Act like your avatar! - Aka the official RP

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....h..how could you get through the block filters? ..th...there's nothing inherently wr..rrong with being a cuck...
 
FELLOW KIWI'S, DOES THOU SEEK TO HAVE A DIGITAL QUESTS OF YORE EXPERIENCE IN THESE OH SO TRYING TIMES
 
[Grunt]

Translation:
While i am fascinated by your thesis that our food consumption devices cleanliness and the state resetting process responsibilities rest with the persom whom I am gesturing at, it is my position that the ontological basis of your assertion is flawed and that it is, by virtue of the state of social norms in fact your duty as my dimorphic mirror to see this task brought to fruition.
 
ADITLOW - A Day In The Life Of Wraith - - I don't like to carry heavy things.

Below: - Geez, Wraith, like hearing yourself speak much?!
I'm a mage, a wizard, tech mage, summoner, whatever you want to call someone that can do what I do, but don't call me a sorcerer. I won't get into it, but I don't like that. And don't give me any harry pooter stuff either. I'm not one of them.

What does this mean? Well stereotypes exist for a reason. I'm what the kids call a glass cannon. You know how in a real military you have those boys at the back with real big artillery guns that fire massive distances, but have no protection? They can shell areas and ruin their day, but without protection it's not much of an effort to wipe them out. Imagine that on a scale you don't understand, with abilities I refuse to reveal... yet. I'll get out of this dungeon sooner or later. I made it to level four... but I digress.

I've dealt with a lot of types in my day. I don't like the people who are removed from the battle much. You know the types, the elite, effete people in charge, or privileged little shites with daddies that buy them expensive hand bags to cover up the fact their nose looks like a bad impressionist art project from someone on mescaline. They look down on people struggling, see them as dogs, and wonder why those people just can't live up to their artificial standards as they make decisions for others that could cost the lives and livelihoods of so many. But as long as you have your made up standards and rules that you keep a hold of to the point you white knuckle it when confronted with reality, you don't have to do the vulgar thing as look down from your vaunted position and see people you think are trash as equals to you even though they don't have your gifted lifestyle. I swear I'm only a little bitter.

You see I've known since a child, and also through personal experience that the guys up front, and they are almost all guys, the ones that have to get their hands dirty, they need to be respected. Unlike some people with an extra hole between their legs who get respect and adoration for merely existing, these people, and there are some women, a few, their actions, their sweat, their blood speaks for them. They don't need to rise to the occasion of your bitterness because deep inside you know they are doing the work you are incapable of, or in some cases can, but you don't want to leave your air conditioned lifestyle to pull yoru own weight. I swear I'm only somewhat bitter.

So my boys... yeah my boys and girls, I use them, but I respect them. They do have souls. They are allies. I won't go into the details of that, but they have weight- weight in my life. When one is killed, I feel it. It's not fun. I don't understand how someone can divorce someone or treat someone like filth that they have to divorce you or leave your friendship so easily. I'm so old and yet it still astounds me. Maybe somewhere deep inside my black heart I still function on a level I don't understand.

Many of you know how fantasy combat works for your games, your pitiful entertainment. Heavily armored and armed forces in the front. Healers and glass cannons such as myself in the back with sometimes guards to protect the weaker of the crew. It's not magic science. But let me tell you a few things. One thing are my healers: they're not dainty little shites. This isn't some thing where they stay several dozen yards away and summon the Lord's power and the guys up front become magically delicious again. They have to be there, right there, and risk decapitation, injuries, suffering to help out their buddies. Like the New Testament stories, most of the time they have to physically touch their subject to heal them. I know sometimes there are other things where healing... we're quiet about that. But my crew at the end of the day, after a long trek, we're covered in blood, lots of blood, and a lot of it our own. Don't think we haven't gotten drunk a few times on the concept that we're bleeding everywhere and we're still going strong after a few doses of healing. Where did the replacement blood come from? You, you don't question some things.

Anyhow you can see it, the desperation, the concern when my clerics, my priests, those that can't carry loads of heavy armor yet are there, right there, healing our boys. They're not hiding on the other side of the hallway wearing fox ears floating int he air from their own flatulence pretending they make a difference simply for existing. If they are not on the ball, that samurai, that ninja, that lord, that fighter, whose arm is barely holding on by a few shreds of flesh could come off, blood everywhere, the thin line between them and a bunch of "heroes" who think they're obligated to take us down. Filth in bright colors. Okay, so maybe I'm bitter.

