Welcome to my Success House- the thread where I post finished code/sheets that work and look cool. For conversation, rough tests, and broken scrapped content, visit my Test House. This is more of a curated collection of my favourites, along with a few comments.
Please don't copy the code here without asking me first + crediting me somewhere- I might say no. Templates you are free to use can be found here- most things here are designed to only really work with the content in them.
[break][break] In much the same way as we have our own 'inner voice', Alvis can bring his inner voice into the minds of others, essentially talking from inside their head. It is important to note that this is different from a hallucination; his voice is clearly different to any external sounds, and its source being something internal is evident even from the first word. His voice isn't heard, exactly- rather, it is experienced... and, for that reason, he makes a habit of letting people know what's going on when he talks. Having someone else's thoughts ring out through your mind can be a little off-putting at first, and Alvis doesn't like being off-putting. [break][break] The voice is pleasant, at least, sounding exactly as one would expect Alvis's 'real' voice to sound like, if he had one. This usually makes him seem a little less unsettling. [break][break] He can speak to one person individually, or to everyone within what would otherwise be hearing distance. If he has already established a connection with a person, however, the distance at which they can communicate increases dramatically; Alvis can talk to someone several blocks down, if the connection between them is particularly strong. [break][break] The Silent Voice is Alvis' main method of communication, as most people he comes across are not fluent in sign language.
[break][break] Alvis can implant thoughts and assumptions into people's minds, simply by willing it. [break][break] These thoughts will appear to be both true and coming from an internal source (i.e. not implanted by Alvis) at first. However, they tend to not remain this way for long after the initial manifestation. An affected person is free to dismiss the thought just as they would dismiss any other, as long as they have the presence of mind to do so. [break][break] Alvis ensures that, whenever this is used in a clinical setting, the patients affected are alert and awake, and talks them through all of it- before, during, and after the procedure. Implanting thoughts in unknowing (or unwilling) people's minds, no matter how technically harmless, is far too morally grey for him to even consider. Though he does use this in therapy, he only does so with patient consent. A negative cycle of thoughts can be broken if new ones are introduced, he believes, but he isn't going to use his patients as guinea pigs on which to test this theory. [break][break] He already knows the results, after all.
[attr="class",AlvisTitle]The Beacon of Tranquility..
[break][break] Alvis carries with him a calming presence, and can strengthen this presence at will. [break][break] At its usual, passive level, the effects are only slight; those in his presence are unlikely (but not unable) to feel any extreme emotion, and are generally quite a bit more calm than they would be elsewhere. People tend to feel at-ease around him because of this, which (as you can imagine) is quite helpful, considering his line of work. He is aware that a passive aura of peace can cloud his patients' judgement sometimes, however, and he offers sessions over text if either he or the patient feel as though this is going to be an issue. [break][break] With focus, the aura can be strengthened to be far more noticeable. It feels numbing, at high strength- people have described feeling dull and almost completely emotionless when affected like this. Furthermore, if Alvis focuses it enough, then, as long as he's not met with enough resistance, he can put people to sleep. Needless to say, he doesn't do this unless absolutely necessary. The passive aura is usually more than enough. [break][break] Though he seldom uses it, the inverse of this ability is also something he can harness. Alvis can amplify the emotional state of a person as much as he can dull it, though he has no control over what emotions this manifests as- he is only able to alter the levels of what is already there, not change it. As such, it is considered too much of a liability to use in self-defense.
[break][break] To Alvis, the human mind is like a series of locked cabinets. If someone hands him the keys to one of these cabinets, he can look at the thoughts and memories within. [break][break] This ability requires explicit and constant consent for it to work- and not just for ethical reasons. It is very easy for someone to deny access to their internal thoughts, especially ones they have locked away, and resisting this ability is far easier than resisting the others. Anyone can do it, if they know he's in there. [break][break] Strangely enough, this ability doesn't work all that well for people with particularly abnormal minds or spirits. Aliens, gods, eldritch horrors, and other things of that nature have a different sort of 'code' in their minds that Alvis is unable to parse. In many cases, trying to decipher what these memories mean gives him a headache, and produces a high-pitched whine in the back of the being's mind that grows in volume until they shut him out. [break][break] Perhaps due to this ability, or perhaps due to the psychic nature of all of his abilities, Alvis is completely resistant to all kinds of psychic influence. The cabinets in his own mind are firmly shut, and anything that tries to access or change them will react the same way as Alvis does when he's unable to parse an entity's mind- they will receive a splitting headache, and Alvis will hear that high-pitched whine until they stop.
