King Arthur
The Once and Future King
[X]Do it.
The Good Prince (Warhammer Fantasy)
- Thread starter Voikirium
- Start date
- Fantasy
A Mission from Above
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
You take off your greaves, then the rest of your armor-- throw the metal to the ground, feel it shake and rattle. Instinct, burned in you since squirehood-- meekness, gentility, "practicality"-- they all slip away.
Good.
Water begins to flow from the ceiling, softly streaming from holes you cannot see. Despite their gentility, within moments you are ankle deep. The water is cool, chilled enough to sooth the aches of a long walk yet not so cold as to leave you shivering. As the water falls, mist begin to crawl in, slowly choking the air. The scent of lillies becomes even thicker, still sweet. The mist blinds you, even more than the dark-- all is white and black.
Despite all the water, your clothes are still dry-- even your hair, worked into its long blond braid, hangs dry. Foot-falls send water splashing about, but gently. Your instincts are still guiding you forward and so you onward go--
Until with a noise somewhere between a "glorp" and "plop" you fall forward. Tripping and falling you land hard on both arms, on hard stone.
You are not alone. A soft light fills the air, and when you look up you see a woman.
You fall to your knees in supplication, nose touching the ground. Despite being solid rock it is hot-- and there is a deep thrumming, the pounding of hooves on stone and field and the crash of blade upon shield and sword.
Seated to her right there is a figure clad in red cape and golden tabbard, who glows with a fearsome power. There is an energy to him, a fierceness-- wearing a crown, yet subservient to the woman at his left. Blond and bearded as the souls of Bastonne, he wields his blade-- and it is terrible, and of a great force.
To her left, there is again a woman. A lady of Lyonesse, with her hair cut brutal short and a set of maille born on her. Clasped in her hand is a fiery red sword-- mighty Durendal, though it be now in the hands of the Marechal of Couronne in the material.
At the center there is the Lady herself. Clad in a simple golden and white dress, she has...a bar of raw metal.
"You have waited, and we have waited, too long. We alike have sat stone still and watched the world tumble and fall like a stone. We have watched, you and I, Bohort. And you and I alike owe the world an apology. I have watched, with all divine powers, and waited, and plotted-- and in truth done nothing as my people, who I swore to protect, were slaughtered. I watched the orcs grow day by day, and did not bring down my vengeance.
You, who knows war and faith, did not live to yourself. You, who had such potential, did nothing, but hide. In melancholy and in ennui, you stagnated. You served---but you did not excel-- and in the growing darkness, all are called to excellence. A lion should not hide from the wolves. We together owe the world an apology. Shall you help me make it?"
"I swear it."
"Good." A moment later, blinding light begins to flow from her seat, and in her hands now there is a bar of white metal, doppled through with wavey patterns, the sign of silverine-- but alloyed with something strange.
"What is that?"
The Lady smiles fondly, as though remembering better days. "At the beginning of time, when even the gods were all young and things were not so miserable yet, an evil came- a harbinger of Chaos to come. A godling, a fledgling power-- little compared to the barbarians that were to come.
He was malevolent, this thing-- a being of ennui, anarchy, and malice. I met him in my home, and we battled-- dark and light, goodness and evil, righteous and unwell. And in the end, I killed that nameless god-- cast him down, broke his neck, and I rested in my weariness, and I slept the deep sleep. Eons unfathomable came and went, and I slept and I slept-- and in the end, I woke to a cry for aid. I awoke to Gilles, and to his knights, and to his quest. I saw the people I protected assailed, and I grew wrathful, and came to him, and I granted him my greatest of aid. I healed him, blessed him, and it was not enough.
So I went to the body of a dead god, and pulled out his bones, and with the aid of my spirits, I crafted for my King a blade. The Dolores blade. It was mighty and terrible. But the body of a dead god exacts a heavy toll-- and he was struck by it, will return with it.
I was sad, but the kingdom was thriving. And the blade was inherited, and the people were safe, and the king was good. A thousand years passed, and all was well-- but then came the norsemen. They burned, and destroyed. So I readied again the blade, and the bladewielder. But I learned. Failure was a teacher-- this time, in the blade I did alloy it with Silverine, that greatest and purest of all metals-- and it was mighty, too, but less terrible.
