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  #61  
Old 10-11-2019, 05:22 PM
Kaiya Kaiya is online now
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Zei takes the middle ground. She was artificially crafted by cosmic beings, to suit their needs. But what they needed was a Tiefling. So aside from lacking a bellybutton, there's not much to distinguish her from Tieflings that were made the old fashioned way.
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  #62  
Old 10-11-2019, 05:54 PM
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Sirviantis Sirviantis is online now
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The race isn't really a factor in the awesomeness of a character imo, it's the relationship between the character and the player. Honestly wierdos are my jam, so I'm pretty confident I can play Father in a way I'll enjoy, and I'm hyped to join as a result. One of my most favorite characters was an elf wizard (well, arcanist) which is the "I have no muscle" variant to the human fighter, and I enjoyed the hell out of Valtreas!!
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  #63  
Old 10-11-2019, 08:33 PM
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Seasons End Seasons End is offline
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My application is complete, please let me know if there's anything you might want expanded upon.

Additionally, with your permission I would like to look into the Spheres of Power magic system in tandem with the Spiritualist class. My intention is to figure out how the system lets you swap out your spell casting ability with the Spheres of Magic casting. As it stands though that is not a guaranteed choice, simply an option I'm theory crafting with.

Edit: there already is a 3PP spheres of power spiritualist archetype called the Psychomancer. Should I get on that's the only variant I would ask about
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Last edited by Seasons End; 10-11-2019 at 11:15 PM.
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  #64  
Old 10-12-2019, 10:05 AM
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An aside: I just re-watched True Grit (1969) last night, and now I want to make my One-eyed Elf Tobias a "One-eyed old fat elf".

And then, rush into combat with a scimitar in one hand, and a spell in the other, shouting "Fill your hands, you son-of-a-bitch!"


Hmmm, maybe it's time to go change a few things...
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  #65  
Old 10-12-2019, 08:28 PM
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Alphaeus Alphaeus is offline
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@Everyone

Alright, after a crazy week (in both stressful and relieving ways), I'm caught up. No work tomorrow, so I'll post reviews/answers then.

@Ricktur

I will say this -- I did place a hard ban on Dread in the original post. (Psionics Dread, that is). Dread is a class that can be broken so easily, and when paired with Elan it is one of the worst offenders for such a basic route to being borked.
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  #66  
Old 10-13-2019, 04:39 AM
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Just one more question before your next round of awnsers- you've already OK'ed spheres of power- are advanced talents also acceptable (Alongside their martial equivalents, which sadly don't have a dedicated page on the wiki- but work in much the same way)?
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  #67  
Old 10-13-2019, 10:43 AM
Imoen Imoen is offline
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My application is complete in page 2, let me know if I can clarify something

Last edited by Imoen; 10-13-2019 at 10:43 AM.
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  #68  
Old 10-13-2019, 11:44 AM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Alphaeus View Post
@Everyone

Alright, after a crazy week (in both stressful and relieving ways), I'm caught up. No work tomorrow, so I'll post reviews/answers then.

@Ricktur

I will say this -- I did place a hard ban on Dread in the original post. (Psionics Dread, that is). Dread is a class that can be broken so easily, and when paired with Elan it is one of the worst offenders for such a basic route to being borked.
Sorry I missed that. I was already looking at the Metaforge Prestige class, an Aegis Soulknife combination. I think it will all still work for my concept.
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  #69  
Old 10-14-2019, 08:43 PM
Kshnik Kshnik is offline
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Name: J’san
Age: Many Blue Moons
Gender: Male (Alteration sphere equals change in gender as one trait so: Female)
Race: Oversized Goblin
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
Class: Feral hunter 1, Sphere Magus 11
Traits: Precise Treatment, Battlefield Surgeon
Flaw: Addiction (Flesh) 16 hours (-2 int/wis/cha) 32 hours (-4 int/wis/cha) 48 hours (-6 int/wis/cha)
Feats: Healing Hands, VMC Wizard, Signature Skills (Heal), Planar Focus
Magic Talents: Alteration (Bestial Reflexes, Plant), Destruction (Acid), Illusion (Invisibility), Life, LIght (Bound light, Encompassing LIght), Warp, Weather
Drawbacks: Somatic Casting, Magical Signs, Focus Casting (Morningstar)
Magnus Arcana: Weapon Diligence (Morningstar), Flattening Strike, Arcane Accuracy
Magus Bonus Feats: Roll with it, Protection Sphere

