Back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, I got started with writing online on the Spore forums. Man, those were the days. We're talking like 12 years ago 2010-ish!
I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.
With time, some of the Hivemind's drones begin to diverge into a warrior caste. They have grown larger than the generic drones and developed a thicker carapace. Their mandibles are larger and more exaggerated, and while they still retain those as their only true weapon, with greater size has come the ability for them to use their foremost legs to pin down enemies. They have had some opportunities to practice this and train together, and have developed a strategy of using a team of warriors in which several work together to pin down a larger foe while others try to bite its exposed limbs.
Three worker regiments are sent out into the surrounding land. One group ventured into the forest and retrieved some small twigs, while another regiment brought back some pebbles from the riverside. The third group was supposed to head further into the grasslands, but they still haven't returned yet...
As an OOC note, I meant to imply that an order like "evolve wings" is fine when I said IC, "Perhaps in reaction to some sort of selection pressure or with a conscious effort, the Hivemind could change these characteristics."
The Hivemind has a moment of introspection, contemplating the situation. The species is large by the standards of most insects, but still rather small. The queen has grown to be about the size of a tree leaf, with all the others ranging from tiny larvae just a bit bigger than grains of sand to the size of cockroaches. The species has minimal polymorphism, with just three types of members: a singular female queen, a few male princes, and two hundred of a generic breed of sterile drones. The drones are not noteworthy in many aspects; they can act as a group to defend the hive, but are prone to wander out alone in search of food and are thus prone to being preyed upon by larger (or more clever) insects or animals. Their only weapons are their mandibles, which they can use to bite and tear off the flesh of smaller creatures, or simply annoy larger ones. Perhaps in reaction to some sort of selection pressure or with a conscious effort, the Hivemind could change these characteristics.
The nest is rather humble. It is little more than a mound of dirt hollowed out by a system of tunnels and warrens, with the queen and the larvae kept safely in a large chamber at the bottom. The only resources that the Hive has to speak of are a few days' worth of food stored inside the hive, as well as the one queen, three princes, and two hundred eager drones. The nest isn't very tall, so the weeds and grass help to hide it.
The nearby forest is known to have berries, which have always been a good (albeit unreliable) source of food., Recently the drones have seen bee nests up in the trees.
In this RP, we all collectively control a hivemind of big bug creatures. The hive of bugs has only just achieved a rudimentary level of sapience, and while great things might be coming for it, the Hivemind is unfortunately somewhat divided and schizophrenic. What's going on inside the bugs' heads sounds more like a party full of screaming kids than anything resembling organized directions.
And you can be one of those voices! Just step on in and start shouting out orders.
Periodically I will post a prompt that says what the Hivemind has been up to (which might include a few suggested courses of action and/or a picture) and then everyone can post on the IC to say what they want to happen next. For instance:
Prompt: Some of the Hivemind's drones are acting lazy and sluggish. Maybe they are sick.
Person 1: Have the other bugs eat the lazy ones! Person 2: Throw them into a river before they spread the sickness! Person 3: Eat them! Person 4: Do nothing and hope that it all works out!
The bugs would probably end up being eaten in that example, because multiple voices were shouting to do that and we all know that you win an argument by being louder than everybody else. But disclaimer: sometimes the Hivemind might not choose to be democratic and perform the most popular order.
And that's basically it! It's not very complicated, so let's get started.
With a start, the Hivemind sudden realizes that it is aware! Its species has probably existed for a long time, but they have only just achieved sapience and have very little memory or knowledge of anything except for their immediate surroundings. The Hivemind has a few hundred drones and a single nest located in a grassy area between the edge of a forest and a small river.
The Hive has long been stagnant, sending lone drones to forage for food in the forest (risking death by the hands of predators) and gathering just enough to sustain itself and scrape by. Now that the Hive has an intelligence, perhaps things will change.
It was atop a mountain summit that Synros was born once again.
This was neither the greatest nor the least of the Qiangshans’ many peaks, merely the first one that the cyclopes had stumbled upon when they’d first marched that way so many years ago. There had been some great and fiery scaled beast nested up there, but it had been no match for Atlas; the giant had lifted an entire hillock, carried it up the mountain on one shoulder, and then used it to crush the waking beast. Or so the tales went; Atlas had been the first to reach the mount, and the beast’s skull had already been reduced to splinters by the time his smaller brethren caught up. Some suspected that Atlas had merely pummeled it to death with his fists or hurled boulders at it, but the giant insisted he’d crushed it beneath a hill.
