"Know, O Prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities...
King by His Own Hand: A Conan the Barbarian ISOT [Conan/ASOIAF]
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Chapter 1: Welcome to Braavos
KnightofTempest
The Man who would be King
- Location
- Chicago
"Know, O Prince, that between the years when the oceans drank Atlantis and the gleaming cities, and the rise of the Sons of Aryas, there was an Age undreamed of, when shining kingdoms lay spread across the world like blue mantles beneath the stars - Nemedia, Ophir, Brythunia,Hyperborea, Zamora with its dark-haired women and towers of spider-haunted mystery, Zingara with its chivalry, Koth that bordered the pastoral lands of Shem, Stygia with its shadow-guarded tombs, Hyrkania whose riders wore steel and silk and gold. But the proudest kingdom of the world was Aquilonia, reigning supreme in the dreaming west.
Hither came Conan the Cimmerian, black-haired, sullen-eyed, sword in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the earth under his sandled feet."
- The Nemedian Chronicles
He walked across plains of Shem, Atlantean Sword at his Side, Moonsteel Mail glinting in the hot Southern Sun. The Heat Was sweltering, but he pressed on, for no mere artifact of weather would stop Conan of Cimmeria from reaching his appointed destination, the King of the City of Eruk had called for mercenaries in his feud with the City of Asgalun and Conan, having had his fill of playing Bandit Warlord in the Mountains of Iranistan had decided to head there to seek gainful employment in lands Richer than he had been in of late. He had come down from the mountains, fighting his way through hordes of Crocodile Men in Punt and Desert Slavers in Turan before finally crossing into Shem and making his way to Eruk.
He was now only a half a day's journey to the city of Eruk and though the heat was oppressive and his mail stifling, Conan Pressed on, thinking of the riches he would gain working for the King of Eruk, and of the Wine that he would drink, which would be a much finer vintage than in far off, war torn Iranistan.
Speaking of wine, he had a mighty thirst at the moment, brought on by the oppressive heat and his mail, he paused for a moment to uncork his wineskin and take a deep pull of the sour vintage that served as his drink in Iranistan. Conan preferred sweeter wines, but the Irani all seemed to have a love of foul tasting sour things. Wiping his lips and corking his wineskin, Conan continued on his journey. He thought it strange to see no others traveling around so close to Eruk, but since war was in the offing he put it down to the cowardice of Southern Merchants.
Cresting the next hill he finally saw the city, but it did not look as he remembered, Instead of the Blue and White Citidel of Eruk, a Giant Titan bestrode a bay, instead of the Broad Streets, there were several canals. Eruk was not a Coastal City, in fact, the whole of Shem was Landlocked. Something strange had happened, and that usually meant magic. "Crom and Ymir! What Sorcery be this?" he breathed as he looked behind him and saw not only that there were no plains behind him, but that the entire area was rugged hilly coastland.
Conan was no Sorcerer, and something had happened to displace him in space, and perhaps time as well. There was nothing he could do to go back, only to move forward. "Nothing for it then, let us see where this sorcery has taken me." Crossing a bridge intricately carved with reliefs of all manner of sea life, Conan came to a Gate on one of the Islands on the Landward Side of this strange new City. He was halted by a Guardsman in Mail and Leather, wielding a spear. "State your business." Said the Guard in what Sounded to Conan like accented Argosian. "I am a sellsword seeking employment, is there perhaps a company or Merchant House in need of a Strong Sword Arm in this city?" He asked. "The Second Sons are Barracked Here at the moment and the City Could always use more troops. The Second Sons have Set Up shop in the Inn of the Green Eel over in the Ragman's Harbor and if you wish to Join the Sealord's Troops you will need to head to the Administrative building at the Sealord's Palace. Before you enter, I also must tell you that there is a 10 Silver Toll for entering the City from the landward side." Replied the Guard.
Conan looked at the man, then at the several others with crossbows on the Battlements, and judged it not worth making an issue of, he had had to pay tolls many times before to enter cities, although he knew not what the current exchange rate from silver to gold was in this strange city. It at least seemed like he would ge more use out of his gold here if there was a 10 Silver Toll for a single person with no visible goods entering the city. He forked over 10 silver pieces and the Guard Said, "Welcome to Braavos." Before the Gate Opened and Conan of Cimmeria walked through and took his first steps into this strange new world.
