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OOC: Please read this OOC thread for a track listing as well as some background information on what I plan on doing here. Thanks for reading!
8 November 2032
12:02 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania
Styrbjörn Granseth began eating his sandwich; mustard and cold chicken slices.
"You know" he said with his mouth full to his friend Rafnar Sjöholm, "you should come over after school." He swallowed.
"I finally saved up enough allowance to get the new VasaMon* game. I'm going to the store after school, and you should come with me. We can play together."
"You have enough?" Rafnar asked, impressed before he sighed. Resigned to the fact that he knew he couldn't go.
"Pabbi wants me home. He's still mad I failed that math quiz."
"Oh" Styrbjörn said, sounding sad his friend couldn't come home to play video games.
"That sucks. I told you, you should have cheated off of me."
"Yeah" Rafnar replied as he poked around at his vegetables in his lunchroom tray, the conversation of kids all around them bouncing off the walls.
"He's not happy you did really well on that history test?" Styrbjörn asked. Styrbjörn was much better at math than Rafnar, but Rafnar was much better at history. Much better. He had to be stopped sometimes, from getting too excited as he talked about all sorts of historical facts.
"No" Rafnar rolled his eyes.
"He says I need to spend more time studying math."
"I could help" Styrbjörn offered.
"Pabbi and Mamma won't like it if they found out I was cheating off of you" Rafnar chuckled.
"No I mean really help you" Styrbjörn said with a nod.
"And you could help me with history!" he smiled.
"Heh" Rafnar chuckled, eating some of his peas.
"Maybe later. You need to go buy VasaMon!"
Styrbjörn smiled and nodded, taking another bite from his sandwich when Rafnar's eyes went wide for a moment.
"What's up?" Styrbjörn asked, his mouth full of sandwich.
"I know where we can go after school" Rafnar said, sounding a bit more subdued than usual. Fact was he was thinking about how to tell his friend this for a month or so. He'd just learnt about it then by reading a menntaskóli* history book his parents had got him.
"Oh? Where? I thought your pabbi wanted you home."
"I mean..." Rafnar replied, his hesitation coming from what he was about to tell his friend rather than any desire to disobey his parents.
"...it won't take long. And I think you should see it."
"Why?" Styrbjörn asked, now curious.
"It's your name" Rafnar replied.
"It's on a plaque downtown. I...um...I read about it. And checked it out on my own. It's definitely your name."
Styrbjörn stared blankly at his friend for a moment, trying to process everything.
"My name's on a thing?" he asked.
Rafnar nodded.
"On the base of a statue."
"What statue?"
"The one of the sad guy, holding the cross? Downtown by the market."
Styrbjörn knew exactly what statue that was. He'd seen it all of his life, but had never given it more than a passing thought.
"You gotta show me this."
8 November 2032
3:50 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania
Snow fell lightly against grey November skies as the two thirteen year olds, with backpacks in tow, made their way through the market area of Býkonsviði. Rafnar had himself a hot chocolate. Styrbjörn had refused one himself because he didn't want to spend any krossar. He had enough for the new VasaMon game and very little wiggle room.
"There" Rafnar said as he pointed at the statue. They approached it and Rafnar couldn't help but look at his friend. He had no idea how he'd react.
The statue was a sad looking monument, but one that blended into the background for Styrbjörn. He'd never had a reason to examine it, but he was noticing features of it now that he was getting close. His gaze was locked on the figure's sorrowful visage when he remembered why he and his friend were here. He looked down at the plaque at the statue's base.
"There" Rafnar said, pointing to the list of names.
"That's you."
Styrbjörn could hardly believe it. There was his name. Amongst the names of dead people. He read the full plaque again. It was surreal. He felt like...like he'd stepped into some upside-down world for a moment.
"A book I have says that it was someone with your name, during something called the Advent Executions."
"My uncle" Styrbjörn said softly.
"What?" Rafnar asked, a bit shocked.
"It was my uncle."
8 November 2032
4:15 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania
"Mamma, I'm home!" Styrbjörn called out as he got come and brushed the snow off of his jacket before taking it off.
"Mamma says you're late!" Eyríkur, Styrbjörn's ten year old brother, called out from the kitchen where he was doing homework at the table. His eight year old sister Njála was far more welcoming.