In the time since their conquest of the peak that had become their camp, the cyclopes had continued to go about gathering meteorites from far and wide. By Synros’ decree they brought their prizes back their mountain and heaped them up, slowly raising a small pyramid of the black sky-stones. Atlas would have none of it, though. Instead he prowled the mountain range, wandering up and down the slopes in a journey half to satiate his curiosity and the cyclopes’ longing for exploration, and half to appease his now infamous bloodlust. Many a dragon was driven from its nest by the giant’s brawny hands and the massive rocks that he threw.
Decades passed, though the cyclopes had neither concept of years nor sense of time. In those days they roamed their faroff mountains in packs mostly unopposed by and unknown to the rest of the world, and very few perished. The fear of those earliest days began to fade from their hearts, but so too did some of that grim and whetting determination that had accompanied their uncertainty. They were beginning to grow soft, the meteorites were trickling in slower than ever as they’d already scoured many hills a dozen times over, and Atlas was ever more restless, so Synros finally decreed that they had gathered enough. He summoned them all to the peak and they waited days until every last band had returned. Once all of them were accounted for, the demigod spoke. They all watched attentively--all of them save for Atlas, who instead sat down and toyed with a boulder in his hand near the back of the crowd.
"In the dark of night and the stillness of my eye, I have seen visions of the glory and might that is ours to claim,” his great and powerful voice resounded, recoiling off the distant mountain peaks.
It was punctuated by a thunderclap of a crash as Atlas tossed his boulder off the mountain slope. “Then why you tell us to run aroun’, picking up rocks? No glory in that. No strength in scurrying down there like bugs.”
The colossus stood up to his full height and raised his chin to look down on Synros and the whole crowd. He somehow seemed to grow another three hands taller, looming over them like that. Synros frowned and crossed all four of his arms. At first he had thought that he’d found a staunch ally in Atlas, but the so-called Might of the Cyclopes had been an obstacle and an adversary at every turn despite how he’d once proclaimed his friendship-
Atlas wasn’t done. “And why is it that you all listen to him, anyways? Just ‘cause he has four arms makes him better than me? Than us? Just one of mine could hurl him off this mountain!” The giant flexed his arms overhead, and it seemed as if even more rocky flesh erupted out from the gaps between the chiseled muscles. There was freakish muscle upon muscle upon muscle.
The display sent an icy lance of fear into Synros’ spine, but with an indomitable will he fought it off before it could creep into his expression. He is like stone, a mountain made flesh, but stone is not strong, for it will shatter where steel only bends. I must be Steel!
"Brother, I will show you strength,” he finally said. Atlas grinned, and he charged forward, pushing his way through the throngs ever closer to his next battle, with the lusting light in his eye seemed to roar, ’Finally!’
Synros advanced too, but he stopped right before he reached the line of cyclopes, and he stooped down to lift one of the fallen meteorites from its place at the bottom of the pyramid stack. He held it high into the air for all to see, then set it down upon a bench-like flatten rock and struck it with his fist. Then he struck it again, and again, his back to the crowd even as Atlas blindly tried to push forward. Synros knew not what he was doing, but he felt a calling, as if this was just right, and he chose to trust his instincts. His four fists rained down upon the dull grey rock so fast that they were a blur, and the meteorite groaned and glowered with a soft heat, and then it surrendered and was finally broken and shaped to his will. He held up the product for all to see, and it was a great helmet with short, ornamental spikes atop its otherwise functional form. The front was open and gave way for his eye and face to remain unobstructed, so perhaps it was more like a crown.
He held it high, and when Atlas finally broke through the crowd and stood right before his rival, he looked down in confusion. Synros seized the moment and placed the crown upon his head before an awed crowd. And then he took into his hands an even greater meteorite, and he began to forge the rounded end of a mace. "This is my strength, the might I have seen. Watch, and I shall give it to you too!” he proclaimed, and suddenly the throng was rushing forwards to engulf Atlas once more as they crowded as close to Synros as they could be.
And then Atlas knew that he had been tricked and bested, for this was not a contest of true might at all.
