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Just like the others, I really enjoyed this game while it lasted and I'm sad to see it come to an end. @Rennai: Thanks for the ride! I hope you are able to work though your professional duties and to sort out your personal issues. @Everyone: It was a thrill to play with you guys. You all had great characters with interesting stories. I'll especially regret the fact that Torg did not have the time to have "the talk" with Rowena which I wanted him to have.
Although Torg remains expressionless throughout the elf's new diatribe, he does not miss a word of what is being said. Ha, he might be good at leading a band of thieves, but he is way too talkative. Wouldn't make a good spy. Of course, the mention of the Jarl reminds the dwarf of the conversation he had in Azurestone regarding his mother. A glint of hope appears in his heart, quickly suppressed by his common sense. "Don't get your hopes up, you fool. The chances that Ma travelled this far from Azurestone are too slim to justify any decision." Since then, he hasn't had the time to investigate the topic further, so his knowledge of the topic still is too limited to be of any real use.
Torg maintains an expressionless face, despite the silent anger that is rising within him. Not only does he dislike the tone and theatrical manners of the elf, but he also disagrees strongly with his justifications for the theft. If you can call them justifications, that is, as Cale does not seem to feel any guilt.
"What a fine protector of the people he is, that Red Raven. It's easy to call yourself that when all you're doing is stealing from the wealthy, but as soon as a personal sacrifice is required it's back to the old "Might is right!"!" At first, he lets his companions react. Of course, Renato takes a much more diplomatic approach (or is he simply swayed by the elf's tale of woes...) than Pick and Siulor. Once they have spoken their mind, Torg decides it is time for him to jump in. "It's not just a matter of buyin' a couple of blankets and a pile of firewood. Without the Vernal Key, the productivity of the farms will be greatly reduced and famine will follow. Mining will become harder as the rock freezes. Wild game will also suffer from hunger and hunters will find less and smaller prey. Babies will freeze to death as they come into this world despite the warmth of the fireplace... Yar actions have upset the whole ecosystem of the region, causin' multiple casualties and for what? To save one single person, who placed herself in the way of danger voluntarily, and trustin' in the visions of a soothsayer... Is her life worth so much more than those of the people of Azurestone? What a fine "protector of the People" yar Red Raven friend is! Of course, I wouldn't expect a human to understand that sometimes one has to sacrifice his desires for the greater good of his community, but I am disappointed that ya, an Elf, did not advise him otherwise. I expected better from your kind, though I suppose your faith might influence your feelin's otherwise!" The dwarf has spoken his mind slowly and calmly, but with very assertive tone that one wouldn't be surprised to hear from the mouth of a cleric teaching his parishioners. "Listen, all we want is to have the Vernal Key returned to Azurestone as soon as possible. I, for one, do not care much about what becomes of ya and the Red Raven after that and I'm not certain that he has given it much thought, either. If we can help him to save his lady in any way, we'll do so."
Torg pauses to catch his breath before concluding. "If the Key is destroyed in the process, though, we'll have a major disagreement to settle." "I'm afraid we're not going to have any choice but to lend a hand to the wretched thief if we want to recover the stone, or the elf will never tell us where to find the Red Raven. I suppose it's the right thing to do, anyhow, if we can help to save his beloved, but I hope it won't delay us too much from returning the Vernal Key to Azurestone. We'll have to evaluate the situation as we go."
Once the pikes are dead, Torg is finally able to make it back to shore where he collapses on the ground with his arms spread out, hugging the earth. Though he proves to be steady in the current, he certainly doesn't feel at home in the chilly water. After getting his share of healing from his dwarven comrade and while Siulor butchers the pikes, Torg returns to his prior task of roping the ford. His companions cross after him without sustaining any lasting injuries. While the hunter assists Renato, the dwarf removes his armour and attempts to squeeze as much water as possible from his gear.
Soon after, they depart once again. The journey is uneventful until sunset, when they reach the feet of the mountains and finally find what appears to be sign of human presence at the top of a stone outcropping. Warily, Torg scans the scene carefully while their gnomish companion-prisoner starts to get excited. "Don't ya get too worked up. We aren't goin' further until we have assessed the odds."
The combination of divine healing effects is quickly closing the wounds caused by the giant pikes and only a trickle of blood still oozes through Torg's metal armour. Free from his foes' relentless attacks for the time being, the dwarf decides it is time to call for another of his god's favour. Intoning a chant in his deep voice, he asks for his comrades' arms to strike true.