"Did you get the new VasaMon?" she asked eagerly as Styrbjörn hung up his scarf.
"Sorry sis" he smiled.
"Something came up, but I'll get it tomorrow, I promise."
Njála nodded, seeming a bit disappointed, when Styrbjörn's mother Valfríður came out of the kitchen.
"You didn't get your game? I'm sorry sweetie" she said, kissing her son on the forehead.
"Mamma..." Styrbjörn protested, to no avail.
"Your brother is right though. You're late. It'll be dark soon."
"I know" Styrbjörn said.
"So where were you, if you weren't buying your game?" his mother asked. She didn't sound angry or accusatory. Still, she spoke with that authoritative motherly tone that implied Styrbjörn better have a good reason for his lateness.
"Well Rafnar wanted to show me something."
"Oh?" Valfríður asked. Rafnar was a good kid. She liked that her son was friends with him. He didn't get into any trouble.
"What did Rafnar want to show you?"
"He showed me the statue by the marketplace. The sad guy with the cross..."
Valfríður's eyes went wide at the mention of that statue. And she knew immediately what this was about. She and Þorfinnur were going to tell Styrbjörn the full story about his uncle and namesake some day...and it seemed that day had arrived out of the blue. He was thirteen now...it was perhaps inevitable at this point.
"...and I saw my name on the plaque. It says Styrbjörn Granseth was killed in 2015. Mamma, was that Uncle Styrbjörn?"
Valfríður took a deep breath.
"Your father will tell you when he gets home."
"Mamma, what were the 'Advent Executions'?" Styrbjörn asked, undeterred.
"I said your father will tell you." Styrbjörn began to speak up to ask why, but Valfríður knew that look and cut him off.
"I said your father will tell you, because he's the best person who can tell you. You should get started on your homework though, while I get dinner ready."
"But when will Pabbi get home?" Styrbjörn asked.
"The normal time" Valfríður replied.
"But..."
"Styrbjörn? Homework" Valfríður said assertively, in a way that made Styrbjörn drop his protests.
"Yes Mamma" he said, his mind still racing with questions he desperately wanted to ask.
8 November 2032
5:48 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania
"Hey everyone!" Þorfinnur said as he got home, tossing his Freya Motors jacket over a living room chair.
"Pabbi!" Eyríkur and Njála said in unison as they ran to their father to hug him.
"Oh come here!" Þorfinnur proclaimed as he hugged his two youngest.
"Hey Pabbi" Styrbjörn said with a smile, taking off his headphones and setting down his literature homework on the coffee table.
"Hey" Þorfinnur replied with a smile.
"Too old to give your old man a hug?"
Styrbjörn blushed but smiled and hugged his father. He was about to ask him what his mother had told him to ask when his mother came out of the kitchen.
"Þor, could you come here for a moment?"
Þorfinnur looked up at his wife, a bit surprised.
"Yeah, um sure" he said, ruffling Eyríkur's hair as he joined his wife in the kitchen.
Styrbjörn could see into the kitchen, seeing his parents talk as his father sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He didn't dare try to eavesdrop though. Not with his younger siblings there who'd tattle on him. He didn't need to wait long though. Þorfinnur emerged from the kitchen with a smile.
"Eyríkur and Njála, go join your mother in the kitchen. Dinner is almost ready. I need to talk to Styrbjörn."
The two younger ones walked past him into the kitchen as Þorfinnur slowly walked to the couch where Styrbjörn was sitting. He sat next to his son.
"Pabbi..." Styrbjörn said, but his father didn't really reply. He stared off into the distance for a moment.
"You saw the statue?"
"Yeah...Rafnar showed me. Pabbi...was that Uncle Styrbjörn's name? Is that how he died?"
Styrbjörn wanted to know. He knew he was named after his uncle, and he knew his uncle had died sometime before he was born. How or why...well that was never spoken about. In truth because his parents didn't want to rush into those subjects. The children would learn all about the War and the Syndicalist era in due time.
In that sense Þorfinnur was ready for this conversation. He just thought- perhaps foolishly- that he'd had more time. Styrbjörn was thirteen though...he'd truly learn about the Syndicalist era and Civil War at school this year. It was in the curriculum this year. The first time Styrbjörn would learn about it in school.