In the end, the blade passes to an unworthy wielder. And at the end of days, I and Roland shall have words.
And now...Now we face no less a task. The very champion of Gork and Mork comes. If he is not stopped, decisively, now, he will burn the world to cinders, and ash, and even the darkness of Chaos will be repulsed by the nothing. A blade must be forged-- but so too a wielder.
There is a furnace, in the north, where it is aready for this metal-- for I cannot work it, in home.
But before that, before anything, the metal must be purged in our failures, and ever made. It must be made pure, for to face the mindlessness of the Orcish foe.
I know mine, Bohort. What of you?"
[] "I shall shed the blood here that I have not shed elsewhere."
[] "The hair, symbol of vanity."
[] "The broken sword, symbol of youth."
[] Something else (Write-In)
--
Just to be clear and up-front about it, what you sacrifice will change the nature of the sword to come.
Good.
Water begins to flow from the ceiling, softly streaming from holes you cannot see. Despite their gentility, within moments you are ankle deep. The water is cool, chilled enough to sooth the aches of a long walk yet not so cold as to leave you shivering. As the water falls, mist begin to crawl in, slowly choking the air. The scent of lillies becomes even thicker, still sweet. The mist blinds you, even more than the dark-- all is white and black.
Despite all the water, your clothes are still dry-- even your hair, worked into its long blond braid, hangs dry. Foot-falls send water splashing about, but gently. Your instincts are still guiding you forward and so you onward go--
Until with a noise somewhere between a "glorp" and "plop" you fall forward. Tripping and falling you land hard on both arms, on hard stone.
You are not alone. A soft light fills the air, and when you look up you see a woman.
You fall to your knees in supplication, nose touching the ground. Despite being solid rock it is hot-- and there is a deep thrumming, the pounding of hooves on stone and field and the crash of blade upon shield and sword.
Seated to her right there is a figure clad in red cape and golden tabbard, who glows with a fearsome power. There is an energy to him, a fierceness-- wearing a crown, yet subservient to the woman at his left. Blond and bearded as the souls of Bastonne, he wields his blade-- and it is terrible, and of a great force.
To her left, there is again a woman. A lady of Lyonesse, with her hair cut brutal short and a set of maille born on her. Clasped in her hand is a fiery red sword-- mighty Durendal, though it be now in the hands of the Marechal of Couronne in the material.
At the center there is the Lady herself. Clad in a simple golden and white dress, she has...a bar of raw metal.
"You have waited, and we have waited, too long. We alike have sat stone still and watched the world tumble and fall like a stone. We have watched, you and I, Bohort. And you and I alike owe the world an apology. I have watched, with all divine powers, and waited, and plotted-- and in truth done nothing as my people, who I swore to protect, were slaughtered. I watched the orcs grow day by day, and did not bring down my vengeance.
You, who knows war and faith, did not live to yourself. You, who had such potential, did nothing, but hide. In melancholy and in ennui, you stagnated. You served---but you did not excel-- and in the growing darkness, all are called to excellence. A lion should not hide from the wolves. We together owe the world an apology. Shall you help me make it?"
"I swear it."
"Good." A moment later, blinding light begins to flow from her seat, and in her hands now there is a bar of white metal, doppled through with wavey patterns, the sign of silverine-- but alloyed with something strange.
"What is that?"
The Lady smiles fondly, as though remembering better days. "At the beginning of time, when even the gods were all young and things were not so miserable yet, an evil came- a harbinger of Chaos to come. A godling, a fledgling power-- little compared to the barbarians that were to come.
He was malevolent, this thing-- a being of ennui, anarchy, and malice. I met him in my home, and we battled-- dark and light, goodness and evil, righteous and unwell. And in the end, I killed that nameless god-- cast him down, broke his neck, and I rested in my weariness, and I slept the deep sleep. Eons unfathomable came and went, and I slept and I slept-- and in the end, I woke to a cry for aid. I awoke to Gilles, and to his knights, and to his quest. I saw the people I protected assailed, and I grew wrathful, and came to him, and I granted him my greatest of aid. I healed him, blessed him, and it was not enough.
