Quoted By:
(NOTE: Use a tripcode to guarantee that, even if we need to make a new thread or you use a different device, I can identify you)
Wetware's fingers, calloused and dirt-etched, swiped through the contact list with practiced indifference, the faint glow of the screen casting macabre shadows on his face. Amid the digital glossary of allies and associates, three names leapt from the list, each carrying a weight of dread, wonder, and ambition.
Known in the shadows as "Longshot," his reputation woven from whispers of death from a distance. The phone's screen seemed to flicker with a darker sheen as Wetware's gaze settled upon Longshot's contact entry, the numbers beneath almost throbbing with potential violence. Longshot's existence was a tapestry of conflict; sniper fire stitching fate, lock picks prying open the gates of fortune, and the occult knowledge that cloaked him in an aura of shattering glass.
"Indiana Jones" got his shadow name initially by being ridiculed as looking like him from the old movies and doing the kinds of things one would expect Indiana Jones to do. To this day he hates that people call him this, but refuses to give another name to refer to him by. His contact icon was a simple rune, but it seemed to pulse with a life of its own. A man whose ambition was to tear the secrets from the earth's clenched fists, was driven by the lure of forgotten magic and the silent strength of the stone. His presence was an ever-present reminder of mortality's touch, the slow inevitable claim of time on all things, his magic a chilling dance with shadows and dust.
Lastly, there was "New Moon," an apostate mage whose crusade against the lycanthropic kind was as relentless as the moon's chase of the sun. When Wetware’s thumb paused on New Moon's name, the screen's luminescence dimmed, as if afraid. New Moon was the embodiment of vengeance, his life a perpetual hunt tinged with the silver of bullets and the resolve of the just. His was the pursuit of purity, the extermination of a primal threat, yet within him coiled the serpentine strands of pride that held his world in a vice-like grip.
Who does he call, if anybody?
(You hold the throne unless you take more than 24hrs to respond)