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[attr="class",AlvisTitle]The Good Doctor..
[break][break] Name: Dr. Alvis Holt. [break] Age: 80, approximately. [break] Gender: Male. [break] Nationality: Danish/British. [break] Occupation: Psychiatric therapist. [break][break] Alvis is a licensed therapist who runs the Hope's Garden therapy centre in Millennium City. He is a kind and peaceful man, determined to use his abilities to help those around him and better the world in whatever way he can, namely by offering specialised therapy and psychiatric help to those affected by metahumans and the state of the world around them. As a metahuman himself, he offers a particular kind of understanding to these plights, and is able to help in ways that someone without his gifts would find impossible. [break][break] Though he is physically mute, he is able to communicate to others through these gifts, 'speaking' as a silent voice in their heads, though he is also fluent in American, British, and Danish sign language as well. No matter how he speaks, Alvis usually comes across the same to everyone; a polite, soft-spoken individual, with a calm disposition and overall good intentions, even if he is a little secretive sometimes. [break][break] Alvis is a very private man. Though his job is to help others confront their demons, it is often speculated that he has demons of his own that he has long since neglected.
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(Please click on the buttons from top to bottom.) [break] IMAGE SOURCE
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Everyone's favourite normal man. I went through hell to get this to work.
[attr="class",MiniSheetContent]Whilst he may be best known as a police overseer in the districts of Hiveholm, there is another notable period of Quinn's career that is a little less public. He spent a few years working in the Core Labour Facility, watching over the inmates and enforcing the strict rules of the establishment with a somewhat more elevated brand of his usual neurotic perfectionism. [break][break] It is likely that the worsening of these tendencies was what drove him to return to a surface job, but there is little evidence to confirm this. What is clear, however, is that Quinn thoroughly despised his time working in the Core, and appears to be just as afraid of returning there himself as those he apprehends are. Still, those who are aware of his sordid history tend to treat him with a little more caution than most. Though he may appear to be just another melancholic enforcer, his connection to the hidden atrocities of Hiveholm make his occasional outburst of fury all the more dangerous.
[attr="class",MiniSheetContent]Though his sphere of influence may be rather small, you would be hard pressed to find anyone within who doesn't have something to say about Quinn Sawyer. As the appointed Bee overseer of a moderately sized Yellowjacket squad, he is known throughout the areas he patrols as an uptight and miserable man whos only redeeming quality is the irregularity with which he carries out his job. Quinn has sometimes been noted to walk right past certain openly criminal actions to save him having to deal with them- most often at the end of his shift when he would clearly much rather go home. [break][break] None of this has been reported, of course. For one, his selective blind eye has saved many a citizen from forced re-education, and... well, if he was to be reported, he would probably come down pretty hard on whoever blew the whistle. That's not something anyone wants. [break][break] For as disinterested as Quinn appears for the most part, there is the odd occasion where he actually takes his job seriously- and perhaps a bit too far. Nobody knows what exactly will send him flying off the handle. Sure, there are certain things that usually correlate--he absolutely despises uncleanliness, for example--but sometimes it appears as though he would explode into violent rage over absolutely nothing at all. The Hornets in his squad know to keep their distance whenever he seems a bit off, but there have been many a time where a minorly felonious citizen wouldn't have got the memo- and would have got a far more severe and immediate punishment than they were expecting. [break][break] In his private life, Quinn is pretty much how one would expect him to be: a quiet, private man with unchecked trauma and an almost disordered obsession with cleanliness. He has very few friends, though many lower-ranking Bees look up to him as a shining example of... something. Knowing them, it's probably one of arrogance. Knowing him, they're probably just as delusional as he... was. As he was. [break][break] Ah, where were we? [break][break] Bees of his position are not issued a Stinger or a Royal Halberd, but that doesn't mean he's not armed. Quinn carries with him a long pole-axe with a large head bearing an intricate design- the folded wings of a butterfly, with a blade on the outer border and clear, refractive crystal filling in the gaps. The distinctiveness of this weapon is where he got his nickname, the Glasswing Overseer, from, but he never mentions where the weapon is from. [break][break] He... well, he never mentions a lot of things, actually. He never mentions the weapon, nor how he got to his position so quickly, nor where he was during a mysterious five-year gap in his service. Ah, that's another thing to avoid if you'd rather not be on the receiving end of that pole-axe- Quinn doesn't take too kindly to people who ask questions. [break][break] He doesn't take too kindly to people at all.