"Yes" Þorfinnur said softly, nodding as he thought about his younger brother.
"I..." he paused. He had planned for this talk but now that it was here he just...he couldn't speak. At least for the moment.
"Your uncle died when he was just a year older than you. He was...he was killed. He was a martyr though. A real martyr. He died for what he believed in."
"The plaque" Styrbjörn said, "it said he was killed by the Syndicalists."
He knew in very broad terms what Syndicalism was, and that there was a war years before he was born. His father was a part of it. He'd seen bits of his old uniform. And pictures of his father when he was younger with his fellow soldiers. The broader context of the War, however, was unknown to him.
"Yeah" Þorfinnur replied quietly.
"Pabbi" Styrbjörn asked softly, sensing that his father was having trouble.
"What...what happened?"
"What happened was..." Þorfinnur had to stop. He almost said "your uncle died because I wasn't here to protect him," but he'd stopped himself. He'd been to grief counselling. He'd learnt to not blame either his father or himself for his brother's death.
"...what happened was that there was a war. Syndicalists were...well...they were dictators. They punished you if you didn't think like they did. I'd had enough. I just had enough, and I left. I left home to go to Austurland to join the FRE, and fight the Syndicalists."
"Those are your pictures..." Styrbjörn said. Þorfinnur nodded. He opted to not tell his son about his father's abuses and how that had driven him away too. He'd reconciled with Sigfreður years ago, and he'd been a loving grandfather to his children. He wasn't going to taint his son's view of his grandpabbi.
"Yes" Þorfinnur said.
"I had to leave to fight them...and I promised your uncle Styrbjörn I would be back. I would fight my way back here to save him. I...I failed."
"The Syndicalists lost though" Styrbjörn replied. He knew that much.
"Not soon enough..." Þorfinnur said.
"Your uncle turned to Jesús Kristur in those dark times. He prayed for peace, for the violence to stop." Þorfinnur nearly broke down. He nearly cried, but he stopped himself. He owned it to his son to explain.
"Your uncle never did anything wrong. All he did was pray for a better world and loved God. But religion...that was one of those things the Syndicalists didn't like. They hung him. They hung him with others who loved God like he did."
Styrbjörn sat there, horrified that such a thing could have happened.
"Pabbi..."
"I told Styrbjörn I would come back. But we didn't liberate Býkonsviði for another year and a half...I got back, but it was too late."
"Pabbi..." Þorfinnur looked into his son's eyes.
"...I'm sorry" he said as he hugged his father. Þorfinnur held his son close, tears in his eyes as he hugged him tight. He loved him. He loved his children with everything he had. He had seen the horrors of war, he'd lost his brother. It made him treasure the peace and tranquility he had with his family. He squeezed Styrbjörn and didn't want to let go.
"I love your uncle so much" Þorfinnur whimpered as he held his son. His eyes were getting blurry from the tears.
"I was so proud of him, for his beliefs" he added as he slowly released the hug.
"And I miss him so much. I remember when you were born. I saw your eyes...you have your uncle's eyes. I had to...I had to name you after him."
"Thank you for telling me, pabbi" Styrbjörn said softly, seeing the emotions it raised in his father. Þorfinnur nodded, wiping away some tears and smiling.
"I never told you before because you weren't old enough. You're going to be learning about the Syndicalist era and the War soon though. You should understand more when you do."
"I think I understand" Styrbjörn replied.
"You do?" Þorfinnur asked.
"My pabbi and uncle were both heroes" the thirteen year old said with a smile. Þorfinnur grinned and nearly choked as he chuckled.
"Come on. Let's get some dinner."
Styrbjörn nodded, following his father into the kitchen. For Styrbjörn it was, that story aside, a normal Monday evening.
For Þorfinnur, however, it was special. Every peaceful evening with his family was a blessing his brother had prayed and died for.
Brightest Star by Prophet, 3:46
*VasaMon- Gotta catch 'em all
*menntaskóli- high school
OOC Note: Thanks to @Kyle for the idea for the post.
8 November 2032
12:02 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania
Styrbjörn Granseth began eating his sandwich; mustard and cold chicken slices.
"You know" he said with his mouth full to his friend Rafnar Sjöholm, "you should come over after school." He swallowed.
