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#giant freaking pauldrons
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Branmarker 2, PC-98
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writing-the-end · 3 years
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LoL Chapter 19- Exhaustion
Masterpost
A Wizard Hermits tale (AU and Red belongs to @theguardiansofredland )
On their way to lunch, the hermits are attacked. Jealousy rages within the guilds that are losing, but the hermits are unable to fight back. Will they even make it to the event in time? 
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“We make a great team, that paper birdy didn’t even know what happened to it.” Tango laughs, grabbing Grian into a headlock and playfully nuzzling his fist into the golden locks. His body aches, and he feels weak, but prideful. The other hermits around them chatter excitedly, walking down the smooth, clean roads of the noble district. Even the canals of swampwater are tiled and cleaned of dirt and debris. Streets Mumbo knows well- he grew up here. So of course he took the chance to go to his favorite cafe. 
“I’d say I’m happy with bronze, but I really wanted to beat that Mitch guy. Plus, pirates always love gold.” Cleo hums, looking at the medal around her neck. Of course, she’ll always take beating some 30 other guilds to get this medal, their moans and complaints of being beat in the wrestling challenge. She rubs her wrist, wincing. “Though I’ll admit, I haven’t felt this burnt out from magic in years. It’s like that one event sucked it all out of my body.” 
“I feel that way every time I step into the ring.” Tango states, earning a nod from Grian as well. “After day one, I could hardly get out of bed. I felt like a dragon was sitting on my chest.” A few others murmur agreement, and the conversation stops. Not for long, thanks to Grian.
“Scar, Mumbo, are you two ready to show everyone your skills?” Grian grins, fluttering to the front of the group. 
“I was born ready for the creative event. I’ve been dreamin’ about this since I was a boy.” Scar sighs, feeling giddy. He’s already got an idea in mind, building and creating within his own head. 
“I...I’m not so sure. Can’t someone else step in for me? I don’t think I can get my magic to work well enough, much less to beat the others like you all have.”  Mumbo’s terrified. He wishes he had the confidence that Scar just exudes. He has no clue what he’ll build. He’s not even sure if his magic will appear today. 
“You’ve got it, man.” Doc appears beside him, patting his shoulder. “Don’t doubt yourself, otherwise I’ll take control and make you believe.” Mumbo freezes, smiling weakly. He’s not sure if he should be comforted or not by Doc’s offer.
He turns, eyes glimmering upon setting his gaze on the cafe. He came here all the time when he was younger, before he joined the hermits. He would come here to study, to relax, sometimes just to get his favorite tea from the shop. Being back here is strange, the nostalgia mixing with nerves. What would his friends think of this place? Are they out of the normal? Doc and Grian definitely are. 
Mumbo reaches out, grabbing the door’s wrought iron handle. His hand goes right through the metal, iron warping and wiggling like air in the summer heat. “What in the…” 
The ripples cascade out, across the air and townhouses. The mosaics shatter before reforming, and the entire street is empty. But the hermits aren’t alone. “You freaks think you own this place, don’t you? That you’re anything like us? That you can just waltz into the noble district because you’ve won the past two days?” 
Doc immediately summons his magic, ready for a fight. More than a dozen other mages appear from the illusion. Torn shoulder pauldrons, glistening with gold spikes, announces them being from the Guild of Gedeon. A council guild. Behind Doc, he can hear other hermits drawing their circles, blues and yellows shimmering off the illusion they're trapped in. “Let us go, you’re messing with the wrong guild.” 
“Ohoho, win a couple of events and suddenly you think you’re a guild? No, no.” A burly man with feral eyes stares down Doc, shoving him and Cleo towards Scar and Mumbo. “You’re messing up everything. I don’t know why Magistrate Dolios let scum mar such a prestigious event.”
