The Harbinger of Ferocity

D&D 5e -- The Lost Children

That I imagine we all certainly look forward to, @Guardian Angel Haruki. At least I do, so that counts as a minimum of one, though thankfully I am not alone in this.

Post a random fact about yourself.

My languages consist of self-taught English, hence my peculiar way of both writing and speaking, terrible assessment of human non-verbal skills, and then my two forms of pride and joy. I do indeed speak with beasts, though my means of communing with them efficiently is strictly limited to felids. Canids I can somewhat understand, though it feels disjointed and distant. There are some deep-seated suspicions there.

Revenge of the Dragon

I shall have something of worth to add this coming morning once I am available and free. Until then, mostly off and away with business, though fortunately not for long I might note. At least not too much longer that is, especially not for the rest of the day after. If anyone has a particular in they want me to use, do let me know before then.

You Are Your Avatar

A breath of chill air crept along the ground as a fine, faint mist, one that soon began to grow in density and strength alike; before long the condensing vapor billowed into a shape, perhaps one unfamiliar, and became ethereal no more. What manifest in its wake was a looming, primal thing, which rumbled loudly when it spoke, but first not without tensing dreadful paws that dwarfed a man's chest in lone scale of each. Whatever it was, mayhap it did not belong or contrarily it very much did, namely as it revealed a bit more of itself in dialogue.

"That too all depends on just who you ask. What separates men from monsters?" The pair of barbarous eyes narrowed and the voice so continued with an underlying menace, "I was never so convinced there was any division at all."

Local, Organic, Freerange Superheroes

Douglas Song

Centerville Electric Corporation Windfarm

Answers may come from unexpected places and Song made no mistake in pursuing them where they came. The dorm room once belonged to a young girl, young at least in the sense she was straight from primary education and into college. Blonde, average in height and build, and pursuing a degree in science. What little more the man could gain was not worth recall, but Song took it as no mere coincidence that he had seen a woman by this very similar description not more than a day before. Perhaps coincidence, perhaps heavenly action, it all made no difference now. It constructed a narrative, one punctuated by the fact both women so described wore gloves, which the questioned party - a bit inebriated as he was - noted was really weird; like a weird quirk everyone eventually noticed.

For Song this confirmed his suspicions that something was afoot, but he did not end there. No, he bid his company goodbye with a simple smile and his thanks; it would have been more difficult and strange had the man not been slightly off as he was. To the outsider to the campus, it was evidence he needed and the direction came from there. Now to discern the coded messages they had sent and what better way to do that than the media itself? They had time to digest the information, now just to access it. On a college campus? A computer wasn't far, though the morality of using it without their owner's due attention was very, very grey to put it kindly. Song cared not for that either, the stakes were building higher after all; several "heroes", some seemingly antiheroes or villains at worst, a string of metaphors and secret messages, some of which were nods to other things.

Happenstance was eroding quickly and the man in scarf, hidden in plain sight here, noted the answer in short order. Tapping away slightly in his search, fingers deftly perusing the keyboard so as to not make any error in the process, the message was revealed. This created a number of problems, the most notable was that it was not too difficult to decipher and had seemingly multiple recipients intended, him apparently included. This was not just a meeting with the "me" mentioned and to assume otherwise would be folly. In fact, Song knew "me" to be "they". Pausing, coming to see his reflection in the dim screen of the room he so invited himself into, he deliberated with himself.

Was this worth it? Was finding out more, edging closer towards the truth and what darker leanings it had, worthwhile at all? The broadcaster, rather broadcasters, made it clear it was calling out others who had better time, resources, knowledge to answer this. They unquestionably would be falling in on it in short order. But if it were a trap, seemingly aimed at them, would it be wise to let them go into it alone? Song could... well, he could right some of his wrongs. That was what he had been trying to do for a time, wasn't it? It was not that they needed him, or that he needed them, but it was the right thing to do, to lend his aid in the face of a trap. Should it not be a trap, what issue would that even be then?

Sighing, closing his eyes, he set a hand upon the lid of the computer and closed it, having set it to sleep after clearing out his doings; the owner would be perhaps confused why things had so subtly changed, but none the wiser. Standing then, adjusting his clothes, he looked at himself once more in the confined room's mirror and its messy, disorganized life story strewn about.

"We will go then, together." He commented, disappearing out the door and to his concealed cache not far away, left hidden high above in scaffolding among the tools of construction workers who had secured their equipment with locks and chain.

Browsing through the bag not just for a change of clothes which he soon donned, but for a companion piece of equipment. A firearm was mostly for show, but on a windfarm and likely open terrain? He resigned himself that it might be the difference between him seeing another night or that of others. The choice however, was subtle and small, concealed among his dress, joined by a set of short and balanced blades for throwing and more sources of its ammunition. This all would suffice, Song would need it to. At that point, having shifted shapes again from nobody to his identity, he layered one last liberal use of his jacket over.

The drive there wasn't long, the cab fare not expensive, and the walk into the night the worst of it; the going into the unknown. The gate leading in was the most obvious route, perhaps the most dangerous, but it was the first place to start, especially with a sign as forward and as obvious as the "Centerville Electric Corporation Windfarm", followed by a shack, an arm-gate, and a lone, sad little light.

Post a random fact about yourself.

The majority of the time I forget just how old I am and whenever the matter of age is brought up, I need derive my own age as it is so readily forgotten. So much so I tend to forget my own date of birth and have had to develop a pattern to remember it. Perhaps the best and worst of this is, is I am not quite old.

Revenge of the Dragon

It has been done, @Caitimus, thank you.

D&D 5e -- The Lost Children

Yes, I too am quite eager for the next Dungeon Master post. I would like to see just where we are headed next with the Barnaby Brother bandits and what they know, if anything of use at all. Thus far we have one of the "Lost Children", but how many remain or what more that means we know not yet.

Post a random fact about yourself.

Speaking of movies and film, unsurprisingly The Lion King was perhaps the first one I have recall of, though I have been told I watched others in youth. With age, I have seen increasingly fewer movies, to the point I begin to forget they exist.

Your previous life.

This can only end well, so consider me interested.