The path back to shore is too crowded for Torg to pass through, although he wishes he could be safely back on firm ground. Thus, he simply walks a few feet towards his allies while casting his healing spell.
@GM: Has Torg done anything to justify your repeated attempts to murder him ? :D I may be unable to post this week-end, until late sunday, as I'm spending it with my family and away from Internet. Don't hesitate to bot Torg.
"Damned fish, ya'r not going to kill me yet." Despite his wounds, Torg takes a step away to cast a spell without risking to be disrupted. On completion, the now familiar blue light engulfs the dwarf and he stands more upright. "I hope the blood does not bait any more pikes. We already have our hands full."
No, you're right. It was Round 3 for you. However, Torg rolled a lower Initiative than the pikes so he's one round behind you (since I wait for GM Rennai's posts to... post). Basically:
Even as the pike releases its hold of Torg's arm, the wound starts to close thanks to the divine magic that protects the dwarf. With renewed fury, he strikes at the giant fish but misses widely, caught off-guard by the creature's swimming patterns.
I must have missed your question - I don't remember it at all. My bad! Yes, switching out confess for another spell is ok. Thanks, I'll figure out something soon.
Torg is warned of the danger too late to return to shore, and he barely has time to prepare himself before the first pike reaches him. Luckily, he is able to move his hand away so that the predator does not bite it. Instead, its razor-sharp teeth encounter the reassuring metal armour. The dwarf reacts quickly. Taking care not to expose himself to another attack, he steps slightly towards the surrounded vigilante, readying his shield and his axe. At the same time, he calmly recites a verse from religious scriptures. Dwarven:
"He let not his faithful die in vain For to him all dwarves are children. His blessing he drew upon their helm And his breath life gave upon them." A soft blue glow surrounds him, almost imperceivable in the morning's light as he finished his prayer. In stride, he brings down his axe towards the nearby fish, but the water and its scales deviate the strike harmlessly.
And, once combat starts, Torg becomes unlucky again! Even when it's the GM rolling for him... I guess I'll just wait until my turn, after the pikes have ripped Torg to bits with criticals! :p @GM Rennai: I think you missed my question a few pages back, but could I switch out Confess for another spell ?
While Pick ties up the end of a rope to a tree on the bank, Torg coils the long assemblage as neatly as he can and shoulders it. When ready, he steps carefully into the river one foot at a time. Thanks to his natural sense of balance and to the heavy armour weighting him down where his feet are, he seems unaffected by the water's flow even as he ventures further in. Every once in a while, he secures the rope to one of the protruding rocks to provide a safe anchoring for his comrades. Rolls:
Torg paces in front of the ford, taking in the various parameters of the crossing. The water does not look too deep, though one should always be wary of unexpected holes in the riverbed, and there are quite a few protruding rocks. All in all, Pick's plan seems sound. "Well, I don't reckon we have any meat to spare. Usin' our food rations ain't a great idea, and we haven't got time to go huntin'. We'll have to chance the pikes." Of course, fighting against predatory fishes seems much more manageable when you're protected by a metal shell. "I ain't the best swimmer, but I'm steady on my feet indeed. I'll anchor the rope and y'all follow after me." While saying this, the dwarf retrieves a smooth silken rope from his pack and ties one end to Siulor's own rope. "If Rhis is too short to wade through, she can ride the poney. Shouldn't be a problem, I think." "Any objections?"
Pick's much-needed healing goes unnoticed by his dwarf brother as Torg is still affected by the dreadful humming, but since the inquisitor is paralized he doesn't react violently. It takes more than a dozen seconds for the first effect to finally dissipate, while the paralysis lasts almost twice as long. The interval between the two is very uncomfortable for Torg, as he can feel his blood gushing through those wounds not closed by Pick's magic wand without being able to do anything. Thus, the greatly weakened dwarf falls to his knees as soon as he regains his ability to move, using his arms to prop himself and avoid lying flat on the gore-full ground. Slowly, he starts humming a melody, as if he was to weakened to sing aloud. The low, rumbling song comes to an end when a strong blue light starts to emanate from within the dwarf, especially bright where the moth's mandibles damaged his flesh. The glow disappears quickly, but Torg appears reinvigorated afterwards.