 

 

 


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  #70  
Old 10-14-2019, 09:48 PM
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As much as I'd love to play a psionic character in this game for so many reasons, if I'm honest with myself, I don't really have the time to keep up with this and do it justice. I rarely find a DM that allows psionics and at this level they are great because they can actually do some really neat stuff. These are always my favorite characters to play.

Keep me in mind if you need a replacement player. Perhaps I'll have more time in the near future.

I have no chance to do much online until I get home and it seems like I'm gone from home for 12-13 hrs a day. Which leaves me very little time to draft and edit a post worthy for the great DM's I get to play with on this site.

Good luck to all who make it into this game. It will be interesting for sure.

Thanks for your time!

Rick
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  #71  
Old 10-17-2019, 06:07 PM
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Sirviantis Sirviantis is online now
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How is this recruitment thread so quiet? I'm not used to this.
Don't get me wrong, I like it: less commotion is less competition, it just has me concerned is all.

Also, any updates about a deadline?
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  #72  
Old 10-17-2019, 10:03 PM
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A Shadow of his Former Self
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I call this "Puff the Magic Dragon"
Tolkein, the Nightmancer
20 RP Custom Race, Breakdown on sheetUmbral-Doppler Gnome, 102 yr CN Male
Unlettered Arcanist 12 / Shadow Witch VMC
Utility Mage / Crowd Control / Metamagic Boom-Boom
"'Tis only a minor setback..."

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Stout, ornery, and looking a little too grey to be healthy, this shadow-warped gnome nonetheless shows a lot of gusto for a creature of his age and unfortunate luck. Despite a lifetime researching and lurking in the dark, he has an awfully sunny disposition for one who clearly dabbles in the more morally grey aspects of high magic and arcana,

He dresses in dark, frumpy clothes with only the occasional wash when complaints of his death-odor start to arise, and his overly wide wizards hat and roomy coat does little to hide his pallor.

Often mistaken for some kind of Necromancer, he is quick to reassure people that he only dabbles in undeath and his true passion lies in "The OTHER Dark Arts, in it's much more purer form". Whether this casual explanation actually puts people at ease about his motives has yet to be seen.



FLAVOR: Stale, musky fungus with some surprising psychoactive properties.

The Curious case of Tolkien UnderbuttonThere is not much things of note to tell about Mr. Underbutton before the mishap, save that he has been a strange combination of social recluse to party animal, with nothing indicating what mood you would catch him in on any given day. Other than that, his life for the first one hundred years or so has been rather unremarkable.

Born into a lowly merchant family. Absolutely loathed their cobbler trade. Saved up enough to quickly move out and put a downpayment on a run down house. Leaned heavily on his gnomish knack with magic until he was able to teach himself a few natural cantrips. Tried to apply to university. Proptly rejected due to his, (quote, unquote) "Bumpkin-ness".

Life was hard for someone who had a thirst for magic and no academic accumen to back it up. For the longest time he languished as a beet farmer with only a bunny for a familiar. However, said bunny had led him to the next lag of his destiny when it wandered off and got itself swallowed by a living abyss.

right-aligned image
I was told there would be cake?
Not a big abyss mind you. Just a small one that had gotten lost within our realm.

Tolkien, not wanting to leave empty-handed, decided to take this small tear within our reality home with him and name it "Abby". And that is when things started to go downhill for him. You see, when you decide to befriend an Aether Elemental your mind begins to wander adrift when presented daily with a living embodiment of a mathematical dissonance plaguing your psyche with it's unnaturalness, and naturally, said mind goes somewhat sideways in it's coping mechanisms. It was hard enough to contend with That Which Should Not Be, let alone trying to figure out where it should sleep.

