GoodBoyOni



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    In an attempt to escape the factory, you find yourself cornered by the big bad, himself. Luckily for you, Heisenberg thinks you'd make for an entertaining experiment...

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    18 Mar 2026

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    Chris scowled and crossed his arms over his chest, certain he looked absurd. A huge man still in his uniform and gear, sitting in a small chair in a tiny office. His biceps were the size of O’Brian’s computer. “I did what I had to do to get the job done.”

     

    “And that’s all we ever expect,” O’Brian replied. “Regardless, people saw. People took notice. People who decided you’d be the best person to keep Agent Kennedy on a leash and controlled.”

     

    “What the fuck is he doing?”

     

    O’Brian paused. “I’m assuming you haven’t heard, then.”

     

    “Heard what?”

     

    “Sherry Birkin is dead.”

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    11 Mar 2026

  3. Public Bookmark 27

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    A thin, gray hand emerged from the folds of his cloak. The Creature’s telltale scales swayed, held aloft by the crook of a single finger. The Fell stared, jaw clenched. Tail stiff. Fur risen across his shoulders. The outside chill took root beneath his ribs, scouring his bones. He recognized the engraved artifact that weighed the instrument on one side. His shackle.

    “Unbalanced,” the Creature lamented.

    “I made no bargain with thee,” the Fell hissed.

    “You made no bargain with me,” the Creature echoed amenably. “You are the prize he bargained for.”

     

    The Fell Omen's eye is brimming with Grace. Executor saw it, behind the gauzy veil of Night that shrouds his face. A man so blessed by the Crucible does not deserve to be a puppet of the Nightlords. But Executor should be cautious when making deals with a Demon.

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    14 Jul 2025

  4. Public Bookmark 18

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    The Wylder nodded slowly. "I would give you my life."

    The demon shook its head. "No, you will give me something more."

    The Wylder trembled as the demon finally touched him, running its clawed hand across his breastplate. Its fingers became more bestial, hair sprouting over its skin as yellow flames licked its form. The Scale-Bearing Merchant transformed, as the Wylder had seen several times before, shedding its black cloak and the scales in its hand as it grew in height, its many-eyed goat head shaking free of its vestiges.

    Libra stood before him, all eyes hungry, long and whipping tongue slavering from its mouth. "You will give me your body. You will give me your mind," it said, though its mouth did not move to match its words as they echoed within the Wylder's head. "Lay with me and let the madness in. Become a servant to the Frenzied Flame. Those are my terms, little Nightfarer. Make your choice."

    The Wylder, desperate to save his sister, makes a deal with the devil. But the terms and conditions are more than he bargained for.

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    22 Jun 2025

  5. Public Bookmark 17

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    “The Capital Outskirts is my territory to defend.” Once more he must assume the role this incantation was designed for: Margit the Fell Omen, scourge of the Shattering, butcher of Tarnished. It feels realms away from where he is now, sat in a shallow lake, exposed down to the wings, with the person he’s supposed to loathe. The cynical side of him (which is to say, most of him) wants to call all of this a scheme to disarm him, to bid him stand aside and let the Tarnished sweep into Leyndell unhindered. But he has the terrible thought that perhaps there is no scheme, and he does not know what to do with that information.

    Head bowed, shoulders hunched, he finally summons the will to ask. “Tell me true, throne-eyed Tarnished. Am I to defend it from thee?”

    The Tarnished has achieved too much, and Margit has let him get too close.

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    08 Feb 2025