Slowly, he stands up using his bloody axe as a cane. He joins the others, who are discussing the event and the arrangements for the night. After hearing them out, he weights in with his own thoughts. "First, I'd like to apologize if I hurt anyone during the fight. As I'm sure y'all noticed, my mind wasn't functionin' clearly." The dwarf remembers striking at one of his comrades, but his memory is blurry. "I find today's events a cause for worry, however. The travellers supposed to follow after Cale where Rhis and her friend. Now, either the two gnomes were expandable, or the wretched thieves know we are comin' after them. If that is the case, we have to be more careful from now on, and particularly during tonight's watch in case they attempt somethin'."
The raging battle in Torg's mind is distracting the dwarf from the menacing creature in front of him. Combined with the loss of blood from his wound, this is visibly affecting him and his parries are losing in accuracy. So much, in fact, that he fails to dodge the moth's renewed attacks and the mandibles cut into his flesh once again. To add insult to injury, one of the tentacles manages to sting Torg's head and within seconds the poison has done its work. The dwarf's movements have slowed to a halt.
Blood gushes out of Torg's arm from beneath his armour. The metal suit is well made, but the monster's mandibles still found their way between two plates of metal. Seemingly oblivious to his wound, the dwarf swing his axe towards the moth's maw which is now stained with his own blood. As he does so, he comments aloud something, though the words are not clear. "דעם איז ניט געמיינט צו מיינען עפּעס."
You're right, my mistake. So much for dwarven jokes then. I'll make a new post. I'm not too sure what to make of the rule though. It's certain that I get to attack the moth, but what about other actions? I'll use the assumption that, since I rolled a 30, I get to attack but that I cannot do anything else such a 5-stepping or using "moment of greatness".
Blood gushes out of the dwarf's arm, which was savagely gored by the moth. Instead of tending to his wound, Torg starts whispering to himself in a language resembling dwarven yet incomprehensible to all. Whatever he's saying, it seems to be hilarious as his chest is heaving from laughter.
Just as his strike connects with Siulor's leg, Torg manages to brace himself against the moth's horrendous droning. It's too late to deviate the hit, but he switfly pulls back his weapon near himself afterwards. With horror, he realizes the predicament he is in and the danger that his condition is causing for his companions. He must act quickly, before the incessant noise of the deadly creature overpowers his mind again, and get as far away for his comrades as possible. Running forward as fast as he can, he sentences their common foe with a mighty yell. Passing behind Black Midknight, he steps over the deer's carcass and stops next to the moth, and a safe distance from the masked girl. He readies his axe and his shield for the onslaught, his face a picture of concentration.
The carrion moth's droning echoes down Torg's ear-pipes and, at first, the dwarf tries to fight it by pressing his hands against his ears. Evidently, his improvised earplugs are not able to shield him from the maddening noise emitted by the insect's wings. Within seconds, however, the hands slacken and the determined expression on Torg's face changes to one of complete confusion. Wordlessly, he turns towards his nearest companion and swings his axe at him.
I have no issues with that. You're right, that's the sort of thing we need to discuss OOC so that we can synergize well. It's just that I hadn't expected Torg to be the party's main "buffer" when I built him...@GM Rennai: No worries. Get better soon. ;)
I guess Torg could. I planned to use his (potential) surprise round to cast Touch of Good on one of his melee fellows to boost their saves, but I guess I could delay that to the first round.
Before going after Siulor, Torg utters a brief prayer to his god, though none of the party members hear it thanks to the earplugs they are all now wearing. Just like during the fight against the spider, the dwarven deity's blessing manifests itself with a brief flash of blue light and a reassuring warmth felt by each companion in her weapon hand.
Satisfied with the result, the dwarf pulls his axe into his hand and takes a few swings to find the most balanced grip. "This time, I better be more useful than this morning! My teachers would have been ashamed." With his shield in the other hand, he strides forward towards the carcass and its dangerous "owner".
@GM: Would you mind if I switched "Confess" for another spell? I took it because it was fitting Torg's theme well (like "Hold Person"), but we have so many socially-skilled characters in the party that I feel he's never going to have any use for it... And, besides, Torg has +12 in Sense Motive; chances are he can catch a lie anyhow!