So I went to the body of a dead god, and pulled out his bones, and with the aid of my spirits, I crafted for my King a blade. The Dolores blade. It was mighty and terrible. But the body of a dead god exacts a heavy toll-- and he was struck by it, will return with it.
I was sad, but the kingdom was thriving. And the blade was inherited, and the people were safe, and the king was good. A thousand years passed, and all was well-- but then came the norsemen. They burned, and destroyed. So I readied again the blade, and the bladewielder. But I learned. Failure was a teacher-- this time, in the blade I did alloy it with Silverine, that greatest and purest of all metals-- and it was mighty, too, but less terrible.
In the end, the blade passes to an unworthy wielder. And at the end of days, I and Roland shall have words.
And now...Now we face no less a task. The very champion of Gork and Mork comes. If he is not stopped, decisively, now, he will burn the world to cinders, and ash, and even the darkness of Chaos will be repulsed by the nothing. A blade must be forged-- but so too a wielder.
There is a furnace, in the north, where it is aready for this metal-- for I cannot work it, in home.
But before that, before anything, the metal must be purged in our failures, and ever made. It must be made pure, for to face the mindlessness of the Orcish foe.
I know mine, Bohort. What of you?"
[] "I shall shed the blood here that I have not shed elsewhere."
[] "The hair, symbol of vanity."
[] "The broken sword, symbol of youth."
[] Something else (Write-In)
--
Just to be clear and up-front about it, what you sacrifice will change the nature of the sword to come.
- Location
- California
[X] "I shall shed the blood here that I have not shed elsewhere."
- Location
- alphen aan den rijn
[] "The hair, symbol of vanity."
is tempting
[] "I shall shed the blood here that I have not shed elsewhere."
? meaning what?
[] "The broken sword, symbol of youth."
? not sure what that would mean?
is tempting
[] "I shall shed the blood here that I have not shed elsewhere."
? meaning what?
[] "The broken sword, symbol of youth."
? not sure what that would mean?
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Bohort's gonna cut his palm and squeeze out some of it on the metal, as recompense for not you bleeding elsewhere-- for living in a rut instead of going out and fighting.
The sword is the sword that was melted by wyvern blood. It was also your first sword, a gift from your father when you started squiring for him.
KnightDisciple
Brotherhood. Unity. Peace.
- Location
- Midwest, USA
[X] "I shall shed the blood here that I have not shed elsewhere."
Blood and Steel
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
"I shall shed the blood here that I have not shed elsewhere."
Your voice shakes, but yet the Lady smiles; a little, but still one. It is hard to look at her, to see her face-- it burns, but in the good way, like wine washing through you.
She holds out the bar and you pull out your knife. There's an odd scent to the metal and bone, almost like the air after thunder and lightning. You draw it across your palm, and let crimson drops pour.
It starts as a sprinkle of red rain, but within moments you are a red waterfall pouring out your life for your goddess and this steel. It burns, it burns and it burns as it has never burned before.
At the same time as your blood bonds with the metal and bone, it changes too. It bubbles, and the white layer flakes off in big chunks that fall hard to the crusted ground, disrupting the soft bed. Revealed is a blue bar of bone and metal that shines with an ethereal light. It softly twinkles in the cave, never mind how it will be in the light of day.
Then all at once the bleeding stops, and the cut heals, and you are whole once more. With gentle hand, the Lady gives you the ingot precious. A moment later, hard boots pound across the stone. Carried by fay spirits, eternal squires clad in fine gold tunics, your armor shines brighter than it ever has.
With gentle hands, they place on your chain, your gauntlets, the vambraces, finally your ailetts. Then, finally, the eldest looking comes out holding your helmet-- except it's not. The plume has been changed into a bright golden feather, native to no creature you know-- but, perhaps, the elves might.
"In any case, now it is time for you to take your leave. We both have our battles to fight."
And so the mists begin to pour in and you part, leaving behind the Lady and the spirits for another day, and another hour. None would believe you.
Five minutes later you finally exit from the caves. Beaquis is waiting for you, by your father who sits at his side. The beast shoots up and a moment later you are scratching his head. The earth vibrates as its mighty hooves fall again and again, leaving great grooves where they do.
Your father stands, stiff as a statue. His face is red and his eyes are bloodshot, very probably because he's spent the last however-long-you-were-in-there fighting goblins. Probably tired. "Where have you been?"