Hither came Conan the Cimmerian, black-haired, sullen-eyed, sword in hand, a thief, a reaver, a slayer, with gigantic melancholies and gigantic mirth, to tread the jeweled thrones of the earth under his sandled feet."
- The Nemedian Chronicles
He walked across plains of Shem, Atlantean Sword at his Side, Moonsteel Mail glinting in the hot Southern Sun. The Heat Was sweltering, but he pressed on, for no mere artifact of weather would stop Conan of Cimmeria from reaching his appointed destination, the King of the City of Eruk had called for mercenaries in his feud with the City of Asgalun and Conan, having had his fill of playing Bandit Warlord in the Mountains of Iranistan had decided to head there to seek gainful employment in lands Richer than he had been in of late. He had come down from the mountains, fighting his way through hordes of Crocodile Men in Punt and Desert Slavers in Turan before finally crossing into Shem and making his way to Eruk.
He was now only a half a day's journey to the city of Eruk and though the heat was oppressive and his mail stifling, Conan Pressed on, thinking of the riches he would gain working for the King of Eruk, and of the Wine that he would drink, which would be a much finer vintage than in far off, war torn Iranistan.
Speaking of wine, he had a mighty thirst at the moment, brought on by the oppressive heat and his mail, he paused for a moment to uncork his wineskin and take a deep pull of the sour vintage that served as his drink in Iranistan. Conan preferred sweeter wines, but the Irani all seemed to have a love of foul tasting sour things. Wiping his lips and corking his wineskin, Conan continued on his journey. He thought it strange to see no others traveling around so close to Eruk, but since war was in the offing he put it down to the cowardice of Southern Merchants.
Cresting the next hill he finally saw the city, but it did not look as he remembered, Instead of the Blue and White Citidel of Eruk, a Giant Titan bestrode a bay, instead of the Broad Streets, there were several canals. Eruk was not a Coastal City, in fact, the whole of Shem was Landlocked. Something strange had happened, and that usually meant magic. "Crom and Ymir! What Sorcery be this?" he breathed as he looked behind him and saw not only that there were no plains behind him, but that the entire area was rugged hilly coastland.
Conan was no Sorcerer, and something had happened to displace him in space, and perhaps time as well. There was nothing he could do to go back, only to move forward. "Nothing for it then, let us see where this sorcery has taken me." Crossing a bridge intricately carved with reliefs of all manner of sea life, Conan came to a Gate on one of the Islands on the Landward Side of this strange new City. He was halted by a Guardsman in Mail and Leather, wielding a spear. "State your business." Said the Guard in what Sounded to Conan like accented Argosian. "I am a sellsword seeking employment, is there perhaps a company or Merchant House in need of a Strong Sword Arm in this city?" He asked. "The Second Sons are Barracked Here at the moment and the City Could always use more troops. The Second Sons have Set Up shop in the Inn of the Green Eel over in the Ragman's Harbor and if you wish to Join the Sealord's Troops you will need to head to the Administrative building at the Sealord's Palace. Before you enter, I also must tell you that there is a 10 Silver Toll for entering the City from the landward side." Replied the Guard.
Conan looked at the man, then at the several others with crossbows on the Battlements, and judged it not worth making an issue of, he had had to pay tolls many times before to enter cities, although he knew not what the current exchange rate from silver to gold was in this strange city. It at least seemed like he would ge more use out of his gold here if there was a 10 Silver Toll for a single person with no visible goods entering the city. He forked over 10 silver pieces and the Guard Said, "Welcome to Braavos." Before the Gate Opened and Conan of Cimmeria walked through and took his first steps into this strange new world.
KnightofTempest
The Man who would be King
- Location
- Chicago
If there is Interest I will continue.
slayer1hello
slayer1hello
Very interesting, the grammar could use a bit of work though. Looking forward to how you develop this.
KnightofTempest
The Man who would be King
- Location
- Chicago
Feedback people, is this something you all would be willing to see continued? I've only gotten one comment thus far. . .
KnightofTempest
The Man who would be King
- Location
- Chicago
So it's been 2 hours and I've only gotten one comment. I think that means that there isn't interest in this story. I'm going to pack it in. . .
First off, almost no story gets significant readership, let alone comments, in the first days let alone first hours. Those that do tend to be ports from the snippet threads, or by known authors, or just a massive dump of 20K+ words that the author was sitting on before posting anything.