Torg notices the gutted deer at the same time as the others in the group. "Bites, punctures, slashes... What manner of foul creature did that nasty work?" Pick quickly answer that questions, so the younger dwarf pays attention to what he is hearing. Indeed, he can identify a low, buzzing hum which is, apparently, one of the carrion moth's most lethal weapons. The inquisitor lowers his backpack to the ground and searches through its contents. Its contents are ordered neatly, so he finds what he is looking for almost immediately: a wax candle. With his axe blade, he starts carving two pieces in the shape of earplugs until he is satisfied with them. They're certainly not the same quality as Renato's, but they'll do well enough. "Ya want some wax?" He asks Siulor who has yet to pull out earplugs of his own.
Black Midknight's latest lyrical proclamation is probably the most unsettling until now. Though Torg is comfortable with the thought of his own death, he still considers that discussing the death of a stranger is inappropriate. The link that the masked figure is establishing between Pick's complaints and her own father's death (which, he feels, is somehow fishy) can definitely be classified as "rude"! Until recently, he would have dismissed it as one more of the vigilante's loud-mouth talk. However, since his indiscrete investigations the previous night, he cannot help but pity the girl. Torg's main interrogation now is the origin of the girl's mysterious identity. He remembers hearing her mention the Black Butterfly, but that is not enough to give a satisfying explanation. Did she willingly become Black Midknight? Was she cursed into it? What insecurities drive her to act so theatrically? (Thereby marking her as coming from a relatively wealthy and cultured family.) Why does she feel the need to prove herself, and to whom? Even though Torg knows more about her than the others in the group, she remains a mystery. The dwarf makes a mental note to inquire further when the opportunity presents itself, then he returns to the task at hand. Now, there is Pick, a complete opposite to Black Midknight. He has clearly gotten used to his urban comfort since his adventuring days, more than Torg would have allowed for himself. Nevertheless, the older dwarf has a sound mind and his opinions always have a basis in pure, hard, facts. "Pick's right. If we camp up here with a fire, we'll be seen from miles away. In a cavern, we'll be better hidden and have a somewhat defensible position in case we attract attention..."
Sorry, things are very busy here. I'll post within 18 hours, though.
Torg prepares to speak out his mind, but he is cut short by Renato before he can utter a word. The writer's reasoning is identical to the dwarf, so he happily listens to the argumentation. The thrill of the hunt is back, and Torg's sub-par performance during the fight is relegated to the back of his mind, for later analysis. "I agree with ya, human. Any knowledge we can gain now might be useful later to resolve the matter as peacefully as possible. Though it is entirely possible that the theft's motive is purely financial. I'm sure the artefact can be sold for a small fortune." The dwarf then turns to Rhis. "Do the tracks' direction match with the planned rendez-vous?"
The fight has ended and Torg knows that he should now reflect on the effectiveness of his group's individual members, but for now he is too annoyed at his own inability to damage the spider to think calmly. Wordlessly and with a scowl on his face, he returns to the tracks that Siulor noticed earlier and waits there for his comrades to depart.
Torg's second shot is not any better than the first, as the bolt zooms past the giant spider into the foliage behind. "דראָסקאַר ס רויג," he swears loudly. Dwarven:
"Droskar's spawn!" Since he seems unable to hit an elephant-sized target from less than 100 feet, the dwarf decides to move forward so that he can attack in close quarters if the spider descends from her tree. While moving, he replaces his crossbow at his hip, unsure of which weapon he'll need next.
I'll be away from my PC all week-end, so I won't be able to post. If needs be, don't hesitate to bot Torg...
After ascertaining his god's blessing, Torg levels his crossbow towards the spider and takes a shot. The mechanical noises of the reloading spring and gears are followed by the sound of a bolt burying itself in the trunk of a tree. Disappointed, the dwarf retreats away from the spider, careful to remain in a position where he is able to shoot it again.
Torg hesitates for an instant when the gigantic arachnid starts moving. Instead of firing his crossbow, he starts singing a dwarven hymn in a loud, deep voice. Even though the intonations are harsh, the steady rhythm soothes the hearts of those who hear it. "אָ שטיין פֿאָטער, אַז געמאכט די ערד
Dwarven:
"O Stone Father, that made the ground
Hearken today to our perils Strengthen our arms to strike our foes And let us not die shamefully." As the dwarf finishes, there is a barely noticeable flash of blue light and the party members suddenly feel as if their weapons had gotten lighter, granting them more control of their strikes.