[] "Really? That's what you start with after you saw me wander off into a cave in middle of nowhere?"
[] "Did you know Roland is planning something wicked?"
--
Okay so I've been thinking something over:
I am dissatisfied with the current Bretonnian armybook. In the vein of Imrix before me with his Druchii project, I've been thinking about how to redesign and refill it to resolve some of my problems with it. Would that interest anyone, or no?
Your voice shakes, but yet the Lady smiles; a little, but still one. It is hard to look at her, to see her face-- it burns, but in the good way, like wine washing through you.
She holds out the bar and you pull out your knife. There's an odd scent to the metal and bone, almost like the air after thunder and lightning. You draw it across your palm, and let crimson drops pour.
It starts as a sprinkle of red rain, but within moments you are a red waterfall pouring out your life for your goddess and this steel. It burns, it burns and it burns as it has never burned before.
At the same time as your blood bonds with the metal and bone, it changes too. It bubbles, and the white layer flakes off in big chunks that fall hard to the crusted ground, disrupting the soft bed. Revealed is a blue bar of bone and metal that shines with an ethereal light. It softly twinkles in the cave, never mind how it will be in the light of day.
Then all at once the bleeding stops, and the cut heals, and you are whole once more. With gentle hand, the Lady gives you the ingot precious. A moment later, hard boots pound across the stone. Carried by fay spirits, eternal squires clad in fine gold tunics, your armor shines brighter than it ever has.
With gentle hands, they place on your chain, your gauntlets, the vambraces, finally your ailetts. Then, finally, the eldest looking comes out holding your helmet-- except it's not. The plume has been changed into a bright golden feather, native to no creature you know-- but, perhaps, the elves might.
"In any case, now it is time for you to take your leave. We both have our battles to fight."
And so the mists begin to pour in and you part, leaving behind the Lady and the spirits for another day, and another hour. None would believe you.
Five minutes later you finally exit from the caves. Beaquis is waiting for you, by your father who sits at his side. The beast shoots up and a moment later you are scratching his head. The earth vibrates as its mighty hooves fall again and again, leaving great grooves where they do.
Your father stands, stiff as a statue. His face is red and his eyes are bloodshot, very probably because he's spent the last however-long-you-were-in-there fighting goblins. Probably tired. "Where have you been?"
[] "Really? That's what you start with after you saw me wander off into a cave in middle of nowhere?"
[] "Did you know Roland is planning something wicked?"
--
Okay so I've been thinking something over:
I am dissatisfied with the current Bretonnian armybook. In the vein of Imrix before me with his Druchii project, I've been thinking about how to redesign and refill it to resolve some of my problems with it. Would that interest anyone, or no?
King Arthur
The Once and Future King
[X] "Did you know Roland is planning something wicked?"
Yes, it would interest me.
Yes, it would interest me.
Bretonnian Rebuild: Men At Arms
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Bretonnian Rebuild: Men At Arms
"We're the men at arms, not the damned 'men who flail around then die worthlessly'!"
The most basic duty of a knight is to protect their fief. That cannot be done, however, on their own, and as such within each household will be maintained some number of men at arms from among the commons. Make no mistake-- they are soldiers, warriors in their own right-- many times, the favored heirs of knights without children. Many are worshipers of Myrmidia, part of why despite their martial natures they still are not knights.
However, there is one weakness faced by their very nature as a personalized force of each fief. Out of insecurity, some knights, consciously or no, will intentionally leave their training incomplete and flawed. This is obviously something of a problem, particularly when compared to the Empire's ability to vomit out State Troopers-- who, better or worse, are consistent, taught as they are by unbiased marshalls. The average knight can afford to outfit perhaps ten of these soldiers, which, when taken together with the knight's own skill, is usually enough to fight off the average threats of bandits and so on. They are often led by the Yeomen Wardens, whom dismount for battle.
During Errantry Wars, they will often lead armies themselves to gain land-- for many knights are too busy attempting to secure their positions at home.
Cost: 6 Points/Model
Stats (Yeomen warden):
M:4 (4)
WS:3 (4)
BS:3 (3)
S:3 (4)
T:3 (4)
W:1 (2)
I:3 (4)
A:1 (2)
LD:6 (7)
Unit Size: 10+
Equipment: Light Armor, Hand Weapon, Shield & Pole-Arm
Options:
The Peasant's Duty
"We're the men at arms, not the damned 'men who flail around then die worthlessly'!"