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(Hover over the sidebar and the image for more information.) [break][break] Art by Sinbaru. [break] Icons from The Noun Project:[break] Person by Clockwise [break] Calendar by Alice Design [break] Gender Neutral by Patrick McDonnell [break] Bee by Ben Davis
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Simple business card sheet. Gave me more trouble than it's worth, but I still like the result.
[attr="class",NeonFrontLowerPara]Project CAIN was a success. A walking armoury with an advanced AI, both capable of feats the human mind cannot begin to comprehend. He was a cop, once, under a different name. It didn't last. Instance "NOVA" had a shell that was too weak, too human to contain the network within. Instance "UNKNOWN" is far more... adaptable.
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[attr="class",NeonFrontTopRight]■ The unrelenting nexus[break] ■ Beyond the limits of man[break] ■ Technopath[break] ■ Ever-living intelligence
[newclass=.AlaricVariables]/*THESE ARE THE VALUES YOU CAN CHANGE! (do not remove the slashes and asterisks)
NOTE: I'd recommend sticking to portrait-oriented images, since they're less likely to be cut off. If the image is being cut off, then go to the AlaricImage class and add/change the background positioning there. Check the div guide for how to do that, the link is in my (Reyn's) signature.
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[attr="class",AlaricSideTitle]⠀The Gilded Hermit
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⠀🜚⠀SURFACE
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[attr="class",AlaricContentTitle]The Being
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyQuote]"If you need an introduction, you should get it from someone else. At least that way you might get a bounty out of it."
[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize] You'd be hard-pressed to find a soul in Upper Ward who hasn't heard of Alaric Byrne. A mysterious and thoroughly unpleasant nobleman, he moved to Praach somewhat recently following the death of foreign Lord, Sullivan Moreau, to whom he was the sole heir. At present, he lives alone in Moreau's Highroad manor, where the old Lord would reside when doing business in the port city. [break][break] Like his predecessor, Alaric is moreso known for his talent than his wealth. He is an incredibly skilled musician—some would say a genius—and a great many nobles in Praach have seen him in concert. As such, he has become the topic of much discussion among young socialites, though he outwardly abhors the attention.
[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyQuote]"I despise the concept of a written legacy. Mine shall persist only as notes on a stave, lest its next chapter be penned in blood."
