loudly that everyone around him felt it. In that sudden moment everyone in that particular inn, on that particular morning, in this particular corner of Radasanth, felt the most particular kind of headache - the kind induced by a telepath screaming thoughts.
Needless to say, it was the worst way to start a day. That is, aside from waking up in another person's body.
Out of Character:
My character woke up to be:
http://www.althanas.com/world/showth...dow&highlight=
for easier reference...
Prolicio Prolixi woke up to the horror of being completely submerged into black clothing What the hell?" Alicia thought. She looked at herself from head to toe about to say something, but nothing came out, she was a mute. Thanks to her natural ability of knowing all languages, she did not fret, for she knew sign language for an alternate form of communication. Only problem was, who else knew the language without passing papers back and forth? Probably no one.
A bow lay in the corner of the room Alicia was in, one which was not there before. The yew bow was equipped with steel tipped arrows for either close range or long range. She picked it up and tested it's durability, it was surprisingly quite strong for being a yew bow. Strange. Alicia, being in the body of someone else, figured she also inherited the certain skills of the individual. To test this theory, she picked up the bow, picking a small target at least 150 feet away and released an arrow. With a long whooshing noise, the arrow struck hard Bullseye!
Although liking her new abilities and being human for once, she could not stay in the current form she was in. Alicia decided to go back to a slumber to see what would happen when she woke again. Nine hours after the strange incident, Prolixi awoke and immediately headed towards the window crossing her fingers. When she looked in the mirror, she was back to her ghostly form. "Well, it was fun while it lasted."
Out of Character:
Kinda lame I know, but couldn't really think of anything outstanding. Oh well, better than nothing. :(
Kyla woke up in a bed that was not her own. The girl sat up and looked around her room, attempting to gain her bearings. Her bed had shrunk, none of her furniture was anywhere in sight, and it seemed as though somebody had left a box full of little girls toys in one of the corners. She reached over and pinched herself on the arm, trying to make sure she wasn’t asleep.
“Ouch!” She yelped, looking down to see that she was wearing a nightgown fit for a child. Hr eyes widened as she tried to understand what happened. Jumping out of the bed and running towards a nearby vanity, the mystic gasped as she saw that she was inhabiting the body of little Azza Ambrose.
There was a knock on her, or rather Azza’s, door. “Azza, sweetie are you okay?”
She paused for a moment, taking a deep breath and wondering is she had Azza’s voice as well as her body. “I’m fine, Daddy!” Kyla winced; both hurt and happy that she did indeed have the child’s tones to her. “I just hurt myself getting out of bed.” Kyla spoke while reaching for her head, feeling the two lumps that were growing beneath her head of hair.
Jensen Ambrose, Azza’s father, said nothing else, and she could hear him making his way back into the other room. Kyla took a brush from the vanity, attempting to comb her hair in the style that Azza always had. Her heart was only half-way in it, and every time she ran the bristles over the budding horns, it hurt just a little more than it should of. Was this a pain that Azza had to live with every day?
She went to the girl’s closet, threw on some random mix-and-match of the little ones, and headed out the door. There, at a small, round table, Azza’s father, Jensen, was eating some toast, looking to the kid with a smile. “Morning kiddo,” he said with his mouth full, crumbs falling out the whole while, “how was your night?”
“Uhhh, good,” Kyla said with a somewhat disgusted look on her (On Azzas?) face. “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Je---Daddy.” The immortal stopped in the middle of his breakfast to look at the girl, a little bit confused. She sighed in disbelief of Jensen’s lack of manners in the privacy of his own room, and began to walk towards the door leading into the main halls of Ixian Castle.
“Where are you going?” Jensen asked, his mouth clear of edible debris.
“To see Uncle Sei,” was her quick response, thinking that the mentalist may be able to do something with the awkward situation she got herself in to. The looks she received while she was Azza were quite different than those when she was regular Kyla Orlouge. For one, there were more smiling faces, and they didn’t seemed forced whatsoever. There was also the fact that any nearby guards did not feel the need to place their hands on their sword hilts. Lastly, it was the actual journey itself that took longer, now that she had such smaller legs, that seemed to be the most pain staking.
When she arrived at the wooden door that belonged to ‘Kyla’s father, she took a deep breath, raised her hand, and began to slam her knuckles upon the oak. After a minute or two, the girl realized she was not getting a response, so she tried again, this time harder. Once again, there was nobody coming to check the noise at the door. Finally huffing and puffing, she slammed her fists into the door with all of her might…
…And then, she woke up.
Duffy Recieves 1100 exp, 200 GP
Artemis Recieves 640 exp, 175 GP
Only Ghost Recieves 100 exp.
Amber Eyes Recieves 450 exp.