The cyclopes make their home in the mountains of DF. They spend a long time just keeping to themselves out in the wilderness, gathering up meteorites into a great big pile at Synros’ behest. Atlas is not thrilled with the prospects of being a “scurrying bug” looking for rocks, so he wanders the mountains during this time and is mentioned to have had several encounters with nesting dragons, none of which end well for said dragons. The tension between Atlas and Synros eventually comes to a boil, and Atlas wants to fight, but Synros cleverly chooses that moment to realize his power of shaping metal. He uses his fists to cold-forge lumps of meteoric iron into a mundane helmet and mace, but this is just the beginning.
No MP spent. Synros is crafting mundane iron weapons as a free action under his portfolio of Steel.
Atlas prestige was 7, now 9 +1 for minor role +1 for major role
The first and most important thing to raise is that Adorable Saucer, the guy that writes for Shengshi, has stated his intention to wrap up his loose ends and leave the RP. Though he did say that he would be willing to help get you set up, it's worth bearing this in mind and potentially reconsidering parentage. Ultimately that choice is up to you.
We suggest that this accoutrement you mention "She pulled from the ground a glaive of stone haft and diamond blade, which she has found equally useful for threshing and fighting" should be created as an artifact IC. That's just a more organic means of doing things, and that would also justify it being much more powerful than something just linked to Apademi's general appearance and form.
The Settlement Portfolio, particularly as viewed by one that sees herself as a Gardener. works well because it leaves you with lots of things to do and engage in. There was a comment or two from the other GMs about how it seems very strange to associate Settlement with, "The size, strength, durability, and ferocity to be a serious obstacle to any non-divine invaders." I actually find it more strange that Apademi possesses the powers to effectively terraform in order to make locations "ideal" for settling, rather than just helping mortals to adapt to whatever surrounding they'll be inhabiting. The connotation of a 'Gardener' in a more modern sense perhaps lends to this idea of changing a patch of desert into some lush green golf field, but one could just as easily start a garden of cactus out in the desert.
Overall your sheet and concept are good and all I could do above was offer some insight that might provoke some reconsideration over a few parts, but your sheet is good and by all means you can take the above as suggestions rather than disqualifying factors. Apademi's accepted, so welcome to the gang!
The endless night splayed out across the sky and bared all its majesty to those beneath it. The cyclopes, children of that sky, gazed upward with reverent eyes and beheld the anvil of their maker. They knew not what dwelled at the end of those faint little stars that lit up the sky, nor thought to question it, for those things were of their father’s realm and out of reach. Instead they looked to the great meteor shower raining down upon the horizon, and they chased after it.
Between the steady groans of the earth as it shattered beneath his every footfall, Atlas proclaimed, “Make ready! Great light sent from the Father, to battle and test. The strong will crush those lights!”
Following in the giant’s footsteps, what had been a ragged and disoriented people mere hours ago found their courage and their will. Their pace increased with their determination; their wounds and dead and exile all forgotten, it became a steady march. There was enough heat burning in Atlas’ heart to fill the whole horde of them, and so it did. Fire filled their eyes, and what was only a march soon started to morph into a blind charge. But then Atlas drove his heels into the ground and came to a sudden halt. A meteor made its impact no more than a stone’s throw away, and Atlas stood still with arms outspread and eye cast upward.
What was he doing? Daring the heavens to try to strike him down? Trying to catch one of those falling stars? Preparing for an attempt to strangle the night sky itself?
There were hundreds if not thousands of meteorites in this shower, but strewn across the sky as they were, their landings were far apart and few even came close to the massed cyclopes. Synros looked at the first of his brothers standing there with unflinching resolve, and at all the others milling about in confusion, and then he shook his head.
With a steady pace, the demigod made his way to the closest of the fallen meteorites and examined the shattered heap of slag as it laid smoldering upon the ground where it had struck and broken. With one hand, he scooped up the superheated chunk (for its warmth was nothing for a cyclops’ hands of stone) and moved to carry it back to Atlas.
"Atlas, there are many trials to come, but this is not one of them,” Synros preached loud enough for all to hear. "Be at ease, for there is more to this world than battle. Look at how this fallen stone shines!”
The demigod raised his hand, and all looked at the twisted chunk of meteoric iron in awe as it gleamed in the starlight. "This is beauty and power! A gift from the heavens! A Spark of the Maker’s Anvil! These fallen stars are our heritage, and so we must gather them and claim them as our own.”