“Maybe it’s because he realized ‘scum like us’ are better at magic than you. Didn’t want the crowd to get bored of the same old dopey outfits and subpar spells.” Cleo’s words have hardly crossed her lips before fists collide with them, sending her splayed across the ground. Doc needs no further initiative, activating his circle and taking control of the mage that struck his friend. His eyes close, and open again looking at himself. Ugh, this body smells. He turns around, meaty hands instead crashing into the Gedeon’s own guildmembers. Three fly out of the illusion, out of the bubble that traps them where no one can watch the fight. Beneath another, the ground opens up beneath her to reveal hellfire. The flames claw at her feet, dragging her into the open chasm. Swallowing her up. 
Doc is thrown out of his puppet, head spinning and blood pooling from his own nose. Grian’s shout rings in his ear, making his head spin and splinter. He looks up, seeing the magical bludgeon disappear like a ghost from a Gedeon member. “You’re gonna regret messing with us. Messing with the order of things. You don’t belong here, none of you do.” 
The illusioner stoops low, snapping his meaty fingers and nodding the gang forward. “And we’ll show you why you don’t mess with the Council. The wrath of  the Guild of Gedeon is not something you walk away from.” 
The fight is intense. Six hermits against about a dozen combatants. What’s worse, the Guild of Gedeon is an offensive group. When the arcane guard can’t do a job, when a strongarm is needed, the Gedeons are the first in line. Cleo holds her own, blood boiling under her dead green skin. Her sword doesn’t back down from a fight, and neither does the poltergeists she summons to aid in the attack. She’s exhausted, but that doesn’t stop her from being in the middle of the battle. Doc jumps from person to person, tapping into their magic and turning it back onto their own teammates. Scar does his best to protect Doc in the process, throwing up walls of rock only for them to be crushed by a volatile spell shot their way. 
But they aren’t winning. Cleo and Doc’s attacks aren’t enough to stave off the fights and fragments of magic flown their way. Tango’s magic is all but gone, sapped from his body. Where did it all go? He had it all this morning, and the bird chase event couldn’t have been enough for him to lose it all! Even worse, Grian’s magic sputtered and died halfway through his attack. Mumbo peeks out from behind Scar’s barrier, hissing with pain as a bolt of hot rock is flung against his forehead. “Grian, what in the world is going on with your magic?” 
“I...I don’t know, Mumbo!” He flicks his wrists, but nothing happens. His arms snap in a quick dance, and he does manage to summon his spell. The wind is hardly more than a summer breeze in his hair. “It’s not there, I’m drained of magic, of energy! But how, I hardly used anything!”
“It’s like you’re me!” The four hiding behind the wall are crushed as the rocks collapse. Trapped, unable to fight off the onslaught. Scar can only block the worst attacks, but bruises and cuts blossom across the hermits.
Until the bell of the capitol building tolls a single time. As quickly as the fight started, it stops. Scar lowers his walls and arm, brushing the blood from his cheek. Immediately, he searches for his friends. Doc struggles to his feet, ready to fight. But Cleo, Grian, and Tango look like they’ve been fighting for hours. They’re completely out of magic, skin pale and eyes glazed with weakness. Something is very wrong. Is there a suppressor mage here? No, that would affect everyone. Mumbo scrabbles backwards, wrist hanging limp. “Good luck getting to check in for the rest of the events, freaks. We’ll see who’s in the labyrinth event now.” 
The illusion drops, and the busy street returns. Bustling crowds, horse-drawn carriages and carts passing by the hermits. As alone as when they first arrived at the cafe. People step around them, glancing at the battered group but never offering help. Scar gasps, wobbling to his feet. “The competition! Mumbo, we’re going to be late!” He pulls Mumbo to his feet. 
“You guys go ahead.” Doc growls, sitting down on a pile of rubble. He rubs blood off of his cheek. “I don’t think the others can get up. They’re too weak.” 
“What caused that? How could Grian not use his magic?” He’s an S-Class, he has ultimate control of his magic. But he acted like he was...well, Mumbo. And now? Now his friends are hurt. They lost the fight- no, they were thrashed. And he wasn’t even able to do anything. 