"I finally saved up enough allowance to get the new VasaMon* game. I'm going to the store after school, and you should come with me. We can play together."
"You have enough?" Rafnar asked, impressed before he sighed. Resigned to the fact that he knew he couldn't go.
"Pabbi wants me home. He's still mad I failed that math quiz."
"Oh" Styrbjörn said, sounding sad his friend couldn't come home to play video games.
"That sucks. I told you, you should have cheated off of me."
"Yeah" Rafnar replied as he poked around at his vegetables in his lunchroom tray, the conversation of kids all around them bouncing off the walls.
"He's not happy you did really well on that history test?" Styrbjörn asked. Styrbjörn was much better at math than Rafnar, but Rafnar was much better at history. Much better. He had to be stopped sometimes, from getting too excited as he talked about all sorts of historical facts.
"No" Rafnar rolled his eyes.
"He says I need to spend more time studying math."
"I could help" Styrbjörn offered.
"Pabbi and Mamma won't like it if they found out I was cheating off of you" Rafnar chuckled.
"No I mean really help you" Styrbjörn said with a nod.
"And you could help me with history!" he smiled.
"Heh" Rafnar chuckled, eating some of his peas.
"Maybe later. You need to go buy VasaMon!"
Styrbjörn smiled and nodded, taking another bite from his sandwich when Rafnar's eyes went wide for a moment.
"What's up?" Styrbjörn asked, his mouth full of sandwich.
"I know where we can go after school" Rafnar said, sounding a bit more subdued than usual. Fact was he was thinking about how to tell his friend this for a month or so. He'd just learnt about it then by reading a menntaskóli* history book his parents had got him.
"Oh? Where? I thought your pabbi wanted you home."
"I mean..." Rafnar replied, his hesitation coming from what he was about to tell his friend rather than any desire to disobey his parents.
"...it won't take long. And I think you should see it."
"Why?" Styrbjörn asked, now curious.
"It's your name" Rafnar replied.
"It's on a plaque downtown. I...um...I read about it. And checked it out on my own. It's definitely your name."
Styrbjörn stared blankly at his friend for a moment, trying to process everything.
"My name's on a thing?" he asked.
Rafnar nodded.
"On the base of a statue."
"What statue?"
"The one of the sad guy, holding the cross? Downtown by the market."
Styrbjörn knew exactly what statue that was. He'd seen it all of his life, but had never given it more than a passing thought.
"You gotta show me this."
8 November 2032
3:50 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania
Snow fell lightly against grey November skies as the two thirteen year olds, with backpacks in tow, made their way through the market area of Býkonsviði. Rafnar had himself a hot chocolate. Styrbjörn had refused one himself because he didn't want to spend any krossar. He had enough for the new VasaMon game and very little wiggle room.
"There" Rafnar said as he pointed at the statue. They approached it and Rafnar couldn't help but look at his friend. He had no idea how he'd react.
The statue was a sad looking monument, but one that blended into the background for Styrbjörn. He'd never had a reason to examine it, but he was noticing features of it now that he was getting close. His gaze was locked on the figure's sorrowful visage when he remembered why he and his friend were here. He looked down at the plaque at the statue's base.
On this spot, during the Advent of 2015, six Courantists were hung by the Syndicalist regime for no crime other than loving their God. They prayed for a better world and for peace in their homeland. We strive to live up to their prayers here, as they live on in heaven.
Gabriel Bokn
Styrbjörn Granseth
Salvar Hesketh
Björnólfur Rössvoll
Finnbjörn Skaug
Kristfinnur Skaug
Gabriel Bokn
Styrbjörn Granseth
Salvar Hesketh
Björnólfur Rössvoll
Finnbjörn Skaug
Kristfinnur Skaug
"There" Rafnar said, pointing to the list of names.
"That's you."
Styrbjörn could hardly believe it. There was his name. Amongst the names of dead people. He read the full plaque again. It was surreal. He felt like...like he'd stepped into some upside-down world for a moment.
"A book I have says that it was someone with your name, during something called the Advent Executions."
"My uncle" Styrbjörn said softly.
"What?" Rafnar asked, a bit shocked.
"It was my uncle."
8 November 2032
4:15 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania
"Mamma, I'm home!" Styrbjörn called out as he got come and brushed the snow off of his jacket before taking it off.