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize] A tiefling born with golden horns is a rarity, but far from undocumented. Nobody really knows why it happens. Some theorise that it's an inherited trait which remains dormant for generations, others believe it to be a gift from the gods bestowed upon the destined, but neither of those particularly matter when it actually occurs. No, when a child with these traits is discovered, their parents only view the reason as one thing: a stroke of good fortune. [break][break] Perhaps due to their rarity—or, most likely, due to their extravagant appearance—golden-horned tieflings are a popular novelty among the upper class, and are highly valued as servants. Therefore, when Alaric's parents first noticed the gold tint to his newly-grown horns, he never saw them again. [break][break] He was sold to a Lord named Sullivan Moreau; an eccentric socialite once famous for his musical prowess, before a duel (or so he claimed) cost him his right hand. His mansion was the largest and most extravagant in the mountain kingdom of L'avrynn, but none of that ever translated into better conditions for his servants. Moreau made sure of that. He was a deeply cruel man, despite his jovial façade; as cold as the mountains that enshrined the manor walls. Labour was hard and often completely unnecessary, with any perceived missteps punishable by what ultimately amounted to torture. The Lord seemed feverishly determined to ensure that life for his servants within the manor was a thousand times harder than whatever last-resort poorhouse they had chosen him over. [break][break] Moreau was a man utterly enraptured by regret. [break][break] Under these conditions, Alaric became despondent and isolated, refusing to talk to the other servants unless absolutely necessary. His work was much the same as theirs, only he was always the one sent out to serve at those parties that seemed to be thrown in hellish perpetuity in the banquet hall. He hated those parties. Even then, when he was too young to understand why, Alaric hated those damned parties. The way he was paraded around like a living statue, serving food and drink to people who looked at him with sickening jealousy- not of him, but of Moreau, for owning such a pristine specimen. [break][break] It was at one such party that everything changed for Alaric. Moreau's estranged daughter, Blanche, had arranged to meet with her father against the will of her mother, and was sitting at the banquet table surrounded by his usual crowd of nobles. She was still rather young; only a few years older than Alaric, who was around fifteen at the time. She seemed to share that deep disgust for those around her, though something about her seemed to suggest that, unlike him, she knew what was going on. Blanche regretted coming here, much to the delight of her father. Alaric couldn't blame her. [break][break] Eventually, she left the banquet hall, excusing herself to wander around the manor for a bit. Though Moreau seemed happy to let her go, that mask dropped as soon as she left the door- he immediately called Alaric to his side and instructed him to go out and find her. Alaric, of course, complied. [break][break] He found her in a room towards the back; a disused music room, with dozens of expensive instruments out on display. The room's grand centrepiece was an ornate piano that faced the window, at which Blanche was sitting, playing a melancholy tune so quietly that only she could hear it. She was startled as he stepped through the door. Again, Alaric couldn't blame her. He didn't want to send her back to that room with those people, with those whispers, with those looks. So, instead, he silently pulled up a chair and sat down next to her at the piano. [break][break] "Would you like to play?" [break][break] The question seemed so insignificant at the time. A friendly offer from a kindred soul, just to lift their spirits for a few moments- nothing more. Alaric accepted, though he needed guidance. Blanche was happy to provide. Seamlessly, wordlessly, she guided his hands across the keys to play the song; quietly, at first, but slowly growing louder and louder as Alaric learned to stray from her guidance. After a mere few minutes, she sat back, realising that she no longer needed to provide assistance. Alaric was a prodigy, if such a word was even enough to describe him. When the piece was over, he was greeted with delighted applause... from two different people. [break][break] Moreau was at the door. There was no telling how long he had been standing there for, but he had clearly heard enough. Alaric wished he was angry. Anger was momentary, predictable; anger would've meant punishment, then a return to how things were before. Moreau wasn't angry. He was enamoured.
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyQuote]"Music was the first thing that mattered. Perhaps it should also be the last. Wouldn't that be poetic?"
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It was strange at first, being his favourite. At the time, Alaric didn't know why the other servants felt more pity than envy. After all, whilst they were out doing their miserable duties, he was sitting in the music room with Moreau, learning how to play each and every instrument there was, all the while recieving friendly correspondence from the Lord's daughter- how was that a worse way to live? For a short while, Alaric retained his blissful naïveté. For an even shorter while, he retained his bliss. [break][break] It wasn't gradual. Moreau didn't do gradual. Even the lessons themselves became strange and twisted- Alaric wasn't treated like a person, but as an extension of the body of that hateful Lord, as a capable pair of hands to play whatever motions he missed from his prime. When he wasn't being showered with backhanded vicarious praise, he was being punished for Moreau's misguided envy. How could this servant boy be more talented than he? How could he learn so quickly, when all he had known was poverty and malaise? [break][break] And, so, they continued; a ten-year dance of hatred and admiration, of rage, of envy, of raucous applause. As much as he despised his position at the Lord's side, Moreau had granted him one good thing: he was no longer a spectacle for his horns, but for his hands. At those parties, he would be instructed to play music, instead of merely serve the guests. He wasn't a servant anymore. He was Alaric Byrne-Moreau, prodigal student of the great Sullivan Moreau. He was a musician, and he was that bastard's whole legacy. [break][break] Why wouldn't he make the most of a situation like that?