“I don’t know, but I have a sneaking suspicion who the dark mage is now.” Doc waves the two off, before snarling. “Go! I’ve got the others!” And he’ll be sure Gedeon’s leader, that monster Sidero, gets a taste of what he just did to his friends. He must be the dark mage, trying to stop them. 
But as Doc watches Mumbo and Scar flee, and he helps Grian, Tango, and Cleo to their feet, he’s only made them angrier. 
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“How am I...gah, how am I supposed to take a giant cat statue and make it move?” Mumbo hisses, looking up at the relief. Scar’s winning sculpture for the creative event was incredible. He could practically see every hair and whisker of Jellie, carved from stone using her owner’s terraforming magic. Even her wings are feathered, each barb as thin and interlocking as the real thing. It’s easy to see why Scar won the creative contest, hands down.
And here he is ruining it all with his own magic. The council really outdid themselves, pulling a twist like this. His magic falters, and the redstone dust collapses to the ground. Mumbo’s chest feels heavy, lungs pressed and heart clenching. His head feels dizzy, and his magic is nearly impossible to tap into. Surely this is all just nerves? But even Scar looked exhausted, like he was struggling to breathe, to stand after his magic. Exactly what Grian and Tango looked like. 
What’s happening? He can’t help but look over his shoulder. Other guilds are working on the creations their teammates created. Whatever was before them, they had to automate. And from what Mumbo can see, most others are well ahead of him. Especially Ian, deep in the bowels of the contraption Sky had built. He can be heard swearing, the conductive gold making his machine move when he doesn’t want it to. At least Mumbo doesn’t have to worry about that. 
But that doesn’t mean he can do it. The redstone dust falls apart, showering the ground beneath him. He’s going to disappoint everyone, he’s going to ruin Scar’s wonderful statue. He’s going to be the only wizard in this event that can’t even get the thing to move! He falls to his knees, the pressure mounting in his lungs. Making it hard to breathe, crushing in on him. And he’s exhausted, even though he’s barely used any of his magic. He can’t even get it to appear. Like always. All this work, all his hopes to win, will mean nothing if he can’t get his magic to summon. He’s a multi-mage, but he can never prove it. He can never show off his powers, and it’s exactly why he could never join any guild. Looking around, he can see all the guilds in the field he applied to. All of them said no, laughed in his face and ridiculed him when his magic failed to show itself. And now here he is, proving them all right. Making a laughing stock of the Order of Hermits. 
“You can do it, Mumbo!” He picks his head up, looking around. He doesn’t recognize that voice. It takes him a moment to realize it’s not coming from any of the hermits. The voice is loud, echoing over the crowd’s low roar. It’s Ecto, one of the wanderers. Beside her, the other two teammates are cheering him on as well. Red’s practically bouncing in his seat, about to fall over the railing as he yells as loud as possible.
More voices join them. He can hear Iskall, shouting for him to breathe, to remember his training. He can hear some sort of soliloquy being written across the sky, intertwined with Joe’s voice. Zedaph and Impulse are holding up a sign, nearly knocking False and Wels with the board. Even the rest of Team Crafted was cheering for him. TFC is watching Mumbo, blue eyes gazing through silvery hair. He gives a small nod and a smile, his own way of showing his encouragement.
All of the hermits are his family, the family he never had. A family that would support him, help him, be with him no matter what. That never gave up on him. And TFC was like the father he never had, with a calm voice as smooth as obsidian and as strong as diamond. Someone he could go to with all his fears and faults, and know he wouldn’t be ridiculed or put down. That TFC would listen, and offer sound advice. Advice he can hear echoing in his head now. “It isn’t about the amount of times you fall down, Mumbo. It’s about how many times you get back up.” 
So he gets back up again. He brushes the sand and dirt off the black fabric of his trousers, ignoring the physical pain in his chest and the unwieldy way his head spins. He closes his eyes, hand outstretched. In his mind, he can see his magic circle. The ninety degree turns ending in dots, the petal-like curls from the center. His hands move unconsciously, following the pattern of motions he created. It’s like ramming open a door, trying to find his magic. Trying to connect to it. But once he’s in, it washes all over his body. 