Atlas reached for the meteorite, and Synros made no effort to stop the giant from snatching the thing out of his hand. The Might of the Cyclopes stared down the tiny lump of iron, then snorted and tossed it back. The others ran off at once to chase after those meteorites that still streaked through the sky and search for the crash sites of those others that had already fallen, but Atlas entertained himself by cleaving apart a hillside and throwing boulders across the landscape.
We pick up where the last cyclops post left off, some 18 pages ago: the cyclopes had their giant crystalline spaceship crash land on Galbar, with the survivors rallying behind Synros and Atlas and then chasing after a meteor shower that seemingly came in answer to their prayers.
Atlas is the first to see the meteors and the first to react, leading them to it. But his thinking is flawed, for he interprets meteor shower as just another trial, and looks like a fool as he stands out in the night trying to battle falling rocks that never even come close to him.
Synros realizes that these are instead gifts from heaven; the cyclopes refer to them as the ‘Sparks of the Maker’s Anvil’ and begin to gather the meteorites. Atlas sulks.
No MP from Synros was spent.
Atlas prestige was 5, now 7 +1 for minor role +1 for major role
A flustered Keylock took off his spectacles and began rubbing them in a bid to stall for time, his near-blind eyes looking at the blurry outline of the dwarf (which now, to him, rather resembled a lumpy boulder) and betraying a hint at the incredulous attitude that came about when anybody questioned one going about party business. Fortunately, a smooth talker was on hand to defuse the confrontation.
Steelwin, a gentlemanly lad raised as the third son in an old-money aristocratic family back in the Kingdom, had made of himself a fairly successful paralegal. In time he expected to move up a few notches in the Red Cap Party’s bureaucratic totem pole, so to speak, especially with his uncle Delfus there to oil the gears. But for now, his youth and inexperience had held him from attaining any senior position. He was left to do the dirty work, like oversee expeditions out in the savage mountains and negotiate impromptu right-of-passage agreements with the local barbarians...
“Ho there, and good morning,” he called out to the guard as he walked a little ways up the path so as to be able to maintain a conversation without the barbarian being made to shout through his beard. “Be at ease, my good fellow, for we come not as intruders but as friends. You see, I have yet to make the acquaintance of this king, but you may rest assured that the various debris and rubbish scattered across this mountaintop was our property. Not to be troublesome, our Director has generously sent us to pick through what is left. We’ll salvage what’s to salvage and dispose of the rest; you may think of us as a clean-up crew. So come along now, surely your king and kith would not object to us sorting out this here mess? I should hope that this friendly encounter doesn’t need to turn into a prolonged litigation, but if it need be, I assure you that my knowledge concerning property rights is-“
There was a faint clink as Keylock started tossing the first of the red crystals into a small sack, taking care to add plenty of other stuff to pad it before he tried to cram in the rest...Upon feeling the stares of those around, he offered a sheepish grin and claimed, “Figured your talking was nice and all, Steelwin, but isn’t it about time we got back to work?”
I)Take diplomatic action
The gnomish explorers in the mountain let a paralegal do most of the talking. He tries to brush aside the dwarf guard through a strange concoction of disarming friendliness, deceptive claims of their presence being there in the capacity as a “cleanup crew”, dismissiveness, and finally an allusion to the threat of legal action should the party’s property rights be disrespected. Hopefully one of those arguments appeals to the dwarf and makes him bugger off while the gnomes run off with theirbrocket-fuel grade crystallized Kook-Aid.
"He said WHAT?!" Glough screamed as he grabbed Bronzeburn by the collar. Between the flying spittle and violent shaking back and forth, it was like the poor engineer was being swept away in a hurricane. The proverbial tempest was so mighty that it knocked off the engineer's hat.
Glough finally released Bronzeburn, and the terrified (and embarrassed) gnome scurried down onto the ground to reclaim his precious red cap. All the while, the Director was now turning towards his lieutenant to scream, "My pen, paper, and portable writing desk! NOW! I have a proclamation and a sentencing to make! This absurdity will end here! And have the fool dragged before me!"
Delfus and the Director's other assistants hurriedly complied with their orders while the Director raved on and on in one of his fits. Finally, an excruciating 53 seconds later, they had unfolded a table and presented him with the pen and paper. As if time itself had slowed, Delfus saw his party leader scribble gigantic letters 'H...I...G...H' and immediately, almost precognitively, such was the power of his superior gnomish brain, realized what was to come. "Wait!" Delfus cried out.