Speaking of sleep; Such splendid dreams he had that night. It was a world in black and white, yet technicolor in grandoisity. In it was a such darkness that he had never experienced before, the various hues of negative spectrum that could only be truly witnessed in fantasy; a reality mirroring our own where abnormality was the only norm and he experienced for once in his life his own illogic and madness being the only true and sensible way to not just barely survive in the fringe as he has as a hedge magician, but to thrive as a master and arbitor of his own destiny. Within a creaky mansion beautiful in it's decay, somber winds making eerie music in its musty halls as the craggily trees scratch their grating percussion to the squeaks pof meeses and the groans of floorboards. Ghosts of lost and waylaid beings moan their symphony, and rescued freaks and geeks dine at his decadent dinner table regaling him with strange and wondrous stories only the outliers could only tell. He stands as host amongst them, a king of ash and dust, delightfully insane and yet vivacious in his hattery. This being that sits at the helm of this throne is everything about himself that Tolkien has tried to steer clear of from becoming, yet now that it is on full magnificent display he is unsure why he has even fought it so long...

...above him his newest guest flashes with aethereal lightning and spiritual flashes, supping well on the gnome's quasi-nightmare fantasy, finding the stray thoughts to her contentment. This creature she has found in the woods is proving to be a suitable host, providing enough emotional fuel to sustain her and then some. Aggamenmnon, currently know as Abby, for once knows fulfillment, as opposed to constant agonizing hunger, and for once is "happy" with the abundance of imagination; the pure potentiality that can give rise to shape and matter. Sustained, she winks out of reality for now, and drifts off into a cosmic slumber, leaving her "master" and newest friend to his own feverish and alien dreams, sweating and trembling and grinning like a schoolboy.


"... and that is why I never really bought into the whole 'underwear' thing. It's wholly unnatural," the fuzzy, dirty gnome sits across from you, rambling on as he peels an apple. "It's a conspiracy created by big monarchy meant to induce population control. Think about it; You gotta trust your own body to self regulate. Let it all hang out, y'know-wut-I-mean?"

left-aligned image
Trust me. Don't google 'Bound Hostage'
You of course, do know what he means. However, you are indisposed to reply, being bound and gagged and all.

"Not that I ever plan on having kids, mind you. But lemme tell you, nothing quite like the tickle of a nice stiff breeze to remind you that you are alive. If there is one take away from this conversation, it is that you should always enjoy your freedom."

Again, bound and gagged, you are not sure if he is making fun of you or simply ignorant of the irony. You protest against your bindings, only to find the grasping shadow magically sealed.

"Please forgive me for shoe-horning you into this story in the second person perspective," he oddly addresses you, taking a bite out of his apple before tossing it aside while removing several pages of written notes. "I kinda have to make this app stand out somehow."

He licks his finger and thumbs through the papers, muttering through the next steps as he tries to get an idea of where this is heading.

"Let's see. Few funny pictures. Memetic quotes. Darkness. Aether. Background monologue. Dues Ex-Machina. Existential Quandary. My death..." his eyes go wide, and he looks confused. "Ah... ha. Read too far. I'm just going to conveniently forget that last bit and move forward here," his mouth curls sheepishly while tucking away his notes.

"Now then. I suppose the big question is why are you here, Dear Reader, and what has led up to this unfortunate turn of events?" he smiles, knowing well the use of rhetoric and the fact that you are unable to respond, both as a proxy character and someone who is just reading this on his or her computer screen. "Well, I am glad I made you ask."

He breathes in deep, gestures wide with his arms, and gently sways to the beat of a song only heard if you happened to click on the link of this title. "Well it all boils down to a midlife crisis of sorts. As a gnome, I've hit that age where it all goes downhill from here. More than a century has passed and I have done nothing with my life, stymied by circumstance and condemned to a lowly farmstead and meager toil. The silent suffering of the masses to which I am sure we all can relate."

He stops dancing and turns to you in grim seriousness. "The jobs that we do only lead us to survive until the next day. And the next day after that. Ad perpetuity. Ad infinitum and all that jazz. It isn't fair, but that is the lot of those of us without Dreams. We enslave ourselves in the name of stability and pay with our futures one day at a time."