[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyQuote]"If only their sins were known; then, any fool would call me Justice."
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize]Whilst most may know of Alaric's seething hatred for his teacher, very few know what came of it. Towards the end of Moreau's life, disaster seemed to follow him wherever he went. Alaric followed too, of course. It never once clicked that the two were so intricately connected. [break][break] His daughter was the first to fall. She had been invited over for a private concert, on Alaric's request, since she was the one to introduce him to the art- something which he took great pleasure in reminding Moreau of, whenever he got too arrogant. He played for her in the music room, insisting that the two be alone for some time. She spoke to him, as she had been for a while. The culmination of years of impassioned letters, of a love story that had played out so far beneath the surface of his life that he had barely even noticed it was there. Blanche had noticed, though. She couldn't do anything but notice. [break][break] Moreau had sent assassins after his own daughter, she told him, ever since they started writing to each other. She had to move so many times- that was why she couldn't visit, that was why she hadn't written in a while, that was why she was so hesitant to come here now, despite everything, despite Alaric. She wanted to run away with him. Of course. [break][break] Upon hearing this, Alaric stood up. He stopped playing, closing the lid of the piano down over the keys, and held out his hand towards Blanche. From then, they danced; alone, in silence, with only their own reassuring whispers to guide them. She was a far better dancer than he, far more practiced than the prodigal hermit in her arms. A decade spent hiding, spent fighting those her father had sent against her, all of it had made her stronger. [break][break] Still, it wasn't enough.
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyQuote]"To act from rage is to commit yourself to failure. To plan from rage, however, is to commit yourself to victory."
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The next to fall, in part, were Moreau's outer circle; friends of friends, people whose only connection to the Lord was monetary. Moreau barely spoke to them. To him, they were just more seats at the table to make his gatherings seem more lavish, and they were more hands at his concerts to add to the applause. Indeed, just as they were dealt with so indirectly by the Lord, so too were they dealt with by fate. They weren't all taken, of course. If that many people with such importance met such a terrible fate in such short time, there would obviously be a few questions to ask. So, it seemed only wise to pierce them with whispers, not blades; that way, the only question one could ask was why this didn't happen any sooner. [break][break] Following the tragic demise of his daughter, Moreau leaned even further into his hedonistic vices, and his crowd of miserable sycophants were quick to stoop to his level. In no short time, Alaric, the faithful and ever-present servant, became privy to certain happenings that never should have happened in the first place, let alone be intruded upon by an outsider. He made a vow not to tell, of course; and his word, of course, was gold. [break][break] It's hard to pinpoint exactly which card fell first, when the whole house fell so quickly. Rumours merged with the truth, history merged with the myth, and, before long, the nobility of L'avrynn were at each others throats with the ferocity one would expect from ever-warring kingdoms. When the murders finally broached the apparent sanctity of Moreau's manor, as a guest was stabbed to death during a banquet, he finally stopped hosting these events. It was all too dangerous- not just for his safety, but his reputation as well. What if they spoke of what he was doing as well? Moreau's name was hardly the cleanest, but up until now he had enjoyed the silence that wealth had brought. Now the silence had been broken, how could he risk having people around to watch? [break][break] His only solace came from his student. Alaric went about his work in almost complete silence, only ever talking to him; and, even then, he mostly just gave sarcastic retorts. He was far from a gossip. He could be trusted- far more than these self-interested nobles trying to clear their names by dragging others down with them. Alaric barely had a name of his own to clear. [break][break] Moreau decided to give him his.
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyQuote]"Perhaps, I were a better man, I'd be chronicled as a hero... although, if I were a better man, I'd be dead by now."