That said, interesting premise. Connan is fucking awesome, and I wish he got more page-time in these crossover settings. I'd also love to see a Druss the Legend in Westeros.
TriviaFreak
Time of reluctance.
I only really know of Conan through the movies, which I've only seen clips of...
Can't give much feed back yet.
Conan lost his kingdom and was transported to Essos of ASOIAF.
Interesting beginning but not much to comment on yet.
Conan lost his kingdom and was transported to Essos of ASOIAF.
Interesting beginning but not much to comment on yet.
KnightofTempest
The Man who would be King
- Location
- Chicago
If you'll note the first paragraph this is between the time when he was an Afghuli Bandit Chieftain and Becoming King of Aquilonia. He's in his mid-30's right now and he wouldn't become King of Aquilonia till his early 50's.
KnightofTempest
The Man who would be King
- Location
- Chicago
Anyway next post will feature Conan's Introduction to Water Dancing and his Interview with the First Sword of Braavos in his capacity as the Captain of the Sealord's Guard.
- Location
- Austrlia
The comics can be really cool, and if you want to watch the movies, I'd suggest the Arnie ones.
They're truer to the original.
Heck, read up on the author. There's some fun stuff there, too.
As for the fic?
Needs a pre-reading. Don't ask me, I'm really bad at it, but it could be fun. Not enough to be sure, though. We'll find out soon enough.
- Location
- St Louis
Well now I want to see Conan kill The Mountain. I have high hopes for this story.
TriviaFreak
Time of reluctance.
Given how Jason Momoa played Conan in the 2011 remake, and Khal Drogo in the GoT series as well...
...I was going somewhere with this, I know it.
...I was going somewhere with this, I know it.
KnightofTempest
The Man who would be King
- Location
- Chicago
This is based mostly off the books and comics, if there's any bits of the Conan Movies in here, it'll be Arnie, but only the first one, since destroyer was terrible.
This Story's Conan looks like the Classic Depiction by Frank Frazetta, which is to say this. . .
ChaosTheVoid
Beyond the Outer Gates
Yo, Tempest what's up. Don't be discouraged. It's hard to get interest in this section unless you're an established author or from the ideas thread. Or you have a really eye catching title. Unlike AH, ISOT doesn't really catch people's attention. You should have placed something like Story Name [Conan/Asoiaf]. Anyway, looking forward to more.
Arimai
Curmudgeon
I just found this. I for one would be interested in seeing more. You have some small errors in grammar though.
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KnightofTempest
The Man who would be King
- Location
- Chicago
It's been awhile since I've written anything. It'll get better as I go on.
blackshadow111
Happy Helpful Grenade
- Location
- India
I'll add my two cents to the people asking you to have patience, OP. Let more time pass, people to wake up and look, and put up some more material. There'll be response, don't worry. As it is, there's too little of it to say anything more than a meaningless 'good work' or variations thereof. And remember, write if you want to. Writing solely for others' response comes a touch too close to those assholes at FFN who hold chapters hostage for reviews.
Arimai
Curmudgeon
Ha ha ha ha I usually leave a review. You are an ass. Unwatched.
Chapter 2: Braavosi Bravos Bare Blades Badly
KnightofTempest
The Man who would be King
- Location
- Chicago
"If you wear a sword at night it means you can be challenged. Did you want to fight them?" -Ayra Stark on Bravos and Duels
It took Conan some time to find lodging in the city. It seemed that with something called a Dothraki Khalasar in nearby Pentos, many of the farmers in the countryside felt it best to come to the City for the protection offered by its walls and armies, armies which Conan had found out, were mostly comprised of sellswords in order to augment the relatively small Sealord's Guard and City Militia. He had finally found lodging in the aptly named Outcast Inn, where it seemed that the drink at least was relatively free-flowing. As dusk was now settling over the city, Conan planned to visit the Barracks of the Sealord's Guard in the morning to see if he could not find a position there, and failing that, he would head to the Inn of the Green Eel, where the Second Sons are Barracked in the City, on contract until this Khalasar leaves the region.