With that preface, (shut up, I'm old. I talk a lot. I have a lot to say.) With that preface, I tell you this:

A while back something interesting happened, well something out of the ordinary for a guy who has ninjas and kobolds and creeping coins and such serving him. Some... liquid shite decided to bring in a ringer to take us down. It was one of the most contrived things I had ever seen, but it wasn't a pushover. It was this half chinese girl squid thing. It was moronic, but really tough. Imagine a squid huge enough to fill a corridor in some of the tighter areas of the dungeon with a flat chested chinese girl as the center, the brain of the operation. Short ugly black hair. (The shortness was ugly, not the color.) Face dead from lack of heart, lack of soul. I'd swear it was a combination of some other genetics, but I don't know. There was something really cold and heartless about it, gray, lifeless, dull, dead... iron.

My boys and I encountered this thing. This was a while ago and a lot of my guys weren't as tough as they are now. We were in pretty good shape. Three groups of nine guys and me. One was ninjas, another just regular fighters, the types of characters that would star in a JRPG, and backing them up were clerics, priests. Accompanying the squid was no more than nine groups of six heroes. They were ready for us. Outnumbered with a crazy flat chested squid thing. This wasn't going to be fun.

What can I say? We went full tilt boogie on them. I threw everything I had to bolster my guys, weaken the enemy and then pepper those heroes with as much hellfire as I could. Very quickly I was drained. (Remember this was a while ago, a long while ago so I wasn't as strong either.) It got to the point where I couldn't help out anymore, so one of the priests waves me to fall back a bit and they would do their best. My assistance worked. That nasty amount of odds was mitigated and these heroes were dropping through much resistance one by one. After the heroes started to get pushed, the squid bitch started to push back. The bitch pushed back hard. Our advantage turned into a stalemate right fast.

I stepped back around the corner of the dungeon out of view to look through what I was carrying to see if I could be of any more help. I only know what happened from after the battle from reports from my guys. They didn't kill it. Yeah it might be female but with a chest that flat it might as well be an extra in an old kung fu movie ready to attack the male protagonist in 1974. Hell, that female... thing might as well be used as monster child pron with a chest so bad it could have been concave. You know somebody will make images of her in a catholic school girl's uniform. Yeesh. Dude, nothin' from nothin' us nothin'. I found nothing in my stuff and felt... worried. I felt a real worry that I might lose my guys. It was a worry not just of losing progress in working my way out of this damnable dungeon, but I felt a real bond with some of them. When your summons can speak back and talk about subjects not just about fighting, they are more than some constructs for self defense. This isn't a game for me, you know.

I stayed in that hallway waiting for the conclusion to the fight for what seemed like forever. My heart would not stop pounding. Out of the blue I had one of my gut feelings. This one was strong. I needed something just in case. I looked around and found an old cheap sword some soldier had dropped after he died a long time ago. It was in the back of my stash I was carrying. How could I not notice? Hey, this cloak carries a lot of stuff.

A sword, a cheap 25 gold piece sword manufactured so much they could be toothpicks for how common they are. I pulled it out and felt the weight in my right hand. I am not cut out for this. That I felt deep inside as I held it, but my gut feeling, that warning subsided. It's then when I heard my guys yelling. They were calling out to me to look out. I found myself leaning against the dungeon wall and looked to my right just as a "hero" managed to make around the corner from the left. He looked young, mid-20s. Light skinned. Old enough to have seen some trouble in his days but too young for this. Guy hadn't shaved in a few days, but he could pass for much younger. Outfit in decent armor he raised his sword slightly, swallowed hard and charged me. He was carrying the same type of sword I had picked up.

Don't look at me. I'm not a fighter. I can't tell you I'm some miracle warrior or some such. That damn sword was heavy. He came at me and the only thing I could do was follow my gut. He came at me, I dodged right and as I dodged I managed to get that sword into his gut. He cried out loudly. I've never heard a man scream like that before.

The guy staggered like one step and fell back. You could see the energy just leave him instantly as he fell, like something grabbed him from behind and yanked him down. Must have been on his last HP and thought he could sack the quarterback. I looked down. My sword went right under his armor plating. I know that type, it's not cheap for new heroes to buy. It's like 1500 gold pieces. On his back on the floow he could barely move, blood coming out of the wound rapidly. He wasn't going to get up again without help from his buddies who could heal. He locked eyes with me and we both knew what I had to do. I sighed, grabbed the sword and finished him off, quickly. I became coldly mercantile for a second, calculating how much we could get for his visible equipment, but I became distracted. That sword I used, it was heavier, much heavier.