The most basic duty of a knight is to protect their fief. That cannot be done, however, on their own, and as such within each household will be maintained some number of men at arms from among the commons. Make no mistake-- they are soldiers, warriors in their own right-- many times, the favored heirs of knights without children. Many are worshipers of Myrmidia, part of why despite their martial natures they still are not knights.
However, there is one weakness faced by their very nature as a personalized force of each fief. Out of insecurity, some knights, consciously or no, will intentionally leave their training incomplete and flawed. This is obviously something of a problem, particularly when compared to the Empire's ability to vomit out State Troopers-- who, better or worse, are consistent, taught as they are by unbiased marshalls. The average knight can afford to outfit perhaps ten of these soldiers, which, when taken together with the knight's own skill, is usually enough to fight off the average threats of bandits and so on. They are often led by the Yeomen Wardens, whom dismount for battle.
During Errantry Wars, they will often lead armies themselves to gain land-- for many knights are too busy attempting to secure their positions at home.
Cost: 6 Points/Model
Stats (Yeomen warden):
M:4 (4)
WS:3 (4)
BS:3 (3)
S:3 (4)
T:3 (4)
W:1 (2)
I:3 (4)
A:1 (2)
LD:6 (7)
Unit Size: 10+
Equipment: Light Armor, Hand Weapon, Shield & Pole-Arm
Options:
- Any unit may replace its pole-arms with spears for no cost
- Any Unit may upgrade to heavy armor, take helmet or both for +1/+2 points
- Upgrade one man at arms to Standard Bearer for +5 Points
- Upgrade one man at arms to Standard Bearer for +10 Points
- Upgrade one man at arms to Yeoman Warden for +12 Points
The Peasant's Duty
Last edited:
- Location
- California
[X] "Did you know Roland is planning something wicked?"
KnightDisciple
Brotherhood. Unity. Peace.
- Location
- Midwest, USA
[X] "Did you know Roland is planning something wicked?"
The Good Soldier
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
The Good Soldier
"Did you know Roland is planning something awful?"
Father's expression is twisted, like he's having a bad visit to the garderobe.
"I'll take it from your expression you did. Tell me, what was it? What was so awful that it's turned you, most noble soul of a country, into a silent wreck. Perhaps he's finally going to march against Baron Thegan? No wait, that's where his son's learning isn't it. Besides, he doesn't control any of those routes or woods, does he-- no, any army leaving from his lands would have to go by Couronne-- not happening-- or-"
Father's face twists even more, like he's been stabbed.
Your eyes go wide as saucers. "He's invading the Wastelands." Pins could drop. You're not much of a conqueror. More a liberator. However, you do know strategy pretty well-- mostly against the Greenskins, but the basics-- the basics still apply. "He'll have, he'll need, allies. The barons of Couronne, at least. And I bet marrying his daughter to Cassyon was him trying that, right? Has her twisting him."
"Yes. He got Folcard."
"I know him. How?"
"Wouldn't be hard to convince him to attack any city that hires Orc mercenaries. Add to that the merchant depravities and it's not hard to understand why. It is still just a very bad idea."
"Roland's not an idiot. Surely he must know the Empire will never tolerate Bretonnia taking their rightful clay."
"He knows, he just doesn't care."
Another thought. "That's why you've been so weird the past week. You wanted to marry me off to his daughter, didn't you?"
"Squire his son to you, actually, but near enough. He'll not accept his son learning from a man married to a foreign peasant."
"What can we-"
"I will stop him."
The two of you are silent in your clearing, you idly stroking Beaquis feathers, shining them a little. "Father. I'd say I was sorry...but I am not. Through a very dark time, Lisanor was a light."
He smiles. "Perhaps there is more lion to you than I thought. I think I would have liked to meet her." He pauses, for just a second. "Oh, and Bohort? Your sister wanted to come."
And so the two of you return to camp, and to the city, of good will with each-other for the first time since you turned twenty.