The red-faced Glough dropped the pen and turned to eye Delfus diabolically, twirling his mustache in icy anger. "You can't mean to have Treecog indicted for high treason and executed! All he did was-"
"Blatantly disobey the orders of my appointed officer and refuse to work, all over some petty qualm about quality control!"
"But that's not high treason! He didn't betray us to the birds or any of our other enemies!"
With a scoff, Glough turned back to his paper and crossed out the word he'd written. "HIGH LOW TREASON" the top of it now read. He began scrawling a summary of Treecog's crimes, for posterity and party records, before finally writing the declared punishment at the bottom of the paper. His arm moved like a whirlwind, and the entire thing was done by the time Treecog was finally dragged before them all by two burly gnomes that were formerly Royal Infantry.
The nearby procession of dwarves might have watched some of these proceedings in confusion, but the trained animal handlers diligently tried to distract them and herd them a fair distance away.
"Treecog!" the Director spun around and declared, facing the terrified prisoner with a devilish grin. "for dereliction of duty and low treason, your party membership is revoked! You are hereby exiled! Enjoy living off the land and among all the nasty wildlife and local animals, you sub-gnomish cretin!" Glough let out a satisfied sigh as the bewildered (and weeping) Treecog was prodded along and led away from the base camp.
"Now that that's been dealt with..." the Director said, wiping some imagined grime off his hands, "Delfus, I've arrived at a decision regarding these so-called 'dwarves'!"
Delfus internally sighed, expecting that he'd be told to convey orders to vivisect them so as to ensure the accuracy of the estimated Zekel-Voight-Greasegear rating. Or maybe to just have them killed.
But Glough was anything if not predictable. "With a rating of only 0.3 on the logarithmic scale, I find it unlikely that they could be capable of manipulating and controlling the birds. If anything, it seems likely that they might be manipulated by those evil birds that attacked the Red January. Time and further study will be needed to determine what to do with these dwarves. If they scored in the vicinity of a 0.15 the obvious conclusion would be that the animal trainers should try domesticating them as draft animals, any gnomish infant could see that. But here? I will not pretend to know what niche they should be put into! Let the animal handlers do as they see fit."
The disheveled Bronzeburn still hadn't left, though. Delfus saw the timid gnome and asked, "Director, what is he to do now that you've exiled the supplier for his project?"
"He can find a new one! Or hope that the expedition sent into the mountains finds something usable. I still expect results! We need more weapons!"
Still awaiting news on the expedition sent into the mountains last turn.
Glough hears about Treecog's demand that they go into the forest to find quality wood, and promptly declares him to be committing low treason for not utilizing the wood that was given. Treecog is exiled, so for his weapon-making project, Bronzeburn is left trying to either find another supplier or to make use of whatever the mountain expedition brings back.
There were clangs, scraping whines, and occasional booms as Glough’s inspectors sifted through the crates of salvaged machinery and took an inventory. Most tools of value had been evacuated from the Red January in parachute crates prior to its martyrdom at the hands of the party’s enemies. In the days since, recovering those tools had been a high priority, and by now the gnomes were confident that they’d recovered most of what had survived. All of this would come in handy, but of course many of these tools were as useless as a cave-dwelling troglodyte without the proper fuel.
The gnomes had an advanced understanding of chemics, as evidenced by their knowledge of blasting powder and their ability to harness lightning in their weaponry. But such methods of storing potential energy were considered volatile and inefficient; it was for that reason that the gnomes preferred pneumatic rifles to blasting-powder based ones, for instance. Well, that and because the recoil from a high muzzle-velocity chemic-based-explosion-driven projectile of significant mass was hard for the small gnomes for withstand.
From a pocket, Glough produced an energy crystal. The sparkling thing was a wonder of gnomish chemics and technology; they produced such crystals from a complicated procedure that involved processing semi-rare minerals. For that reason their current supply was limited and rather precious, but Glough would hear nothing of it. He inserted the gem into the slot of a jackhammer, but in a rare show of restraint, deemed such a thing excessive. Or perhaps he just decided that it was the wrong tool for the job; jackhammers were powered tools for breaking stone, and jackaxes were better for chopping wood and butchering enemies of the state.