He opens his eyes, his circle cast and the redstone moving to his bidding. Climbing up and ingraining in the pores of Scar’s stonework, following lines weathered through the rock. Lightning shoots through the circuits, from his fingertips and breathing energy into the cat. The haunches of the massive statue move, toe beans uprooting from the sand as Jellie comes to life. Redstone dances across her granite tail, flicking side to side. Mumbo can’t help but laugh, knocked over into the sand by a giant stone cat head rubbing into his chest. Scar’s incredible creation, brought to life with his redstone magic. Given energy through his lightning. 
Statue Jellie opens it’s mouth to meow, but no sound comes out. She turns her head, gazing across the crowd surrounding her. Her eyes stop at the crown seat, where the Council sits in awe. Redstone turns on all across her body, his magic branching out onto each hair as it rises and her back arches. “Whoa, what’s all that about?” 
Mumbo has never seen Jellie hiss at anyone, and even if this stone statue is just a version of her, his magic seems to have brought her to life. And her eyes are as thin as paper, ears turned back and hissing as she faces the Council. Mumbo runs over to the massive kitty, trying to calm her down. Lightning spreads across the redstone, forcing the stone statue to calm. For a second, Mumbo swears he can hear Magistrate Dolios’s voice, though his head is swimming from exhaustion. “Well done, boy. What i wouldn’t give for such...raw power. Soon.”
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murfeelee · 4 years
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LoL True Damage INSP: Yasuo - DJ & Music Producer
As enigmatic as he is skilled, Yasuo is the veteran producer all others turn to for inspiration. His beats transcend genre, painting whole universes with wild textures of sound. Notoriously selective about his collaborations, Yasuo sees True Damage as his platform to revolutionize how society experiences music. 
-- Yasuo: League of Legends, True Damage
MY THOUGHTS
People are ragging on Yasuo in the music video, saying “he didn’t do anything,” cuz he has no lines in GIANTS.
....TF? o_O I be like watchu mean~~!!?!
He’s the frikkin DJ! In game universe Yasuo composed the freaking song! 
RESPECT, or GET REKT.
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__________________________________________________
CC CREDITS (WIP)
- Hair by Newsea
- Jacket by @venusprincess-ts3
- Beads by Sandy
- Katana, Headphones, Mask
- Tunnel at TSR (OMSP resizers) + animated fan by @shushilda
- DJ Booth by EsmeraldaF at MTS -- link deleted
- Hologram by me
- Pauldrons in beta by me (blurred so much cuz of me layering ACCs U_U )
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slaughterjaw · 4 years
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Armored Death pt. 4
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This takes place in [Warcraft 3 - Chapter 6: A New Power in Lordaeron]
Content warning: Blood, gore, war, violence, heavy combat
[Part 1], [Part 2], [Part 3]
A rain of rocks and arrow fire pelted the spider-like creature as it skittered its way across the narrow battlements, bringing both pincer-like arms before its vile five-eyed face to shield itself from the incoming volley as it showed no signs of stopping.
"Spears! Stop it in its tracks!" Celaryn's voice boomed over the battlements as she held the center of the heavy infantry shield wall firm. Pitchforks, stakes, pikes, and spears stabbed out from the gaps in the company's defense, ends plunging into the arachnid's torso.
A disgusting chitter emitted from its spike-like mandibles, and the creature swung its bladed pincer hand in a wide horizontal arc, slashing apart the polearms' hafts and carving a gap in the heavy infantry wall. It burrowed into the opening, ramming into Celaryn.
"Captain!" One of the soldiers braced his shoulder against his shield, desperately holding against the incoming onslaught of Scourge pouring onto the wall in a massive counter-attack. "We're getting overrun!"
"Circle formation!” the captain roared. “LOCK THOSE SHIELDS, FORSAKEN! WE WILL NOT LET THEM THROUGH! WE WILL NOT LET THEM FLANK THE DARK LADY!”