He saunters up closer, makes an embarrassing effort to crawl up upon your lap, and grabs your shirt in his hands and brings his face close, giving you a breath full of halitosis. "We have to WAKE UP, you see. And to do so, we must embrace DREAMS." He points to his own noodle to illustrate. "It might sound count-productive, but to get out, we must go IN."

He seems to stare intently at first, but then seems to lose his train of thought. To jump start himself, he nestles comfortably into your lap, digs out a corncob pipe, and begins to smoke while collecting himself. He is careful to ensure the smoke bellows away from you. He doesn't want to be rude after all.

"That's where Abby came into play. You see, she's kinda the doorway in which my perspective of reality increased nearly infinite-fold. Through her, I was able to stare into the Void and found her not only staring back at me, but also smiling and waving."

He blows another stream of smoke that appears to take on the form of a school of fish, glimmering with an intangible multi-colored hue, revealing where the silent void in question lingers hidden from view. He stares at "Her" in wonder.

"We all have a reflection. An opposite that reveals who we are nonetheless. And it is something we fear the most and systematically lock away for belief that it is our "Evil" half, like we are all inherently diametric beings who are already the best versions of ourselves."

"But the truth?"

He turns around to look you in the face, smiling knowingly yet sadly.

He reaches his hand into the invisible aether, and Abby's essence plays multi-colored in response across his fingertips.

right-aligned image
"Abby was kind enough to help the scales fall from my eyes. Through her, I saw this other Me. Pale. Ghostly. Off his rocker moreso than I. But so goddamn vivacious and full of life that it put my own listless existence to shame. A person, embracing of himself in all ways, no matter how far from convention he had wandered. Happy where I was sullen. Fulfilled where I yearned. Open and social where I hid myself away. Unlimited and Eternal where I am self-contained and doomed to die."

"It is then I realized... perhaps WE are the shadow?"


His lips purse, and he is left to grim pause, the song playing on youtube long since ended. Without word, he begins to stand again and begins rifling through your clothes.

"Please forgive my intrusion. This is not a #MeToo thing, just that Duex-Ex Machina thing I was talking about," he apologizes, finding the Mirror of Darkness you had so conveniently hidden away on yourself for story purposes.

"Ah. Here we are. Just what I needed!" He smiles with a sense of self-satisfaction, instantly disregarding the dire warnings of all sensible people and staring into the mirror unabashedly.

There is a long pause, and he pales in awe. But it is not in terror as most people have been known to react. Instead, his expression turns to deep sorrow and yearning, and he seems to find it so difficult to speak in stark contrast to his glib soliloquy seconds before. It is difficult with the lump in his throat to even find the words.

"I... have... lived my life... poorly,"
he nearly sobs, but finds himself too proud to shed his barely contained tears. "But this man... this man...deserves a life unchained to my decisions..."

He hugs the cursed item, lost in thought, still on your lap uncomfortably. This entire ordeal has been one big emotional rollercoaster.

He glances at you, suddenly remembering your presence, and gently smiles.

"Well, thank you for your patience for reading this far. I know it has been a tough post and you've been an absolute champ. But while we're on the subject, let me ask:"

"What is it that you see?"


He then turns the mirror on you, inviting you to a moment of self-reflection and begging the question, "What do you fear most?"

Who you are, or what you could become?



To say that Tolkien was ill-prepared for this poorly though-out undertaking would be a monumental understatement. There are reasons why there are researched scholars, studious magicians, and high arcanists who study their whole lives to even try to understand the forces that he was now simply trying to tinker with, simply hoping for the best. Shadow Magic is taboo for a good reason.

The ritual has been set up about his cabin in a manner more akin to a conspiracy theorist's thought-web than an actual legitimate ritual, filled with notes and scrap paper all crisscrossed with silver threads to link as a spiritual conduit in a manner that no sane person alive could understand. Sigils of Power that came out of a mad dream. Unusual focuses related vaguely to themes, Picture drawings of collected nightmares sketched by the children and the asylum denizens alike.

Was he trying to summon evil spirits? Because this is how you get Evil Spirits.