He removed the power source from the jackhammer and then ordered an assistant to bring him one such jackaxe, then activated it and adjusted the setting to full force. Laughing as the axe-head automatically whipped back and forth at a blurring speed, he brought the tool upon the trunk of one great tree and felled the stupid thing with ease. Baby birds chirped in terror as their nest in the upper boughs came crashing down. Glough looked at the pathetic survivors with contempt, then crushed them beneath his boot. Finding a gummy mixture of blood and feathers annoying stuck to the bottom, he used attachment number 23 from his multipurpose Gnomish Army knife to flick the remnants out from the treads of his shoe. Let none say that the Director asked of his gnomes anything that he would not do himself!
“Delfus, I believe that this tree might provide sufficient timber to silence Treecog’s whining for the time being,” he did declare. He casually tossed the deactivated jackaxe to a waiting technician so that the felled tree could be debarked and cut into planks and small pieces.
“Yes, that is very well Director, but should we really use our resources so frivolously?” the official stammered.
“A display of force and power is necessary! Do not question party doctrine!”
Even as he chastised his old friend, Glough twirled his mustache in contemplation. “But I see your point,” he admitted. “Very well, now that we’ve salvaged and recovered all of the tools-“
“Well, there were a few pneumatic rifles unaccounted for...” Delfus tried to interrupt, only to be spoken over the whole time.
“...recall the teams and have then search the mountains to the south. Look for any passes through the range, and prospect the area using powered drills and jackhammers and jackshovels. We should have sufficient power crystals in storage for them to do some probing.”
“Yes, Director! A very logical move!” That had gone better than Delfus had expected, so he tapped his red cap in salute and prepared to make a hasty exit before Glough could change his mind.
But then the dwarves came. Glough’s reasonable and good mood went up in smoke at the sight of those uncouth barbarians outside his camp. Speaking of cave-dwelling troglodytes...
“How did those hideous things get into our land unseen?!” Glough demanded to one of his following sycophants. While the party officer tried to find an explanation, Glough was simmering.
“This will not do! Find me a trained animal handler! Or ten!”
“Those things might not quite be animals, Director,” Delfus turned to protest. “Observe their small stature and metal arms, the details of that one’s textiles-“
“Bah! Then find a psychologist too, and have him administer the Zekel-Voight-Greasegear Analysis of Intelligence! I would know just how sapient those foolish looking creatures are before I decide what to do with them. Have the animal handlers on standby in order to tranquilize or slay the beasts if they try anything untoward, or...or if they turn out to be the masterminds behind the evil birds of this land!”
He was confident that the Zekel-Voight-Greasegear Analysis, with its empirically-derived formula to determine levels of sapience from such observations as height, cranial volume, and political alignment would be able to provide a good guideline on just how to proceed.
By now the gnomes have recovered most tools and things of value from the wreckage of the Red January, but there’s still lots of metal etc. left.
Glough personally chops down a tree to kill some birds and get Treecog a bit of quality timber at the same time!
Action E/G: Some gnomes are sent into the mountains to explore and prospect.
In response to the arrival of the dwarves, Glough doesn’t immediately show himself. He orders animal handlers on standby while a psychologist administers the Zekel-Voight-Greasegear Analysis to determine if these dwarves are sapient by gnomish standards. If they are just animals, Glough intends to tranquilize and keep them. But if they’re too smart, he suspects they might be behind the birds’ recent attack on the Red January...
Back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, I got started with writing online on the Spore forums. Man, those were the days. We're talking like [s]12 years ago[/s] 2010-ish!
I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.
[center]Word of my splendor:[/center]
[hider=My messenger's letter][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019b0090-4706-75b9-bfe5-fd4ef6737466.webp[/img][/hider]
[hider=My fellow monarch's response][img]https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019b0090-a418-774f-a117-1ae23ac670fd.webp[/img][/hider]
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">Back when dinosaurs ruled the Earth, I got started with writing online on the Spore forums. Man, those were the days. We're talking like <span class="bb-s">12 years ago</span> 2010-ish!<br><br>I've been here on and off for almost as long, and have GM'd a bunch of different things to varying success.<br><br><div class="bb-center">Word of my splendor:</div><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="My messenger's letter">My messenger's letter [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><img src="https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019b0090-4706-75b9-bfe5-fd4ef6737466.webp" /></div></div><br><div class="hider-panel"><div class="hider-heading"><button type="button" class="btn btn-default btn-xs hider-button" data-name="My fellow monarch's response">My fellow monarch's response [+]</button></div><div class="hider-body" style="display: none"><img src="https://img.roleplayerguild.com/prod/users/019b0090-a418-774f-a117-1ae23ac670fd.webp" /></div></div></div>
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