"Mamma says you're late!" Eyríkur, Styrbjörn's ten year old brother, called out from the kitchen where he was doing homework at the table. His eight year old sister Njála was far more welcoming.
"Did you get the new VasaMon?" she asked eagerly as Styrbjörn hung up his scarf.
"Sorry sis" he smiled.
"Something came up, but I'll get it tomorrow, I promise."
Njála nodded, seeming a bit disappointed, when Styrbjörn's mother Valfríður came out of the kitchen.
"You didn't get your game? I'm sorry sweetie" she said, kissing her son on the forehead.
"Mamma..." Styrbjörn protested, to no avail.
"Your brother is right though. You're late. It'll be dark soon."
"I know" Styrbjörn said.
"So where were you, if you weren't buying your game?" his mother asked. She didn't sound angry or accusatory. Still, she spoke with that authoritative motherly tone that implied Styrbjörn better have a good reason for his lateness.
"Well Rafnar wanted to show me something."
"Oh?" Valfríður asked. Rafnar was a good kid. She liked that her son was friends with him. He didn't get into any trouble.
"What did Rafnar want to show you?"
"He showed me the statue by the marketplace. The sad guy with the cross..."
Valfríður's eyes went wide at the mention of that statue. And she knew immediately what this was about. She and Þorfinnur were going to tell Styrbjörn the full story about his uncle and namesake some day...and it seemed that day had arrived out of the blue. He was thirteen now...it was perhaps inevitable at this point.
"...and I saw my name on the plaque. It says Styrbjörn Granseth was killed in 2015. Mamma, was that Uncle Styrbjörn?"
Valfríður took a deep breath.
"Your father will tell you when he gets home."
"Mamma, what were the 'Advent Executions'?" Styrbjörn asked, undeterred.
"I said your father will tell you." Styrbjörn began to speak up to ask why, but Valfríður knew that look and cut him off.
"I said your father will tell you, because he's the best person who can tell you. You should get started on your homework though, while I get dinner ready."
"But when will Pabbi get home?" Styrbjörn asked.
"The normal time" Valfríður replied.
"But..."
"Styrbjörn? Homework" Valfríður said assertively, in a way that made Styrbjörn drop his protests.
"Yes Mamma" he said, his mind still racing with questions he desperately wanted to ask.
8 November 2032
5:48 pm
On a Monday
Býkonsviði, Prydania
"Hey everyone!" Þorfinnur said as he got home, tossing his Freya Motors jacket over a living room chair.
"Pabbi!" Eyríkur and Njála said in unison as they ran to their father to hug him.
"Oh come here!" Þorfinnur proclaimed as he hugged his two youngest.
"Hey Pabbi" Styrbjörn said with a smile, taking off his headphones and setting down his literature homework on the coffee table.
"Hey" Þorfinnur replied with a smile.
"Too old to give your old man a hug?"
Styrbjörn blushed but smiled and hugged his father. He was about to ask him what his mother had told him to ask when his mother came out of the kitchen.
"Þor, could you come here for a moment?"
Þorfinnur looked up at his wife, a bit surprised.
"Yeah, um sure" he said, ruffling Eyríkur's hair as he joined his wife in the kitchen.
Styrbjörn could see into the kitchen, seeing his parents talk as his father sighed and ran his hand through his hair. He didn't dare try to eavesdrop though. Not with his younger siblings there who'd tattle on him. He didn't need to wait long though. Þorfinnur emerged from the kitchen with a smile.
"Eyríkur and Njála, go join your mother in the kitchen. Dinner is almost ready. I need to talk to Styrbjörn."
The two younger ones walked past him into the kitchen as Þorfinnur slowly walked to the couch where Styrbjörn was sitting. He sat next to his son.
"Pabbi..." Styrbjörn said, but his father didn't really reply. He stared off into the distance for a moment.
"You saw the statue?"
"Yeah...Rafnar showed me. Pabbi...was that Uncle Styrbjörn's name? Is that how he died?"
Styrbjörn wanted to know. He knew he was named after his uncle, and he knew his uncle had died sometime before he was born. How or why...well that was never spoken about. In truth because his parents didn't want to rush into those subjects. The children would learn all about the War and the Syndicalist era in due time.