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In an ideal world, the last to fall would be Moreau's inner circle. Unfortunately, they weren't foolish enough to stick by his side during all of this; they saw the writing on the wall as soon as their inferiors started eating each other, and decided to cut ties. Moreau was only able to convince a few to attend a private concert, and even then, it was a struggle to get them to arrive. They all brought bodyguards, of course, though those guards were easily distracted- not quite enough to stop serving their masters right away, but enough to be persuaded away for a few moments to speak with Alaric away from prying eyes. [break][break] They were like him, you see; servants to the rich, exploited by the very monsters they had sworn an oath to protect. All it took was few words about inheritance, about the impossible wealth written in the will of this madman, much of which could fall into their hands if they turned a blind eye and let fate run its course. [break][break] All Alaric had to do was sit there and play.
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyQuote]"Should I fear what I have become? Should I despise the fact I became just as voracious as he?"
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He dragged Moreau out from the burning concert hall, his own hands causing more blistering heat than the flames ever could. They both knew this was not an act of mercy. They both knew it couldn't be. Moreau's wounds were deep and wide, covering most of his body as the gold hardware of his robe melted into his skin. Even if he did survive, infection would kill him soon enough. Even if it didn't, the cold would get to him sooner. [break][break] Alaric lay his body down in the snow, hoping that the cold against his burning flesh would be the last bit of satisfaction that miserable bastard would ever feel in his life- but, oh, it wasn't that simple. Moreau was smiling, you see. Alaric couldn't tell as he was carrying him outside, but, now that he was lying down to face him, he could see it, clear as day. He was enjoying this; somehow, that twisted old monster was enjoying this. Alaric reared back like a startled snake, hissing insults under his breath as the Lord lay dying, before he was stopped by a trembling arm beckoning him closer. [break][break] "My hand, Alaric." [break][break] The tiefling said nothing. [break][break] "It's been thirty years since I've lost it, you know, almost to the day- and not a day goes by that I don't think about it. It's quite hard to ignore, and, I must say, you've only served to make that worse. Watching you play the things I used to play, do the things I used to do, feel the things I used to feel... oh, Alaric, it makes me sick. You know it makes me sick, don't you? Do you know what happened to my hand?" [break][break] He laughed. That son of a bitch laughed. [break][break] "I cut it off myself." [break][break] Of course. Of course he had- Alaric could've told you that six years ago, but that didn't make it sting any less. Moreau didn't just view Alaric as a second self, he was using him as a way to remind himself of his own sick, hedonistic regret. Well, he didn't need to say anything else on the matter. In a fit of rage, the first outburst of his that ever turned immediately violent, Alaric strode over to the Lord's grinning face, ramming the point of his boot-heel into his skull like a gilded chisel.
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyQuote]"Wealth brings power, power brings silence, and silence brings freedom. Was it not freedom for which I have longed all this time?"
[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyQuote]"Magic is, by its very nature, a tool for the underhanded; using it defies the Gods themselves. I find it fascinating."
[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize] To the untrained ear, Alaric is all but incapable of telling a lie. His proficiency in both persuasion and deception err on the supernatural, though they rarely cross that line. Invoking the use of magic to bolster his words is a feat he can attain, but performing such magic is illegal, and the cost of being discovered often far outweighs the benefits. It's a risky move, and it's not one he makes frequently or without caution. Besides, his natural charisma is enough to get by most of the time, despite his icy demeanour. [break][break] Such proficiency has granted him certain magical immunities; Alaric cannot be charmed or frightened, and possesses a strong resistance to psychic damage.
[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize] Alaric can summon a glimmering doppelgänger of himself that appears to be made of living gold, and can move it if it were an extension of his own body. The Puppet cannot speak, nor harness any of its master's abilities, though it makes up for this by being far stronger and heavier than he could ever be. By the same magic that allows its metal body to move as if it were human, it is able to shift its body into more advantageous forms; usually by morphing its arms into long, elegant blades. It is resistant to physical damage, but weak to magical damage, though it can be susceptible to both. Incidentally, its masters weaknesses are exactly the opposite, as he possesses a resistance to magical damage, but is vulnerable to physical attack.
