it was very fun and wowee was it just. wow

Ahhhhh thank you and you're welcome!!! I'm so glad you've been enjoying the game, and that my art help inspire that hdjskolekidhjskzl. That's so cool. And yes it is very wow haha!

This is such a great compliment thank you so much

Player: I tell them to shut up and give me their stuff or die.

DM: Roll for intimidation

Player: *rolls a one*

"nanananananananana It’s “incomplete”, I’ll say it time and time again. nanananananananana Amidst a love that missed hitting “NO”.

Hibana - Deco*27

@lostghostinspace as Es from @12below-milgram

Billboards, and oddly placed hand painted signs on the edges of the highway, and the sides of barns advertise and preach the words of God

Amazing old, abandoned barns that make you want to go exploring. 

Those little houses perched up on the mountain, so isolated from one another, that always make you think, “they must have a good view...” 

Your town is either so spread out, your friends live half a mile away, or are squished together to the point where nobody’s house has a yard. 

Driving along highways always guarantees a view of wither large bodies of water, of vast, rolling mountains that make you dream of flying. 

That kids with the weird accent who always wears black and it always seems to rain or the clouds always go in around them. 

Be wary of the Pineyes. The Barrens are a world of their own. You can travel for miles and miles, and you will be surrounded on both sides by nothing but these odd, thin-trunked trees. Occasionally, you read a notice about a military path entrance up ahead. Do not go into the Pine Barons without a local. You will get lost, or devoured by quicksand. I promise you.

Lots of graveyards and towns full of old, humble, crumbling churches with all of the other buildings around them perfectly new. 

Going down to the shore, you might have thought you just time traveled because there’s a good chance that pastel Victorian houses surround you on all sides for at least three miles. 

New Jersey is actually a triplet: its older sister was influenced way too much by it’s big sister, New York; the middle sister is always super bubbly and happy during the summer, always goes to the beach, and tending to her wonderful garden, but skulks in the winter, always complaining that the wind hurts her face, and there her iPhone doesn’t work in the cold; the younger sister is the “problem child,” who really was just neglected by her parents in favor of the older two triplets and New York. Kid’s got potential, really, but she’s been all but abandoned, and does what she has to to survive. 

Stay away from Route 1. Legend has it, everyone magically forgets how to drive upon turning off the entrance ramp. 

On the topic of cars, New Jersey is one of the few places in this world where you will be going 20-30 over the speed limit in the left lane, and someone will pass you angrily on the right, swearing, spitting, and letting fly the state bird. 

Newly paved roads and roads untouched by potholes are a gift from the gods. 

No amount of snow will keep you from work. You can and will, at some point, be up to your knees in snow, at 6am, in January, cleaning snow off your car, shivering in the cold that is so cold your bones ache, praying the wind doesn’t suddenly pick up and blow snow into your face. You wince and cry involuntarily when it does. Your bosses are merciless, sending their minions out to brave the elements, while they stay in their warm dens. 

Huge rainstorm, or leftovers from a hurricane? 

The sinkholes eat the traffic cones, drawing hapless drivers into their growing maw. 

Hearing at least three different versions on the origin of the Jersey Devil by the time you’ve hit third grade, and not knowing which is more terrifying. You’d like to think it isn’t real, but in your heart of hearts, you don’t dare. 

The trees scream in the summer--morning, noon, and night-- and almost never do you find the thin veils of shedded exoskeleton left behind by those wailing insects.

Wispy white nests, like a jumbled up spider’s web, stitch themselves into the tree leaves in spring and summer. As a child, you’re told to stay away from them. Do not hit them with sticks, or they’ll explode. 

In your garden, you will always find those little, short, fat worms with brown heads that curl up. You always wonder if they’re dead. You bury them again and give them no more thought. 

The beaches are longer and flatter at night.