Oni Fans
“Suplex me, Senpai.” – Last words of at least three patrons
No one’s quite sure when the Oni Fans first appeared. Some blame a goliath with a poor understanding of physics. Others point accusingly at the shirts. A few claim they’ve always been here, lurking just out of frame, waiting for someone to do something impressive—and then yelling about it.
But what everyone agrees on is this: they are four extremely loud, deeply enthusiastic men who believe they are five. And they worship Rika Thunderale like a goddess of violence, muscle, and poor impulse control.
They are not an official faction. They are not recognised by any temple, guild, or tax office. But they are here. They are persistent. And they are very, very real.
The Fifth That Isn’t There
There are four of them. Only four. This is a fact Lars has verified with ink, charts, and a hastily drawn diagram on the back of a drinks menu.
But the Oni Fans insist there are five.
They say it with conviction. With unity. With the sort of group certainty normally reserved for marching orders and really bad bets. When asked to explain, they get tangled somewhere around “counting,” drift through “existential metaphysics,” and usually end on “Greg.” Greg, for the record, was a loaf of bread.
The reality is far simpler. Their Taproom table—sacred, reinforced, and mildly scorched—has five chairs around it. It always has. They never questioned it. And because it has five chairs, and they sit at it, there must therefore be five of them.
They’ve never noticed only four chairs are used.
They don’t ask questions. That’s not what they’re for.
The Day the Goliath Learned to Fly
It began, as these things often do, with ale. A lot of ale.
Gorak the Immovable—named more for personality than fact—stood in the centre of the Taproom and declared, loudly, that no force in the multiverse could move him. It was the kind of boast that invited challenge. And unfortunately for Gorak, Rika Thunderale was in earshot.
Witnesses disagree on what happened next. Some say she stood and suplexed him before he finished the sentence. Others claim she waited until he sat down again just to prove a point. What no one denies is that the impact cracked the floor, flattened two stools, and left Gorak unconscious, upside down, and profoundly changed.
When he awoke, he spoke of visions. Of revelation. Of thunder in his bones and divine purpose in his ribs. He declared Rika a living goddess and swore fealty on the spot.
No one took him seriously—until the next week, when he returned with a shirt, a book of sermons, and three more idiots just like him.
Worship Through Chaos
The Oni Fans have no formal rituals, but they follow a rhythm of devotion all their own. They meet weekly at their table, never noticing the fifth chair remains empty. They chant “SUPLEX!” during fights, sparring sessions, debates, and once during a very unfortunate poetry reading.
They have a relic collection, which they maintain with care and absolute seriousness. Among their most treasured artefacts: a bent tankard Rika once threw, a fragment of a chair they swear she shattered with a glare, and a laminated potato she kicked across the Taproom during an argument with a werewolf.
Every year, they celebrate the anniversary of Gorak’s enlightenment—now known as “The Moving.” The event involves speeches, celebratory yelling, and a cake that is always thrown, never eaten.
They are not a religion. They are not a club. They are… a phenomenon. And one that cannot be reasoned with.
The Devoted Few (Who Are Definitely Five)
Gorak the Immovable is the founder, spiritual leader, and loudest believer. A goliath of great size and questionable theology, Gorak claims to have seen the face of destiny mid-suplex. He wrote The Gospel of the Suplex entirely in capital letters and carries spare shirts in case of conversion opportunities.
Big Tom is human by appearance and foghorn by volume. His loyalty to Rika is matched only by his ability to yell through walls. He once got suplexed mid-cheer and called it “the holiest interruption of my life.” Tom doesn’t think—he reacts. Usually with shouting.
Twig is not technically made of twigs, but no one would be surprised if he snapped one day and became mulch. Skeletally thin and alarmingly resilient, he has been suplexed more times than the others combined. He claims to survive by “moving with the impact,” and no one is entirely sure if that’s philosophy or a cry for help.
