#wyrmhunt

[bramblepunk]

I want to start making music for my concept band but. writing lyrics escapes me as of now and idk how to play any instruments. BUT I shall persevere!!!

[yayroot]

please for the love of god tell me more about wyrmhunt

yayayayay!!! me and my friend calliope [hi calliope] made a bg3 band au, and the band in the au is called wyrmhunt. and now me and my friend gilles [hi gilles] are making it a real band!! we only have concepts of songs rn but ive made merch and i am very ready to learn an instrument.

[bramblepunk]

pink letter stamped wyrmhunt patches [two different versions]

[bramblepunk]

my band <3

[bramblepunk]

are you still doing stuff for wyrmhunt ? Like songwriting?

yeah!! its slow going but its still a project that exists

[bramblepunk]

thinking... wyrmhunt merch designs... old lace doilies as patches... cassettes... shirts...

[bramblepunk]

writing more lyrics... this song is abt my newest dnd character/oc :3

[abstersivetournure]

WYRMHUNT [saber, dante, vergil]

How many days had they been living this fantasy? Or more importantly, Vergil wondered, how many more? Heading toward the quest board as he was now had become a droning routine, interspersed with bizarre occurrences that were more befuddling and irritating than interesting. This was a world of adventure, of questing and dire wolves and elves and strange magic and fairy-infested woodland and trees that talked. This was a world where one could be turned into a toad at the wrong street corner, or beset by a stampede of goats. Frankly, Vergil found this mad City to be a little less mad, now. He'd heard tell of such things, but had he seen them? No. Well, not much, anyway. The only quests he could get, always late to the board and largely on his own and thus unable to opt for the larger-scale tasks, were basic. Fetch quests, he believed, was the correct term, a rather degrading name but undeniably accurate. Or escort quests, on which there was little of consequence to note that occurred. ...Granted, he thought absently while scanning the board, his perception of consequence might be a tad. Well. Skewed. He had battled trolls from the back of his friend, comrade, and empress, Her Majesty Princess Luna, and that was, you know, exciting. But not really because of the trolls so much as the opportunity to put his horsemanship to good use. There had been one thing that had been exciting -- entirely too exciting, if you were to ask him, he thought in disgruntlement. Moments after the world had been ripped from under their feet and replaced with this cluster of wood-and-dirt hovels, he'd stepped outside. Only to be promptly chased by a dragon with someone who, at first, had apparently wanted to throw him into its jaws to save himself. (No matter what he'd said, Vergil was not convinced that it hadn't been an option.) He had managed to evade death that day, by whatever miracle -- for even with the steel blade he'd been afforded by the change, the immense monstrosity could easily have plucked him apart. A shudder surfaced at the thought. It wouldn't have been the first time something had tried. ...But a small part of him hoped, now, that something entertaining would come up. Anything. All he'd gotten to use this blade for was giving him some nasty aches in his back and shoulder from hauling a scrap of metal (he didn't say it was a particularly good blade) near as tall as he was about on his back day in and day out. He had little other choice, now, in a world that necessitated it. Except no. No. He could've thrown the damnable thing to the Lady of the Lake and been just fine, for all that had happened since the dragon attack and maybe the troll battle. Which was to say nothing. A whole lot of nothing. Truly, he could not fathom how. He stared at the board with a dark glare, examining its contents -- most was mundane, the medieval equivalent of kittens trapped in trees and lost dogs. Escort me here, fetch me this from there, and a load of other similar nonsense. He'd done several of those to no end. The rewards had been little of consequence, not even a great deal of monetary compensation. But there had to be something here... Jaw set with determination, he raised one arm to shuffle through the papers more thoroughly, and then the other joined it -- item retrieval, item delivery, minor monster infestation, stolen goods, protect this caravan...rinse and repeat. He pulled back another slip on the flooded board, and there it was. Half-hidden behind a paper titled HAVE YOU SEEN THIS SWORD?, a single parchment with careful calligraphy etched across its surface. CALLING ALL SLAYERS OF DRAKES. He skimmed the information given. Slaying dragons to delivery hide, for the reward of some objects -- a shield, namely -- forged of it. A proper shield might be useful... He wasn't one for shields, himself, but it could easily be sold and -- and -- Well. Dragons. He still felt altogether rather resentful of the one that had singed his clothes... "Dante, look at this," he muttered aloud, plucking the parchment from its place and holding it at an angle, easily viewed from his side. His brother had been with him, but if he'd been saying anything, Vergil had hardly heard it. He'd feel guilty later, no doubt, but. Well. ...It wasn't like Dante was any better about paying attention, alright? It hardly mattered anyway. He'd be excited. Dragons, real dragons! Surely it wouldn't matter after that. Right? Right.