Conan was currently sat at a table in the common room of the Outcast Inn, enjoying a Flagon of Ale and some type of Chowder. He was still dressed in his mail and still had his sword belted to his side. As he ate, he noted how different the food was here. While he had eaten seafood chowder before in his time as a Corsair Captain of the Barachen Isles, he had never had Seafood Chowder with spices before. It seemed that due to Braavos' Position as a major trade hub, spices were relatively common in the city, if more expensive than plain food. Fortunately, as Conan had learned earlier, his gold would indeed stretch very far here, 210 silver pieces to one gold, as opposed to the ten he was used to from most places back home. He had sprung for spiced chowder and was surprised to find it very good.
As he sat at his table, eating Conan noted glares being sent his way by a group of young men in garishly colored outfits and wearing strange slender swords at their belts. These peacocks seemed to be muttering to themselves and glaring at him in alternating shifts. One of them, a young man who couldn't have been much older than 17 winters and wearing a ridiculous hat with a bright purple plume in it sauntered over to the Cimmerian's Table and said, "Outlander, we don't like your look. You look a little too Dothraki for our taste. We don't want you in our city." Conan grinned at the young lad, showing no mirth but only teeth and said, "I am in your city. Live with it, or die trying to evict me, I care not which." Hopefully that would cow the young fool, and it did, for all of two seconds before the little peacock's two friends arrived. They conferred and it seemed that they would insist on dying as fools then, as the young peacock said, "On behalf of myself, my associates, and the Honor of the Free City of Braavos, I, Marvolio the Vermillion, challenge you to a duel." Conan grunted, standing up to all his considerable height and said, "Shall we take this outside? I would kill you here, but I am lodging here and would hate to be turned out by the good innkeeper for damage to his premises. I fear I would find no other lodgings tonight should that happen." To his credit, the young peacock concealed his flinch well as he took in the sheer size of the man who he had just challenged to the death, but Conan did not become a Chief of the Afghuli and a Captain of Corsairs by not learning to read people. "This way, there is a place where we hold duels that is sanctioned for the purpose by the Sealord." Replied the Young Peacock.
Conan followed the group out of the Inn and across several canals until they reached a large Plaza with a Fountain in the Background inscribed with blades of varying types. The Young Peacock turned as his two friends gathered a crowd of spectators to come witness the latest duel of Marvolio the Vermillion against the foul Outlander. They were clearly playing up their man's skill and reputation, it seemed there was a hierarchy to these armed Bravos, some rules that needed to be obeyed. Conan withdrew his blade from it's sheath, the mystic Atlantean Metal ringing with the sound of being pulled from the leather of his scabbard. Conan settled into a ready stance, waiting for his opponent to finish his damned pleasantries. Conan had been all over Hyboria, from realms as savage as his Homeland of Cimmeria, to lands as Civilized and Urban as Turan and Aquilonia, but never had he seen so much talking in what was supposed to be a formal duel, his patience was wearing thin. Fortunately, it seemed the Young Peacock's friends had judged the crowd they had gathered sufficiently large to spread the rumor of their man's skill. It took them forever because it seemed like half the quarter had turned out to watch the show. Conan shook his head, people seemed to be the same no matter where he went, everyone loved a free show. Conan noticed several people keeping a book and giving odds on the combatants, it seemed like his foe was heavily favored to win. Perhaps he was some sort of prodigy?
No matter his opponent had finally entered the platform in front of the fountain, going through several complicated and overblown flourishes with his blade that made Conan Snort derisively, perhaps he had given this pompous fool too much credit when he saw the odds. This was more showmanship than fighting style. "Whenever you are ready." Said his foe, extending his slender stabbing sword out in front of him and taking a sideways stance. "I have been ready since we got here." Grinned Conan Ferally. That seemed to throw the boy off for a second, which Conan took advantage of to advance into his foes guard quickly before he could recover from the shock and stick him with that pigsticker of his. He had reached his foe before the boy backed up suddenly and thrust a quick jab at Conan to keep him at bay. Conan sidestepped the jab and brought his blade around for a whirling chop at the boy's swordhand, aiming to take the hand off by the wrist, but the lad gracefully pirouetted out of the way of the sword strike as the crowd started to cheer. . .only to stop abruptly when Conan slammed his offhand elbow into the dancing fool's face, crushing the boy's nose and causing his left eye to swell. "You spend too much time dancing about when you should be fighting." Grinned Conan Savagely advancing into the boy's now blind left side. To his credit, the boy managed to keep up with the Cimmerian's advance with fast footwork, keeping Conan just in the periphery of his vision, albeit just barely. The boy thrust out with his blade in a furious series of stabs and thrusts, but found each one parried expertly by the Veteran Cimmerian. A Final Lunge, clearly aimed at impaling Conan all the way through was sidestepped as Conan brought his blade up from it's position in the low guard and neatly severed the Boy's extended swordarm at the elbow. The Boy dropped to the ground screaming in pain as Conan stepped up to his foe's prone form. At this point the other two Bravos jumped up onto the stage, advancing on Conan. The Cimmerian Grinned Ferally and just said, "Come on, who dies first?" The other two Bravos looked at Conan, who wasn't even breathing hard and who had a look of feral glee on his face, then looked at each other, and ran, both running off in separate directions in case the Cimmerian tried to follow.
