ArenaSnow

Men vs. Women Race to 1000

769

{Casual - High Casual} Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts

Newcomer superwitch resurrects them all and they don't know who or why.

Myyystery...

Hello, I'm a Dragon

You wot? Your soul is perfectly safe with me. These heathens are trying to take your very existence. Entrust your soul to me so that I may better protect you.

{Casual - High Casual} Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts

Tracy Winnow

Day 1 - Mid-day, just after noon
Tracy's Home, 1132 Rockside Street

A fairly cloudy day was visible outside Tracy's upstairs windows. She satin a rocking chair, three toothpicks between her left hand's fingers, with a large bowl on the ground to catch the bits and pieces she inevitably couldn't hold as she made more and more of them. Business was slow, she thought as a a couple fingers of her right hand rose to twirl strands of her blonde hair. Even in the lack of true sunlight, there was a light reddish glint. The morning didn't have much going on at all. She left her place in the care of a young lady. 17? 18? Something in that range. The girl could have been 25 and look like that. Such was the nature of witches in the town. Some of the older ones wanted to revel in their youth, a very unwise idea. The spell to shave years off, at least visually, wasn't difficult, but it certainly wouldn't go unnoticed. She'd need to have another talk with those seniors, later.

But for the moment, she thought, back to the shop was a good idea. The girl that was there... Grace... was new, and though she showed some aptitude and seemed like a good addition, she wasn't business canny. She certainly wasn't too hunter canny, unless Tracy somehow drove the right ideas into her head in such a short amount of time. Tracy chuckled quietly as she stood and deposited the rest of the bits into the half-filled bowl. Unlikely.

Then again, she thought as she went down her creaky aged stairs wearing nothing at all, witches and warlocks learned their places quickly in Salem...

---

Day 1, 2 1/2 Hours Later
Tracy's Boutique

The boutique was as lively as ever, Tracy thought as she casually walked down the street in her usual comfortable white garb. Not with people, of course. No, she was lucky to get three stops a day. It wasn't a booming business in Salem. People probably wondered how the place was still standing. Old family wealth, some rather nice flowers, and perhaps a little witchery kept it in shapely condition. She walked in and immediately gave a nod to the girl behind the counter. Huh. she's a teenager, Tracy thought at the woman who now looked quite mature, and rather nice too for one who Tracy knew was young of age. Whatever she was, she did something to make herself look older. That was a new one.

"Good day miss," Grace chirped as Tracy stepped behind the counter. Definitely did something to make herself older. In fact, it wasn't there this morning.

"Good day, Grace," the older witch replied as she took up a spot behind the counter to look at the various shelves and rows of flowers. The place practically overflowed with them, and most of them looked quite nice. Not all of them, that would attract suspicion. There were a few aging, less-than-optimal selections for the occasional hunter to walk in and reassure themselves that as weird the place was, at least someone wasn't enchanting all the flowers to full bloom and perfect colors.

Just some of them.

"Ah, Grace," Tracy called as Grace began to step away to sort and water the flowers. Real flowers with real dirt, and even long trays where they were grown on the spot on the top of the shelves reaching just below chest height. A fairly sophisticated creation, even if it made the place resemble a garden half the time. "Could you be a dear and remove that charm before a hunter walks in and sees you aged five years in three hours?"

A light "dammit" came to Tracy's ears before the girl piped up and responded. "Yes Tracy." she walked quickly to the back room, where she could remove the spell in peace. How Grace even learned that was a surprise. Or maybe not. There were a few books in parts of the house that dealt with charms and the like. Minor and almost harmless, but apparently Grace found the one book... Tracy sighed and almost leaned over the counter before thinking better of it and instead walking out to the rows of plants. She looked at various pots and leaves, seeing their conditions, looking at worms that poked out of the dirt. That too was just for appearances, but she didn't mind them.

If nobody walked in soon, perhaps she'd be adventurous later in the day and find something interesting to do. There had to be something to do in this old town. She could read again, but she read so much last week...