Abby simply floated above it all, consuming the occassional knick-knack or beet, or whaever caught her fancy, as Tolkien puttered about, getting his made-up proceedure underway. With no formal education, and barely out of junior highschool reading level, and dirt-poor means, he really had to figureatively and literally pull some strings in order to make it functional. He is no scholar; but he just might be a competent quack.

"I think that's it, Abby. This is everything you showed me, yes?"


The Abyss simply sucks in a stray rodent in reply, which he takes as a Yes.

"Good. I'm going to start the ritual of 'Other Guy Liven-ing-ness... Transfer-Something...'," and he simply trails off, having gotten this far but not really having put any thought into what to call it. He shrugs, settles himself in front of the desk with the mirror held aloft, and slowly the image of his darker half appears in the glass, looking pale, slightly younger, and grinning mischievously.

"Well look at that handsome devil right there. Barely looks a day over 70."

It's supposed to be a traumatizing ordeal, gazing upon your darkest reflect, but for him it is not. Beyond the looking glass is a creature not worse than he, and better in many ways, Less restriction. Less waste of potential. More actual mastery of magics than he could ever have hoped. At least, as much he is able to see in dreams.

"Alright. Let's breathe some life into this Frankenstien's Monster, shall we?" he mutters wearily, as if Abby ever listens to him.

He hold up a napkin, with phonetic pronunciation on arcane words he remembers half heard that he grabbed from deep dreaming, having sought out in psychoscapes the component, both verbal and material, for this ramshackle rite. And in spite of everything any learned arcanist's better judgement, Tolkien's ritual shouldn't be able to do what he thinks it do (but it do), and suddenly a moonlit glow pours from the looking-glass and a luminescent glow begins travel up the silverspun thread and wraps itself around the spun wire to affect the lunar artifects he had cobbled together, causing each to glow and only amplifying it's magical strength until it at last pours from each and travels along the lines into the crude arcane circle he stand at the center of amidst the web of chaos.

"Aaand here we GO!" he exclaimed excitedly as the tips of his bushy beard begin to crackle with the electric energy of arcane transference.

The the reflection in the mirror he holds aloft has only malevolently copied his motions in sneering mockery up until this point, until the electric conduit feeds back energy within the mirror, and then he too looks surprised with a slight sudden dawning awareness, blinking independently for the first time. The two are now locked in confusion and fear. The magical feedback loop has become a powerful force now, rising in intensity in an experiment gone wrong. Tolkien realizes he is in over his head.

"ABBY! ABBY HELP ME!" he screams as his begins to violently shake with the mirror locked in his grip. His beard combusts.

The shadow doppler seems just as frightened, but seems to be faring better in the transference. As the magical glow feeds him the essence of his Other, a glow begins to fill it's cheeks. The evil that it stared out with previously gives way to a new awareness, and in Tolkien's last moments are watching the creature grow concerned even as to the agony he is in now, staring at him helplessly as ---

-- He watches himself now on the other side of the mirror through new eyes and senses. He breathes in sharply, inhaling with lungs that have yet to be used to the first time; a habit of matter. Of life. Before him, the window to the other world just hangs in shadow; shadow which he is able to distinguish hues of somehow without aid or understanding of the metamechanics, but before he can even ponder his new surroundings, he is drawn to the horror that is being played out on the other side.

He has caught on dark-fire, flickering licks of blackness consuming his beard and scalding his face with necromantic energy. The eyes that had once held so much mischief and weariness help open in paralyzing agony. Agony... and something else.


"You... you haven't escaped me so easily..." the old man whom he once was hisses with pure hatred. Those eyes... those cold dark eyes.

"I'll be haunting your every ssssstep assss I alwaysss have..." it lays down it's curse with it's dying breath, even as he withers and it becomes trapped within his former husk. The burnt and mummy dried face of his former body now grimaces, toothy and silent as it holds the mirror aloft.

"Wh-- What?" the now fully-conscious shadow being stammers, trying to process what has transpired. "Who... er. Huh?"

Though the corpse remains relatively motionless, the room behind it begins to spin and the floor begins to rush toward the both of them.

