Я зроблю щось посередині

Day 7. Drip.

"Thomas Candle is one of, if not the most influential person in Gobby. All things crime, all things social, all things political and economical happen with him knowing or do not happen at all. He is omniscient and omnipresent through his wide net of contractors and spies. But, worst of all, and that is the quality of his character I have to admit to admiring, he has immaculate drip. He is a rizz king. A true rizzler. That man drips so hard, it is enough for him to walk into a ballroom for the entire gathering to almost immediately drown in drool and steam of onlookers. He fucks."

Commissioner J. Lewis, "Crime Families and Gangs of Gobby"

Пробачте, сьогодні не в гуморі а завтра часу не було б, тому лінива хрінь

Day 8. Toad.
"Last night, a young girl name Betty Goldbalm came to me in the late hours, bringing a mason jar containing a talking toad. She told me that she had caught the toad in the jar, which she had previously found outside Greenfield, and soon found the toad speaking to her, demanding cigarettes and screaming obscenities.
Indeed, the toad in question did look rather mean-spirited, and, upon seeing me, asked if I had a cigarette (I did not, for I do not smoke, but it occurs to me now that I should acquire a pack for occurrences like this one)..."

"...Upon thorough examination, I have discovered that the toad was not, in fact, magical, but rather gained magical qualities upon being put in the mason jar. The realisation came to me after I put several worms in the jar to satisfy the creature's hunger, only to later find them all playing tic-tac-toe in the mud.
In conclusion, it is the jar that grants human-like sentience to small critters put inside of it. Additionally, said critters retain this sentience after being released from the jar, backed by the fact that the toad now goes by the name Greg and makes a reasonable living as a burlesque circus attraction in Northside.
What came of the worms, I do not know.
The jar is still in my possession."

J. Smith, "Case of a Toad in a Jar" from the "Monstrologist's Manual".

Хочу додати в НХ барда, але його треба якось інакше назвати.

(Це не ім'я для персонажа, я буду додавати клас Барда в свою настолку, але for legal reasons він не може називатися Бард)

Я думаю спинитись на Трубадурі

Для контексту, це буде не бард з мемів, а щось ближче до оцього

Day 9. Bounce.
"Mister Harmson and I have been through many a thing together. We bumped into each other by pure chance back in summer of '87, somewhere on the Mexican-Texan border and made acquaintance on account of the both of us being hideous in the eyes of the law for very different reasons. After that, we rolled around the Lone Star for about a year, then headed to New Orleans via a gigantic sky snake (I promise to elaborate on that at some point) and later headed across the Atlantic to Ireland and then Gobby.
Here we lended our servicers as "contractors" to big players in the city, started operating from the Newcomer Inn, partook in a gang war or two, the uprising as well, and, after I got severely beat up by a stash of dynamite exploding in my face, settled down."

"...From then on mister Harmson started working in the Inn as a bouncer and a bruiser for when things get hairy - as they tend to do in a tight space full of guns for hire. He seems content with this job, though I can seldom distinguish the goings-on of that man's mind."

Clint Westfield, "Journeyman's Journals, Volume 2"

Day 10. Fortune.

"...I know you to be a sceptic, but I went to a supposed fortune teller in Northside. Cranky old soul, she was, read my palm, read my cards. Nothing of interest, really. I do not believe her to be truly gifted with the knowledge of the future.
The crystal ball, however, told an interesting story. She said she saw me in front of a raging bull, who was standing still, unlike me, who was the one to charge it. The bull then turned into the serpent and strangled me as I was stabbing it with a flaming sword, both of us writhing in agony.
It is peculiar how, no matter which way you look at it, it does seem to tell the future I have already set myself up for. Whichever way it plays out, I will die at the grasp of the serpent while trying to save it from the bull."

Letter addressed to F. Ember, believed to be written by J. Smith. 1899.

Day 11. Wander.
"Although the Saint James island has served as a place of final respite for many for the past two centuries, we rarely have accidents with any kinds of ghouls, ghosts or goblins. It is because our practices ensure that souls of the dead are content and buried with all necessities.
There is one, however. Every once in a while, once a year, to be precise, in the end of October, but not every year, for it depends on circumstances, an apparition appears from the sea, wrapped in wet garbs and seaweed, bearing a top hat and an axe, yet with a distinct absence of a head on his shoulders. Whenever that does happen to happen, he wanders around the graveyard gazing at the graves, looking for his noggin, and, if happens to see a door of any kind, or a portal where a door used to be, walks through it and upon that vanishes."

Father Antonio, "Short History of the Saint James Island"

За першу добу зібрали 91 мільйон грн це вже 52 зі 100 дронів

Залишилось 48 дронів, прошу вас і сьогодні поширювати та підтримати збір донатом

https://send.monobank.ua/jar/3LqSdtSG2s