(Improved Father's opinion of you)
--
The ship is all ready. The crew is set, as is your party-- fifteen Norscan warriors, you, and your compatriots. It will be a very long time to travel, and you need to do something on the boat (Look, it floats, it's a boat) that isn't vaguely muttering to yourself and glaring at all the stolen Bretonnian wealth.
What will you do mostly? (Pick 1)
[] Finally read and respond to that letter Luitpold sent you. If nothing else, vomiting earlier should help you get over your seasickness.
[] You have a Kislevite letter you should probably read soon.
Socialize with:
[] Edwige, your marshall. She's important, and having important people happy with you is generally a good idea.
[] Asger, the Blacksmith. He'll be forging your new sword, so it would probably be a good idea to have him also on board.
[] Jarl Runold. He's never shied away from admitting that he attacked Bretonnia in the past, but perhaps if you speak with him you can learn where, exactly, and make restitution.
"Did you know Roland is planning something awful?"
Father's expression is twisted, like he's having a bad visit to the garderobe.
"I'll take it from your expression you did. Tell me, what was it? What was so awful that it's turned you, most noble soul of a country, into a silent wreck. Perhaps he's finally going to march against Baron Thegan? No wait, that's where his son's learning isn't it. Besides, he doesn't control any of those routes or woods, does he-- no, any army leaving from his lands would have to go by Couronne-- not happening-- or-"
Father's face twists even more, like he's been stabbed.
Your eyes go wide as saucers. "He's invading the Wastelands." Pins could drop. You're not much of a conqueror. More a liberator. However, you do know strategy pretty well-- mostly against the Greenskins, but the basics-- the basics still apply. "He'll have, he'll need, allies. The barons of Couronne, at least. And I bet marrying his daughter to Cassyon was him trying that, right? Has her twisting him."
"Yes. He got Folcard."
"I know him. How?"
"Wouldn't be hard to convince him to attack any city that hires Orc mercenaries. Add to that the merchant depravities and it's not hard to understand why. It is still just a very bad idea."
"Roland's not an idiot. Surely he must know the Empire will never tolerate Bretonnia taking their rightful clay."
"He knows, he just doesn't care."
Another thought. "That's why you've been so weird the past week. You wanted to marry me off to his daughter, didn't you?"
"Squire his son to you, actually, but near enough. He'll not accept his son learning from a man married to a foreign peasant."
"What can we-"
"I will stop him."
The two of you are silent in your clearing, you idly stroking Beaquis feathers, shining them a little. "Father. I'd say I was sorry...but I am not. Through a very dark time, Lisanor was a light."
He smiles. "Perhaps there is more lion to you than I thought. I think I would have liked to meet her." He pauses, for just a second. "Oh, and Bohort? Your sister wanted to come."
And so the two of you return to camp, and to the city, of good will with each-other for the first time since you turned twenty.
(Improved Father's opinion of you)
--
The ship is all ready. The crew is set, as is your party-- fifteen Norscan warriors, you, and your compatriots. It will be a very long time to travel, and you need to do something on the boat (Look, it floats, it's a boat) that isn't vaguely muttering to yourself and glaring at all the stolen Bretonnian wealth.
What will you do mostly? (Pick 1)
[] Finally read and respond to that letter Luitpold sent you. If nothing else, vomiting earlier should help you get over your seasickness.
[] You have a Kislevite letter you should probably read soon.
Socialize with:
[] Edwige, your marshall. She's important, and having important people happy with you is generally a good idea.
[] Asger, the Blacksmith. He'll be forging your new sword, so it would probably be a good idea to have him also on board.
[] Jarl Runold. He's never shied away from admitting that he attacked Bretonnia in the past, but perhaps if you speak with him you can learn where, exactly, and make restitution.
Last edited:
- Location
- alphen aan den rijn
[x] Finally read and respond to that letter Luitpold sent you. If nothing else, vomiting earlier should help you get over your seasickness.
[x] Asger, the Blacksmith. He'll be forging your new sword, so it would probably be a good idea to have him also on board.
does this work??
[x] Asger, the Blacksmith. He'll be forging your new sword, so it would probably be a good idea to have him also on board.
does this work??
Voikirium
SV's Estalia Guy
- Location
- Ruritania Illinois
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Sorry I forgot to mention, but it was a pick 1.