Let's B!tch. I feel it's a healthy release for our roleplay annoyances 2.0

'ere we go again. Dark purple, guild background, dialogue. TF. Come on. It doesn't help readability when the 'distinct' words don't stand out and serve to almost blend into the page.

Donards, Cannibalism and the Neoplasmic Pineapple of Tomfuckery

Appendix A - Tale of the Malevolent Donard

Fuck you.

~Life

Donards, Cannibalism and the Neoplasmic Pineapple of Tomfuckery

What is life, really? Life is a continuous piddle in the endless cycle of breathing, working, eating, breathing, death here and there, drama, drama o' bloody dra- whoops, you're dead.

That's the ultimate summary of life, is it not? An exercise in futility, an attempt to impress eternity with less than a hundred years on average of pitiful existence that, in 99% of all cases, doesn't come out in something that will be remembered. Perhaps it will be remembered, but your efforts are misinterpreted, and the point of it all is lost to time, so that what is remembered is not what you created. If they don't remember you, or all they remember is a typo, than what is the point - you might as well have not lived at all.

You are worms, maggots fated to return to the cold earth after the exercise in futility, one that may possibly be cut short by another jackass's attempt to impress some bemused elder, or a moronic jihadist fuck. Or the jackass just wants to try and be remembered as "the best motherfucker who wanted to kill the most people". His efforts are just as futile as any other. His efforts don't warrant a footnote in the history of relevance. In short, he wasted his time. What the fuck.

Yet the efforts of the kindly old gardener who never killed anything larger than a weed come to just about the same result. His efforts go unappreciated, his works don't even make the footnote in history. He made a better contribution to society by some means or another, yet nobody gives a flying shit. They only give a shit about the melodramatic putz who swooned the masses with his political flair.

Yet the melodramatic putz, or shall we say, the modern politician, is smarter than us. It is the melodramatic putz that is put back in office year after year. Everyone agrees he doesn't do shit. Yet to "fit in" and become a part of the crowd, everyone votes for the fucker anyways. Hey, at least he keeps that nice, cozy, familiar feeling. We don't want to fix it, not really. We want to be able to bitch about our circumstances and our politics while we dwiddle on with our worthless lives and make no contribution to improve things. We rave, we rant, we agree "that politician is an idiot". Bullshit - you're the idiot who lets him win. You're the idiot who votes for the same two morons in America every season while viable alternatives patiently wait for people to fucking wake up and use their skulls on the fringes. Perhaps it's not you, you. But at the very least, it's someone you know. You're just as complacent for letting him sit there and mindlessly vote for the same dotards.

The dotards thrive on the grand split and the grand idea that one side will triumph over the other, but the truth is, both sides are worthless mentally deranged institutions unique to certain countries. Others have their own issues, of course, but a certain leading "first world country" has some of the most deranged political figures in the world, and I'm not even going after Mr. Orange here.

But who bloody cares. This is just a rant that will be forgotten, and be rendered unworthy of being noted in history. It was written as a pointless time sink by a retarded melodramatic fucktard who never made a serious contribution to society, and never will. It was written by a buffoon as ignorant as the people he decries as ignorant. It was written by a hypocrite, who has a tendency to bitch more than to fix. It was written by a ranter, who had nothing better to do with his time than write a long ass rant that has no sane contribution to the world. Nobody will reflect on this and go "shiiit, this guy's wise" unless it's Odin being a smartass.

Here. Have a pineapple. You don't see it? Yeah, I don't see it either.

{Casual - High Casual} Welcome to Salem, Massachusetts

I'm trying to figure out why, or if my character would go to the bar at that time on Monday >.>

Avelierys - Original Fantasy World (CLOSED - Indefinite hiatus)

When are you planing to start the RolePlay?

@Chronos Hybrid

As I just got back home I'm going to give everyone the go ahead to start posting IC.

@Winterwake

First IC post content is up as well.

I'm set back, possibly for a good while, in terms of starting this. I'll watch for the moment and perhaps hop in later on. Otherwise, I'm not holding up too well for this one I'm afraid.

Who has the highest post count?

Shit, I should start posting more.

@catchamber

You got nothing, boi