Conan advanced again on the prone, whimpering form of the dismembered Bravo and said, "You fought well. . .for a young fool. I will grant you a warriors death, it will stop the pain you are feeling now." The Young Fool nodded and managed a whimpered, "Valar Morghulis" Conan did not know what to make of that and said, "When you go to your gods, tell them Conan of Cimmeria sent you to them." Before neatly beheading the Bravo.
The Crowd's reaction was mixed, some booed him for besting a local, some grumbled, for they had lost money on the duel, but Many Cheered. They would spread the story of Conan the Outlander who had bested the Quarter's most accomplished Bravo in a Duel. That would only help him in seeking employment. For now, Conan was content to head back to the Outcast Inn, Finish his Dinner, and retire for the night.
It took Conan some time to find lodging in the city. It seemed that with something called a Dothraki Khalasar in nearby Pentos, many of the farmers in the countryside felt it best to come to the City for the protection offered by its walls and armies, armies which Conan had found out, were mostly comprised of sellswords in order to augment the relatively small Sealord's Guard and City Militia. He had finally found lodging in the aptly named Outcast Inn, where it seemed that the drink at least was relatively free-flowing. As dusk was now settling over the city, Conan planned to visit the Barracks of the Sealord's Guard in the morning to see if he could not find a position there, and failing that, he would head to the Inn of the Green Eel, where the Second Sons are Barracked in the City, on contract until this Khalasar leaves the region.
Conan was currently sat at a table in the common room of the Outcast Inn, enjoying a Flagon of Ale and some type of Chowder. He was still dressed in his mail and still had his sword belted to his side. As he ate, he noted how different the food was here. While he had eaten seafood chowder before in his time as a Corsair Captain of the Barachen Isles, he had never had Seafood Chowder with spices before. It seemed that due to Braavos' Position as a major trade hub, spices were relatively common in the city, if more expensive than plain food. Fortunately, as Conan had learned earlier, his gold would indeed stretch very far here, 210 silver pieces to one gold, as opposed to the ten he was used to from most places back home. He had sprung for spiced chowder and was surprised to find it very good.
As he sat at his table, eating Conan noted glares being sent his way by a group of young men in garishly colored outfits and wearing strange slender swords at their belts. These peacocks seemed to be muttering to themselves and glaring at him in alternating shifts. One of them, a young man who couldn't have been much older than 17 winters and wearing a ridiculous hat with a bright purple plume in it sauntered over to the Cimmerian's Table and said, "Outlander, we don't like your look. You look a little too Dothraki for our taste. We don't want you in our city." Conan grinned at the young lad, showing no mirth but only teeth and said, "I am in your city. Live with it, or die trying to evict me, I care not which." Hopefully that would cow the young fool, and it did, for all of two seconds before the little peacock's two friends arrived. They conferred and it seemed that they would insist on dying as fools then, as the young peacock said, "On behalf of myself, my associates, and the Honor of the Free City of Braavos, I, Marvolio the Vermillion, challenge you to a duel." Conan grunted, standing up to all his considerable height and said, "Shall we take this outside? I would kill you here, but I am lodging here and would hate to be turned out by the good innkeeper for damage to his premises. I fear I would find no other lodgings tonight should that happen." To his credit, the young peacock concealed his flinch well as he took in the sheer size of the man who he had just challenged to the death, but Conan did not become a Chief of the Afghuli and a Captain of Corsairs by not learning to read people. "This way, there is a place where we hold duels that is sanctioned for the purpose by the Sealord." Replied the Young Peacock.