The wall of bone and metal braced like scales against the Scourge. The ghouls and mindless soldiers crashed into the wall like a rotting battering ram. The Forsaken pushed back with all their undead might. But slowly, the tide was turning against their favor.
"SPEARS! KEEP A PHALANX! KEEP EVERYTHING OUT!" Celaryn's voice crackled above the fight as she faced down the giant spider-like creature. "PUSH! PUSH THEM OFF THE WALL OR I WILL PUSH YOU INTO A GRAVE!"
With another croaking battlecry, the remainder of the spear soldiers disengaged from the arachnid and shoved their polearms into the gaps of the infantry's shields, stabbing with endless endurance into the tide of Scourge forces. Slowly, the circle of shields gained momentum, ramming the Scourge forces off of the walls and making room for their captain.
In the eye of the battle's storm, there was Celaryn alone facing against the arachnid. Both opponents stared at one another within the center of the shield wall, the siege of Capital City thundering around them. Its mandibles chittered, acidic venom dripping off of the tips. Celaryn battered the head of her axe against her shield in rhythmic blows.
"Come on, you six-legged freak!"
The foul spider hissed, skittering forward in near-blurred speed and stabbing its pincer-like fingers at the warrior like a crazed praying mantis. Splinters cracked off of the weak tower shield as the forsaken narrowly avoided and blocked each blow by the skin of her teeth. There was barely any room to counterattack. But she couldn't keep defending forever.
If there was no opportunity, a fighter must create one. As the last pieces of her shield crumbled off of her forearm, Celaryn lunged forward at the arachnid's pincer arm as it retracted with her axe. She hewed the head of her weapon down with all her might, smashing the axe's edge into the spindly elbow joint.
The creature howled with an unholy squeal, both venom-coated mandibles slashing downward, impaling into Celaryn's forearm. The scent of boiling rotten flesh assaulted her nostrils. The warrior shifted her gaze. Potent acid congealed around the limb, melting everything, including the bone.
Feeling no pain, Celaryn went berserk, wrenching her axe out of the creature's arm and hacking wildly with one hand without regard for her wellbeing nor even the battle around her. Only a constant ringing in her ears was all she could hear. The soldiers around her faded out of view as she gnashed her teeth. All that mattered was that this six-legged spider even dared to harm her.
She buried the axe head into the spider's torso and abdomen over and over. And when her axe failed, she used her bare gauntlet instead, pounding the metal fist into the arachnid's face regardless of its mandibles, crushing them under her strikes. She brutalized its face for what seemed like several minutes
With endless stamina, she only stopped her crazed assault only after a soldier at her side placed her claws on her pauldron. Breathing heavily despite her lack of need, she faced back toward them, that damned ringing continuing to drown out everything.
"-ood. We-- -n th-- c----" The soldier's' mouth moved, but Celaryn could barely understand her words. She faced back toward the arachnid, its face a beaten mess of gore and destroyed flesh, one of its slimy eyes dangling out of the socket by a single black tendon. It was entirely still, long-dead once more. And like the entire world shifted, her consciousness plunged back fully into the present, the familiar, even comforting sounds of steel clashing on steel and warcries and howls booming around her music to her ears.
"Captain Fireblood! We’re in the homestretch!" The voice was loud and clear. "The walls are ours! We must regroup with the Dark Lady's battalion!"
Another forsaken tossed a rusted sword to Celaryn. She caught it with her remaining hand. She could still fight, and a mere flesh wound would not stop her, not with the gift of undeath.
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prince-mar-mar · 5 years
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Sword Slash Saturday: Why Marth’s Fe1 design is Actually Good and Not Just Some Silly Pantless Nonsense
“The Less pants I have the more powerful I become” -Marth (probably)
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Sure we laugh at this 90′s look from our OG fire emblem lord. I joke about it, you do. Legs for days. And that tiny... tunic riding up his legs shorter than 1970′s basketball shorts, can you imagine fighting enemies and a giant dragon in those?! Well actually, the irony to this all, the answer to your question is yes, yes he absolutely can. Below for today I will explain why you should not laugh at this look, but F E A R it. P.S. there is a slight artistic nudity depictionn, you have been warned.