After barely stumbling into the crude trap laid on the floor (a noose, of all things), Torg scans prudently the surrounding area. The group quickly notices several more of the traps, but no living enemy. "Guess those were meant to make us lose more time... Or they're still hidin' somewhere." There aren't many places to hide apart from the trees, so he focuses on them. Suddenly, his eyes stop moving, fixated on a spot in the canopy of a nearby tree to the northwest. "Giant spider", he whispers. "And a frickin' huge one, too. It's hidin' in the treetop there." Instinctively, the dwarf grabs for his crossbow, ensuring that it is loaded with a bolt, but he avoids making sudden movements. "If we hope to avoid fightin' it (and I don't fancy poisonous critters), we'll have to withdraw slowly or we might excite it into attackin' us." If the others agree with his assessment, Torg will back away one step at a time, never looking away from the spider and ready to fire if it starts moving closer.
Once they are safely away from the bear, Torg takes a long breath to fill his lungs again. "Thanks, Pick. It would have been a shame killin' that beast for nothin'." After a while, they happen upon a clearing which has obviously been carved by fire. In the middle, the dwarf notices a dying fire that still emits some smoke. "I'd be tempted to say that's where the darned thief spent the night, but it's mightily suspicious that he did not hide the fire better. I'm wary of just crossin' this open area, could be an ambush. I say we circle round left, hidin' behind the trees, and approach from the opposite side." Torg has tensed once more, his hand resting wearily close to his crossbow.
Just wanted to let you all know I'll be out of town tomorrow through Tuesday (5/27-31). Heading into the mountains for some camping with the wife! Have a great Memorial Day weekend, all! Lucky you! Enjoy!
Torg follows Rhis and Siulor through the forest, glancing occasionally at the animal tracks that cross the narrow trail. He notices some which are deeper than the others, but as he prepares to ask Siulor about them he is interrupted by series of grunts. Apparently, the tracks belong to a bear... "Bears don't eat humanoids, I think. Something must be wrong with this one... Some sickness, maybe? Or is it the cold that preventing it from feeding normally ?"
The chilly air wakes Torg despite the thick wool blanket that covers him. The dwarf stretches his arms and legs to warm them up, before donning his thick clothes and his armour, which is rather uncomfortably cold. He then does his morning prayers, before exiting the tent and collapsing it. Once his tent is carefully packed away, Torg joins the others near the dying fire to eat breakfast and attempt to warm himself. He is in a contemplative mood this morning and does not mention what he found the previous night.
Now, she looks just like an ordinary girl...and what's more, a girl that seems somehow familiar... Should I be taking that literally (he only notices a certain familiarity) or does Torg actually recognize Rowena ?
For many men, night was a terrifying experience whose darkness concealed numerous dangers. As most dwarves, however, Torg had developed the ability to see clearly in the blackest nights and he welcomed them as a time to rest, well clear of the noises of the day. Thus, he was in a great mood as he began his watch. After refuelling the fire with some of the lumber he had gathered, he started an lengthy series of callisthenics. Thanks to the cold air, he was able to work out thoroughly each of his muscles without breaking a sweat. Once done, Torg sat close to the fire. His thoughts drifted from a subject to another: his faith, Azurestone, the Vernal Key, his mother... That was enough to occupy him for the rest of his watch. As the time to wake up the next watcher, however, he started thinking about the mysterious would-be hero that was accompanying them. At first, she had appeared harmless and over-enthusiastic, maybe even naive as a young human could be. Over the day, though, she had shown ruthlessness, a decent ability at combat and a somewhat grim persona. This was worrying, as far as Torg was concerned, and now he was able to sate at least part of his concerns. The dwarf cautiously went to his tent and removed his armour. Then, he returned near the fire and started mumbling some prayers while staring towards Black Midknight sleeping in her tree. The familiar cantrip did not reveal any distinguishable information about her morals and value system, which was also reassuring as it meant that she probably wasn't mightier than Torg. Then, cautiously, he approached the tree where she was sleeping as close as he dared, for fear of arousing her feline companion. Once within distance for his spell, he once again spoke a few dwarvish words. To anyone nearby, nothing happened but the dwarf's senses sharpened so much that he felt as if he could touch the vigilante from where he stood, 30 feet away. Carefully, he inspected her attire and equipment, trying to locate any clues as to her identity.