Conan followed the group out of the Inn and across several canals until they reached a large Plaza with a Fountain in the Background inscribed with blades of varying types. The Young Peacock turned as his two friends gathered a crowd of spectators to come witness the latest duel of Marvolio the Vermillion against the foul Outlander. They were clearly playing up their man's skill and reputation, it seemed there was a hierarchy to these armed Bravos, some rules that needed to be obeyed. Conan withdrew his blade from it's sheath, the mystic Atlantean Metal ringing with the sound of being pulled from the leather of his scabbard. Conan settled into a ready stance, waiting for his opponent to finish his damned pleasantries. Conan had been all over Hyboria, from realms as savage as his Homeland of Cimmeria, to lands as Civilized and Urban as Turan and Aquilonia, but never had he seen so much talking in what was supposed to be a formal duel, his patience was wearing thin. Fortunately, it seemed the Young Peacock's friends had judged the crowd they had gathered sufficiently large to spread the rumor of their man's skill. It took them forever because it seemed like half the quarter had turned out to watch the show. Conan shook his head, people seemed to be the same no matter where he went, everyone loved a free show. Conan noticed several people keeping a book and giving odds on the combatants, it seemed like his foe was heavily favored to win. Perhaps he was some sort of prodigy?
No matter his opponent had finally entered the platform in front of the fountain, going through several complicated and overblown flourishes with his blade that made Conan Snort derisively, perhaps he had given this pompous fool too much credit when he saw the odds. This was more showmanship than fighting style. "Whenever you are ready." Said his foe, extending his slender stabbing sword out in front of him and taking a sideways stance. "I have been ready since we got here." Grinned Conan Ferally. That seemed to throw the boy off for a second, which Conan took advantage of to advance into his foes guard quickly before he could recover from the shock and stick him with that pigsticker of his. He had reached his foe before the boy backed up suddenly and thrust a quick jab at Conan to keep him at bay. Conan sidestepped the jab and brought his blade around for a whirling chop at the boy's swordhand, aiming to take the hand off by the wrist, but the lad gracefully pirouetted out of the way of the sword strike as the crowd started to cheer. . .only to stop abruptly when Conan slammed his offhand elbow into the dancing fool's face, crushing the boy's nose and causing his left eye to swell. "You spend too much time dancing about when you should be fighting." Grinned Conan Savagely advancing into the boy's now blind left side. To his credit, the boy managed to keep up with the Cimmerian's advance with fast footwork, keeping Conan just in the periphery of his vision, albeit just barely. The boy thrust out with his blade in a furious series of stabs and thrusts, but found each one parried expertly by the Veteran Cimmerian. A Final Lunge, clearly aimed at impaling Conan all the way through was sidestepped as Conan brought his blade up from it's position in the low guard and neatly severed the Boy's extended swordarm at the elbow. The Boy dropped to the ground screaming in pain as Conan stepped up to his foe's prone form. At this point the other two Bravos jumped up onto the stage, advancing on Conan. The Cimmerian Grinned Ferally and just said, "Come on, who dies first?" The other two Bravos looked at Conan, who wasn't even breathing hard and who had a look of feral glee on his face, then looked at each other, and ran, both running off in separate directions in case the Cimmerian tried to follow.
Conan advanced again on the prone, whimpering form of the dismembered Bravo and said, "You fought well. . .for a young fool. I will grant you a warriors death, it will stop the pain you are feeling now." The Young Fool nodded and managed a whimpered, "Valar Morghulis" Conan did not know what to make of that and said, "When you go to your gods, tell them Conan of Cimmeria sent you to them." Before neatly beheading the Bravo.
The Crowd's reaction was mixed, some booed him for besting a local, some grumbled, for they had lost money on the duel, but Many Cheered. They would spread the story of Conan the Outlander who had bested the Quarter's most accomplished Bravo in a Duel. That would only help him in seeking employment. For now, Conan was content to head back to the Outcast Inn, Finish his Dinner, and retire for the night.
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KnightofTempest
The Man who would be King
- Location
- Chicago
Second post up.
KnightofTempest
The Man who would be King
- Location
- Chicago
Get out of my head. . .
- Location
- Austrlia
Nah, kind of obivious, you know?
Arimai
Curmudgeon
The word is booed not bood. However the proper word is jeered.