First we shall break down exactly why nintendo approved this look.
In the Fire Emblem OVA (animation), Marth was called Mars, which was the original Japanese name for him (translated to English) and eventually morphed to Marth. While marth is a soft soy boi who seeks piece and a bit naiive, the name Mars seems a complete contrast to his character! Anyway Mars is the Roman god of war. Romans were known to be fearsome warriors creating an empire by conquering a lot of the continent of Europe and constantly driving out and massacring those such as the Celts, Jews, Carthaginians, etc. You get the idea (in fact the fall of Rome was due to making so many enemies and being too large to even control).
If we look at the statue of Caesar Augustus (yeah that Caesar)
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This bitch is dressed in no more than a breastplate and tunic. At least Marth has freaking pauldrons... but I guess Caesar was too busy getting stabbed in all emperor glory to worry about pauldrons all the time...
Anyway lets look at the Greek cousins of the Romans. The Greeks and Romans had similar fighting gear and I am too lazy to dig through the depths of google to find roman art depictions of warriors (I’ll get back to that in a sec), there’s only like historical renderings and deviantart paintings and dnd ocs. But here’s your nudity warning again
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The Greek warriors are often depicted wearing helmets, brandishing swords, greeves (shin guards), a shield, a sheath, and uh... not really anything else. Yah. They’re fucking naked. Shield: held, Sword: brandished, Dick: OUT.
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But let’s go over the logistics of this. Helmet covered the head, Nintendo left this out due to character design logistics. We need to see Marth’s pretty bishie boi face. He has some sort of breatplate in OVA, like the Romans. the chest is protected. While the greeks got their legs covered, Marth does not, and well he could use some greeves. But let’s look at the torso. How could the greeks afford just to wear greeves?. Well, that giant shield? Yah that covers the body. As for Marth’s minimal body armor? Well he’s got this:
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The fire emblem is a shield. Covers most of the body when held close, and in the early fire emblem, marth cannot unequip it. So Marth’s body is protected. he also wears the cloth tunic of the Romans for extra you know something to you know... have some decency.
But Marth weilds Falchion, which in earlier posts I said was a Longsword, and not actually a falchion sword. With a Longsword, you don’t use a shield. It takes one hand for a shield, and two for a longsword, which doing humanoid math, accounts to not enough hands. So how the heck can Marth wield a longsword and a shield.
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Well in his early depictions, Falchion isn’t that long compared to his current depictions:
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(^that’s a longsword). Compared to the first fe1 image, which seems (at least to me, just roll with it), a bit shorter. Which could fit more of arming sword. And my instructor commented on how I scaled my prop Falchion that it while it *could* qualify as a longsword, could easily be used with one hand and a shield. The Romans learned iron working (making iron to steel which held advantage to the greek iron weapons), from the Celts, eventually perfecting it to overcome the Celts.
In conclusion, Marth’s tunic outfit is a repsresentation and depiction of the fearsome ruthless Roman warrior, known for pillaging the entire continent of Europe for at least 500 years. Y I K E S. Don’t mess with pantless Marth.
FE1 even made him an aggressively OP unit who could take down his entire game pretty much entirely on his own
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Think twice before you think being pantless is funny. It’s not, it’s powerful.
If you want to check out how scary Roman Legionaries were:
youtube
Roman Empire
Roman tactics
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90sfantasyanimestuff · 5 months
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Guardian Recall: Shugojuu Shoukan
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90sfantasyanimestuff · 6 months
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Branmarker 2
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Branmarker 2, PC-98
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Blue garnet (Trush), pc-98 (nsfw game)
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Toushin Toshi 2, nsfw game, PC-98
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Toushin Toshi (nsfw)
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monzetsu fighter
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90sfantasyanimestuff · 10 months
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The Legend of Xanadu 
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90sfantasyanimestuff · 11 months
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Branmarker characters, PC-98
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Deedlit, Record of Lodoss War
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D’ark Gaiden by Himeya Soft, pc-98
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