At the agreed time (or so Torg estimated by looking at the stars above), he went up to Pick's tent and shook delicately his shoulder to wake him. Then, the young dwarf went back to his own tent and laid on his back beneath the thick blankets. Within minutes, he was snoring lightly as he dreamt of a better world free of crime and prejudice against his brethren.
Hey, don't worry about it. You're doing a great job. I'm having a blast! :) Agreed. @Renato & Siulor: No worries should be had. I'm all for character development.
Black Midknight's rants are starting to worry Torg, but once again he ignores her. The young dwarf sets up his tent near the others' quickly. Then, he clears the ground carefully of any small rocks and roots before laying down his bedroll and his thick woollen blanket. Travelling should not prevent someone from having a good night of sleep. While the gnome goes looking for onions, Torg searches for dead wood to fuel the fire for the night. He soon returns with his arms full and sets about to cutting them at the proper length using his axe. Tired of this day's long march, he grabs a portion of Pick's stew and eats it rapidly before retiring to his tent. Kneeling on the ground, he recites a brief prayer to his pantheon before welcoming the soothing darkness of sleep.
With their darkvision, it would make sense to have the dwarves take the two middle shifts. Renato would probably try to have his watch before or after Siulor, since between watches would be a perfect chance for them to catch up in relative privacy. Torg's not going to complain. As for sleeping arrangements, he will sleep in his own tent.
It has been a long time since Torg has roamed these lands, and he only vaguely remembers what it is like travelling through the Boarwood. That is enough to make him approve of Rhys' suggestion: camping outside of the wood is certainly safer. He does not however feel the need to say so aloud, as Pick and Siulor have already concurred with the gnome. Humming a dwarven marching tune, he follows after Siulor and his hound as fast as he is able.
I learnt something today, then. :)
Like the others, Torg is disturbed by the transformation of Donnen into a fungal-elf hybrid. "Those druids folks aren't all right in their head, methinks. Who would consider transforming into a mushroom, if they weren't a bit crazy to start with?" Nevertheless, it is convenient that the elf is willing to bring back Dwale to Azurestone, as well as the gnomes' belongings that are of no interest to the group. After Renato has freed the diminutive woman, Torg recovers his rope and replaces it in his backpack, which he shoulders again. "If ya know what's good for ya, don't try anythin' funny. My crossbow is feelin' rusty." Ready to depart, he aks Rhys, "How long before we reach our destination, do ya expect?"
Torg nods as Renato outlines his plan. Sending one of the gnomes back to Azurestone will ensure that the other does not try anything funny. To placate his dwarf comrade and because it feels fair, an additional penalty must be applied. "Pick, ya searched them. How much gold did they carry? It seems just to keep the fee they were paid for this job, indeed." "Now, there's the question of who'll escort Dwale back to Azurestone, of course, and we can be on our way."
Though he was occupied with his clothes, Torg had followed the entire conversation with great attention, carefully analysing the voice tones and the (limited) body language of the gnome as she tried to explain herself. Renato's empathetic approach has seemingly worked wonders. Some questions, however, remained unanswered.
"Coincide indeed. I'm wondering whether this Cale and the Red Raven are one and the same. Or it could be the man that took part in the diversion." The dwarf needs more information to piece together the pieces of this puzzle and he is grateful that Renato has soothed Rhis and made her cooperative. Now, it is his turn to ask questions. He crouches in front of the tied-up gnome and looks at her directly in the eyes. "I, too, have questions for ya. First, what can ya tell us about Cale? Is he an elf? What does he look like? Second, I am curious about yar relationship with him. When and where did he hire ya? Did ya already know each other?" He is speaking slowly and clearly, to make sure that the female understand him well, but he hasn't paused until now. "Finally, how long ago did this Red Raven pass through here?" "Once ya've answered those questions, and any my companions might have, we'll see about patchin' up yar friend Dwale and sendin' ya on yar way." Torg turns towards the rest of his group. "If that's alright with ya'll, of course." Before continuing, Torg grabs his axe with his right hand and carefully slides his left index finger along its sharp edge in plain view of Rhis. "But be certain that if we ever see ya up to mischief again, we won't be as merciful." Dovian Voltiac has not participated in any online campaigns. |