Zarnak the Many-Limbed defies description and, occasionally, gravity. A being of ichor and good intentions, Zarnak wears a shirt with too many sleeves and claps from impossible angles. He communicates in dream-haikus and emotional pulses. Rika calls him “Squidboy.” He considers it a blessing. Others consider it a warning.
They are not balanced. They are not smart. But they are unwavering in their devotion. And sometimes, that’s all it takes.
What the Staff Have to Say
Lars: “They are four. I’ve counted. If a fifth shows up, I’m setting them on fire.”
Rika: “They’re morons. But they’re my morons.”
Lucian: “They broke a cot, a curtain rail, and my last nerve. All in one afternoon.”
Tess: “I tried to write them a song. It just turned into rhythmic shouting.”
Freya: “They once offered me a Holy Tankard. It was still full.”
Dave: “They think I’m the fifth one. I haven’t said no.”
Belief as a Blunt Instrument
In any other world, they’d be nothing more than a bar joke. But this is The Last Home. And here, belief has weight. Intention has power. And sometimes, just sometimes, yelling loudly enough is enough to make something real.
They are four men—using the term “men” loosely—who believe they are five.
And perhaps, in the strange, shifting corridors of the inn, that’s all it takes.
For the Morbidly Curious: Dream-Haikus and You
If you’ve ever woken up with the vague sense that you were emotionally applauded by a squid—or found yourself moved to tears by a memory that didn’t happen—you may have received a dream-haiku.
These are not poems in the traditional sense. You don’t read them. You experience them.
A dream-haiku is a short, structured burst of psychic emotion, typically delivered by Zarnak the Many-Limbed during periods of heightened excitement, suplex-induced euphoria, or whenever he’s feeling particularly poetic and damp.
They follow a rough haiku structure (5-7-5), though the syllable count is more vibe than rule. Known side effects include:
- Emotional whiplash
- Mild prophetic insight
- Sudden craving for soup
- A persistent sense of having been witnessed by something that claps
Example recorded by Tess (who woke up screaming):
Thunder in her step
My limbs bend like soft kettle
She sees me. I squish
Lars has asked Zarnak to stop.
Zarnak has agreed.
Zarnak has not stopped.
At A Glance
Who They Are:
The Oni Fans are not an official club, cult, or organisation—mainly because that would require a form, and none of them can read the small print. They are four extremely loud men (loosely defined) who believe they are five, united by their shared reverence for Rika Thunderale’s suplexes and their complete disregard for furniture, reason, and basic math.
What They Do:
They chant. They drink. They yell Rika’s name in situations that absolutely do not call for it. They collect “relics” from her battles, tell stories no one asked to hear, and treat surviving a suplex as both a rite of passage and a religious experience. Occasionally, they help. More often, they break things.
Their Role in The Last Home:
They are part mascot, part cautionary tale. Too chaotic to ban, too stupid to remove, and too enthusiastic to truly hate. Lars tolerates them. Rika finds them hilarious. Most just give them a wide berth and reinforce the chairs.
Personality & Dynamic:
An inseparable quartet of testosterone, bruises, and delusion. They operate like a pack of drunken golden retrievers—loyal, excitable, occasionally airborne. They are brothers-in-arms, bonded by impact trauma and a shared spiritual belief in the holy power of being thrown very hard.
The Uniform:
The “Suplex Me, Senpai” shirt—worn with pride, mystery stains, and occasional magical residue. Zarnak’s version exists across multiple realities and should not be folded near mirrors.
The Annual Traditions:
Each year they celebrate “The Moving,” honouring the day Gorak was first suplexed into enlightenment. The event involves shouting, offerings (mostly ale), and a cake that has never once survived the ceremony.
How Others See Them:
The staff considers them a public hazard. New adventurers think they’re a joke—until they watch one of them get launched through a door and stand up cheering. Rika refers to them as “my idiots.” That’s enough.
Lars’ Opinion on Them:
“They are four. They say five. If a fifth appears, I’m retiring.”
Supplex me sempai made me fart at work. Thank you.
Your Welcome
<3 Brilliant work. I love reading your work.