I leaned back against the wall again, I needed to. I was exhausted from extending myself at the beginning of the battle and that little incident was too close for comfort. Whatever just drained me further, I felt really off. Felt my black heart beating rapidly for a moment. I could hear the sounds of battle continue, but that sword caught my attention. Covered in blood, it started to drip onto the floor of the dungeon. I swear to you, and I don't give promises or swear often, unlike others I take that stuff very seriously, every drop of blood that came off that sword felt like the weight of a man dropping from the blade. I didn't like it, but I felt like... like... I don't know what I felt like, but I had to feel it.

This continued for a few moments as I caught my breath, but could tell I was still weakened. It's then when the adrenaline wore off. The little puke got me. My whole left side was covered in my blood. I'm a mage, not a healer, dammit. And I used up all my miracles for a while. Was this it?

About a solid minute later as the pain was starting to overtake me, I started to slide down the side of the wall I was leaning against slowly. My boys started to come back around the corner. They looked like hell. I tried looking them over and could only eke out one question. "Did we lose any?"
My boy who would be called Macho shook his head slowly. "You put us over the edge. We did them up good. Only two heroes and that monster escaped. We paid for every inch though."
"What the hell was that thing?" I heard one of the priests say as another two started to lift me up and tend to my injury.
"I heard them call it the Woo Woo Train or something at one point," one of my fighters said. "That ugly thing wasn't human."
"It was part human," the priest would be promoted much later into a Lord said. "The problem is, I'm not sure which part. I saw it change color a few times during battle. the back part, not the girl part."
I felt my flesh stitching together and let out an audible groan. "How you guys doin'?"
"Could use a touch up. We can't handle anything but lightweights until we get replenished," Macho says.
I looked down at the sword. Another drop of blood. The weight of one drop was so severe it almost snapped my right wrist from it. What was I experiencing?
"You want us to strip the dead?" another fighter asked me.
It took me a moment to catch my breath as my flesh continued to heal. "All except this one."
"Boss?" the same fighter asks worriedly.
i didn't have an answer for him.

We came back home with quite a haul, but for some reason it didn't feel like a day to celebrate. I kept the sword. Didn't even clean it off so the blood that was left dried on the blade. I put it on a frame somewhere in my hidden abode in level 4. It's near a fireplace. Don't ask. Winter gets cold. I don't carry hand weapons with me usually. Not a good idea. I'm tougher now. The guys are tougher and there's more of them. It's a risk relying on my spiritual abilities alone, but what is, is.

I weighed the blade when no one was around. three pounds even. ... Hmm. Why does that number follow me like so many... whatever. What do I carry instead of the sword? Yeah I just picked it up during that time, but I had carried other things too back then and still have a small collection of weapons just in case. You know, if one of my guys breaks their gear or something or whatever, we're prepared. Well you see a long sword, this cheap 25 gold piece long sword takes up a lot of space inside my cloak. I fill the space with bags of candy now. Seriously. Don't look at me like that. Mike and Ike, Hot Tamales... what? They replenish my spiritual powers and remind me of a simpler time. ... They don't weigh as much as that sword did carrying it on the way home, that's for sure.

If you want to know the price of a man's soul, God can tell you that. If you want to know much a drop of blood weighs, I've felt it. The moment you do too you'll understand things.
...
And sometimes when my guys are really good I share my candy with them. You should see the smiles on their faces...
[\spoiler]
 
The innsmouth investigator is on the case and don't worry about the fishy smell, you'll get used to it by now.
 
Oi! You there! Which one of you blokes is Sir Danvers Carew? I've got a little present for you, mate.
 
Fhtagn, mg fhtagn, sigmund ph'nglui fhtagn h' wgah'nagl ph'nglui y'ha-nthlei

Iä! Iä! Hydra, Iä! Iä! Dagon
 
"Alice, I've got something I've always wanted to tell you."

"What is it, Marisa? Let me hear it..."

"I'm hot for Kourin. We get married tomorrow."
 
*Takes notes upon inspecting the normal kiwi* Most interesting, I might probably need further info upon this creature.
 
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