In that sense Þorfinnur was ready for this conversation. He just thought- perhaps foolishly- that he'd had more time. Styrbjörn was thirteen though...he'd truly learn about the Syndicalist era and Civil War at school this year. It was in the curriculum this year. The first time Styrbjörn would learn about it in school.
"Yes" Þorfinnur said softly, nodding as he thought about his younger brother.
"I..." he paused. He had planned for this talk but now that it was here he just...he couldn't speak. At least for the moment.
"Your uncle died when he was just a year older than you. He was...he was killed. He was a martyr though. A real martyr. He died for what he believed in."
"The plaque" Styrbjörn said, "it said he was killed by the Syndicalists."
He knew in very broad terms what Syndicalism was, and that there was a war years before he was born. His father was a part of it. He'd seen bits of his old uniform. And pictures of his father when he was younger with his fellow soldiers. The broader context of the War, however, was unknown to him.
"Yeah" Þorfinnur replied quietly.
"Pabbi" Styrbjörn asked softly, sensing that his father was having trouble.
"What...what happened?"
"What happened was..." Þorfinnur had to stop. He almost said "your uncle died because I wasn't here to protect him," but he'd stopped himself. He'd been to grief counselling. He'd learnt to not blame either his father or himself for his brother's death.
"...what happened was that there was a war. Syndicalists were...well...they were dictators. They punished you if you didn't think like they did. I'd had enough. I just had enough, and I left. I left home to go to Austurland to join the FRE, and fight the Syndicalists."
"Those are your pictures..." Styrbjörn said. Þorfinnur nodded. He opted to not tell his son about his father's abuses and how that had driven him away too. He'd reconciled with Sigfreður years ago, and he'd been a loving grandfather to his children. He wasn't going to taint his son's view of his grandpabbi.
"Yes" Þorfinnur said.
"I had to leave to fight them...and I promised your uncle Styrbjörn I would be back. I would fight my way back here to save him. I...I failed."
"The Syndicalists lost though" Styrbjörn replied. He knew that much.
"Not soon enough..." Þorfinnur said.
"Your uncle turned to Jesús Kristur in those dark times. He prayed for peace, for the violence to stop." Þorfinnur nearly broke down. He nearly cried, but he stopped himself. He owned it to his son to explain.
"Your uncle never did anything wrong. All he did was pray for a better world and loved God. But religion...that was one of those things the Syndicalists didn't like. They hung him. They hung him with others who loved God like he did."
Styrbjörn sat there, horrified that such a thing could have happened.
"Pabbi..."
"I told Styrbjörn I would come back. But we didn't liberate Býkonsviði for another year and a half...I got back, but it was too late."
"Pabbi..." Þorfinnur looked into his son's eyes.
"...I'm sorry" he said as he hugged his father. Þorfinnur held his son close, tears in his eyes as he hugged him tight. He loved him. He loved his children with everything he had. He had seen the horrors of war, he'd lost his brother. It made him treasure the peace and tranquility he had with his family. He squeezed Styrbjörn and didn't want to let go.
"I love your uncle so much" Þorfinnur whimpered as he held his son. His eyes were getting blurry from the tears.
"I was so proud of him, for his beliefs" he added as he slowly released the hug.
"And I miss him so much. I remember when you were born. I saw your eyes...you have your uncle's eyes. I had to...I had to name you after him."
"Thank you for telling me, pabbi" Styrbjörn said softly, seeing the emotions it raised in his father. Þorfinnur nodded, wiping away some tears and smiling.
"I never told you before because you weren't old enough. You're going to be learning about the Syndicalist era and the War soon though. You should understand more when you do."
"I think I understand" Styrbjörn replied.
"You do?" Þorfinnur asked.
"My pabbi and uncle were both heroes" the thirteen year old said with a smile. Þorfinnur grinned and nearly choked as he chuckled.
"Come on. Let's get some dinner."
Styrbjörn nodded, following his father into the kitchen. For Styrbjörn it was, that story aside, a normal Monday evening.
For Þorfinnur, however, it was special. Every peaceful evening with his family was a blessing his brother had prayed and died for.
Brightest Star by Prophet, 3:46
*VasaMon- Gotta catch 'em all
*menntaskóli- high school
OOC Note: Thanks to @Kyle for the idea for the post.
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