Status

Recent Statuses

23 Apr 2017 18:57
Current A cuppa English Tea at my place? Two crystalized sugars lumps, dissolved in one part hot one and a half strength black tea and one half-part warmed hand-frothed milk.
23 Apr 2017 5:15
TFW you write a bawdy poem about the arcane character classes and insult all of the major magey folk. Expect the bards, because someone needs to sing the song.
23 Apr 2017 0:23
Honey, your dog doesn't care how you look. You can look like a dog, and it will probably still think "Damn Human, you look fine."
2 likes
22 Apr 2017 22:40
Elsa Do you want to make a Thread Post? Come on lets go Roleplay, I never read your posts anymore, Come on I'm bored, I know you're lurking anyway...!
22 Apr 2017 17:24
Looks like [@Rai]'s got some free advertising now X3
1 like

Bio

Name: Grey Dust
Race: Dust Bunny
Gender: Male
Age: 12 Years, 7 Months
Birthday: February 30th.
Birthplace: Underneath the bookshelves.
Resides in: GMT-5 (ESTD)
Occupation: C.R.C.

THIS IS CLEARLY NOT ENTIRELY TRUE.
STOP THINKING I'm A 12 YEAR OLD DUST BUNNY <_>.

Most Recent Posts

I hope my post was... Acceptable.
Certainly some double talk but uh...
I hope everything thinks it's in good bawdy bar taste.
Thomas Richard Harrison

Location: The Crossed Swords.
Interacting with: No One again? Hopefully.


Wizard thou art mere conjurer of cheap tricks,
Thou art a falsehood, thy learning a lie,
Thy staff impotent and thy wands old sticks,
Thy books are hollow, thine powers denied,
Magicless thy birth and so too shalt thou die.

Warlock thou art mere lender and borrower be,
Thine fey or foul or fiend thou hath consort,
Thy deal was tainted, thy pact magic a greed,
Thy soul is sold, thou art a filthy escort,
Thus suckle the rod which thou needeth support.

Spellsword thou art mere simple hack and slash,
Thou art brutish rapscallion of all the arcane,
Thy blade is heresy, thy melee balderdash,
Thou art false magus thus yield thy claim.
A sword for a staff means a stone for a brain.

Artificer thou art mere trinkets and craft,
Thy potions explode, thy scrolls too fail,
Thy enchantments fade, thy ideas a laugh,
Thou mayest tinker away all to no avail,
So leaveth magic be and work in sales.

Necromancer thou art mere dark and gloom,
Thy spirits unruly, thy hygiene doth lack,
Thy parts second-hand begotten of thy tombs,
Thy life is a waste, and thou would agree in fact,
Thus kindly die in a hole and never cometh back.

Bard thou art mere-

Wait a moment, better not let Sana know this one.
Perhaps it was best to leave the insults to the necromancers and other spellcasters.
Every sort of magic user had their own forte, although Sorcerers were born with it.
Everything was already inside of them, waiting to be tapped in with some focus.
They required not the years of study or borrowed from elsewhere but of course...

Sorcerer thou art mere accident by birth,
Thy chaos consumed, thy magics art crude,
Thy skills untrained, unearned of own worth
Thy mother a hamster who thy father imbued,
And she took his essence with gratitude.

Oh the joys of meditation, where does the mind wander.
Focus Thomas, there may as well be a fight tonight.
So breathing in and out slowly to the pulsating stars, the ever changing moon and the setting sun did Thomas attune himself to the universe.
I have quite literally nothing for Thomas.
Save for perhaps another filler post to fill up meditation time as he prepares his spells.

Maybe I should do a poem or something.
Anyone have any requests/suggestions on themes?
Thomas Richard Harrison

Location: The Crossed Swords Tavern/Bar/Adventurer's hub/Inn/ Not the Dancing Donkey.
Interacting with: No One? Hopefully.


Fear all data madness twists,
For all that matters this;
unnamed stars in waiting dream,
unaimmed stirs in waking deem:
From such the master exists.

Three spheres:
One which shakes, cold as ice.
One which pulses, dark as night.
One which turns, hot as fire.
Fractals into infinity, a glimpse,
Halls of mirrors as worlds into other realms.
Some younger, some older, some warmer, some colder,
And from these spheres Thomas.

Thomas the child, the innocent one shivering the cruel world.
Pale and waning, wasting away as his pallor deepens the white.
Hide. Away with you my shadow, no longer be afraid.
Thomas the man, the bumbling fool traveling the open road.
Tanned and hearty, marching away into the horizon smiling white.
Go. Away with you my reflection, no longer be rash.
Thomas the elder, the pretentious monk watching the death itself.
Dry and cutting, thinking away the many pages white.
Fade. Away with you my ego, no longer be alone.

What good are friends? The Elder asked of me,
Why proceed with caution? The Man inquired,
How can one be brave? The Child implored.
I have no answers, only the words of my master.
For the experience, he would say.
And I became his parrot.

For friend are more than sack of gold and flesh,
More so than blood and silver or soul and gems,
And so too was foresight and courage.
And with experience come all three,
Or perhaps with all three experience.

Then all the mirrors shattered, splintering like raindrops in the grey skies above. Shards of glass fell upon my body. Though I could not hear the breaking, I could every pinprick entering my skin. The burden heavy the darkness my eyes see became light. A part of me died, released with a fragment of what was, and like a butterfly or moth it flew. Liberated from the darkness into the light. One spark returned, and then I shall join my brethren above. And yet...

A glimpse into the young meditative mind, caught between this world and the next. He had done it many times before, but never could he find each experience the same. Sometimes they were more dreamlike, and yet till grounded in reality. This one in particular was determined for Thomas to confront himselves. The three different natures which debated inside like a raging fire or rolling avalanche. But Thomas has time, he had many more years ahead of him to figure everything out...

Like if he should continue on travelling with the company. No, no, don't bring them into this semi-lucid meditative state. Perhaps Satilla and Ntaj, but certainly not the trio... Because if you die in your meditation, do you die in reality as well? Or was waking in itself an illusion such that this false reality was truly the genuine article?
I'll be posting later this afternoon.
When I get back from the office :)
Not sure how much I can do with describing Thomas' meditation.
Although maybe some inspiration will come later :P
Oh and happy belated Easter/Passover to all.

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