"Nononono NOO--"


For awhile the home remained motionless as the dust settled from the backlash of the strange arcane magics. Death and dust lingered in the air unperturbed for all of three seconds as Abby stood in examination from above. She was indifferent to it all, until she realise that she no longer had a meal ticket. Her uncaring nature gave way to annoyance, and she drifted down to where she was floating to examine the scene more closely.

left-aligned image
Hope you're a light dreamer. I'm trying to watch my weight
A few telekinetic thrusts upon the now expired gnome yielded no results or stir, so she simply ate him as she considered her next move.

She doesn't remember much from before Tolkien happened along, having just spontaneously appeared in this realm as an improbable rift that was yet mathematically inevitable given the backdrop of cosmic infinity. What was her purpose then?

Oh yes. Consume everything. Swallow the whole of the universe until it once again is absorbed into the cosmic strata as the multiverse returns to net zero. She'll have to start small,of course, and then work her way up. It'll take perhaps a day or so to reach critical mass, but that is nothing compared to the timelessness of the Universe as a whole. A mere blip. Not even.

She is about to wander out of the house to begin her 4th dimensional katamari when she catches a whim of her unmistableable patron. Not strong, mind you. But there. Kinda. But not in this dimension.

She drifts along the floor, picking up the lingering wafts of Him, lost somewhere between realms. The mirror has a taste of shadow; yet the taste of his imaginative essence still guides her to path where he stepped off. A place she is all too familiar with, though she knows not why. Perhaps she has been there before? Or will be? Time is an illusion in higher dimensions after all, and cause/effect a mistaken notion in the eternal captured glimmering moment of singularity in which The One is seemingly The Many depending upon what facet of the superverse an observer perceives to be viewing reality from, like light bouncing within an infinite crystal. All that aside though, there is an imbalance that is creating an energetic dissonance, and her role is to silence that so that this uncomfortable existence collapses back into the Singularity the higher superverse so yearns it to be.

Still, vaguely aware of her role in overall cosmic unravelling that she is meant to facilitate, she can't help but feel a certain... yearning for the little carbon-being and his fleshy temporal conundrum. As well as his sweet, sweet delicious dreams that is like abrosia to her. She is facing a major dilemma. To consume the universe, or to journey after her lost frie- er. Meat-bag.

She is not a sympathetic being, of course. Loyalty and affection are simply biological chemical reactions meant to facilitate breeding behavior and tribal evolutionary advantages. She is a pragmatist. So when it comes down to it, realizing that in the grand scheme of things, she has plenty of time (which doesn't exist of course) to destroy everything. So it's only logical to pursue Tolkien across dimensions on whim simply as an opportunity ti experience existence just a little while longer before she puts the chairs up on the bar and turns out the lights of existence? Who is to know, after all?

She begins to telekinetically sift through the broken glass and gets a bead on the scent of the missing Underbutton, and makes some calculated computations as to what she would need to gather in order to make the jaunt across reality. Turns out, the house would be enough.

And so, in the course of one unusual day, the possessions and the hard earned real estate that Tolkien had wasted his whole life to attain and maintain was all for naught, disappearing in a single blink as matter is consumed in a black sphere of potential made to kinetic energy, and all that was left was a smouldering circular indent where all of his dreams were broken and his meaningless sweat was shed.
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After a year of absolute chaos, I am able to return to what I love most:
You guys.
May we weave adventures and wonders together again.

Last edited by TheGoodDoctor; 10-31-2019 at 03:06 AM.
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Old 10-17-2019, 11:21 PM
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Bowties are COOL...
 
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After a year of absolute chaos, I am able to return to what I love most:
You guys.
May we weave adventures and wonders together again.

Last edited by TheGoodDoctor; 10-26-2019 at 12:17 AM.
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Old 10-18-2019, 06:13 AM
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Quote:
Originally Posted by Sirviantis View Post
How is this recruitment thread so quiet? I'm not used to this.
Don't get me wrong, I like it: less commotion is less competition, it just has me concerned is all.

Also, any updates about a deadline?
Looks like the Good Doctor was kindly enough to double your prescription of forum activity
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Old 10-18-2019, 06:50 PM
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Take two apps and call me in the morning...
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May we weave adventures and wonders together again.
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