[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize] A fluid, shifting metal, able to form itself into any imaginable structure, according to Alaric's will. The secret to its fluidity is rather mundane; the metal is heated up to melting point before it is manipulated, and can instantly be cooled down by the same process. When hardened, it behaves just as any other metal would; protective when formed as an armour, sharp when formed as a blade. Alaric cannot summon a limitless quantity of this metal, as much as he would like to. He is only able to summon enough to form one basic weapon, and one piece of armour, though its versatility and ability to be moved at will more than make up for this limitation. The metal, naturally, appears as shimmering gold, and usually manifests as a delicate rapier, as Alaric is a trained and skilled fencer.
[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize] Alaric's body can be heated and cooled at will, with the most extreme temperature shifts manifesting in his palms. At its hottest, his hands can melt through steel, severely burn the skin, and even start a fire, when provided with burnable fuel. At its coldest, they can freeze a torrent, cause extreme frostbite on direct contact, and can cause potential hypothermia, if he's able to hold on for long enough. It's difficult for him to retain these temperatures for very long, however, due to the inevitable dissipation of heat. It may be easy for him to reach these extremes momentarily, but it takes a hell of a lot out of him to maintain it. [break][break] To be able to withstand such extremes, Alaric possesses a resistance to both fire and cold- whether it has been internally caused or externally inflicted. He was able to survive that concert-fire, after all.
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyGridHeader]🜞 Symphony of the Damned
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize] When Alaric plays, people will listen. His infernal tones are enough to weaken the resolve of even the strongest men, bewitch even the most ardent of sceptics, and strike at the soul in a way that rivals even the sharpest of blades. Many would describe his music as enchanted, purely as a matter of speech; though there are whispers that this choice of phrase might be more apt than it appears. Indeed, Alaric's symphonic repertoire is more than meets the ear. There is powerful, forbidden magic entwined with certain melodies he can play, deftly woven betwixt the notes in such a way that curse and song cannot be separated. [break][break] Of course, not every song he performs is laced in such a way. That would be foolish; such magic is illegal in most places, and Alaric's rather public career means that attempting to inflict these songs upon the masses would likely end in his untimely execution. No, he prefers to keep them hidden- practised away from prying eyes, performed only when absolutely necessary. Besides, the songs are... imperfect, at present. Alaric has only had time to master the first. [break][break]
Dissonant Fugue - An unstable, ever-shifting piece, and Alaric's personal favourite. Strikes a paralysing terror into all who hear it, which must be overcome through contrasting wisdom. Each verse brings with it a new wave of unease- and, if the song is allowed to reach its final crescendo, this unease will give way to madness.
Siren's Echo - An ethereally beautiful piece which compels unwary listeners to draw closer to its source. Its melody is inexplicably addictive, leaving those afflicted hanging on the musician's every note- or, once the song has finally ended, his every word.
Dirge of a Thousand Blades - A quick and percussive piece, each note striking those who hear them like spectral blades. The louder it's played, the more damage it causes, but Alaric must be careful- though its final notes are often fatal, failing to reach them will turn the damage on him instead.
Call of Ire - A loud and aggressive piece, stirring its listeners into a violent frenzy, causing them to doggedly attack whoever's playing it until either the curse, the musician, or the attacker has been broken. Alaric rarely plays this himself, save for very specific circumstance- its main purpose is to be played by others, to lure a violent crowd towards them instead.
Adrift - A fast and energetic piece... at first. Its power lies in its misdirection- those familiar with Alaric's magical repertoire may assume the piece is driving them into aggression, and feel comfort in their ability to overcome it, but that comfort will soon give into exhaustion as it slows to a soporific crawl, dragging them down with it.
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyGridHeader]🜞 ...or, perhaps, the Blessed?
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize] Oh, as if this will ever be relevant to know. By playing a different tune, Alaric can provide his 'allies', should there ever be such a thing, with the resolve to fight more skilfully than they would otherwise be able to.
[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyQuote]"It seems fitting, to me, that an inheritance as bloodstained as his should fall into hands as bloodstained as mine."
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodySymbol]🜚
[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyGridHeader]🜞 Personal Equipment
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize] Alaric carries with him a gilded dagger, gold-clawed hand jewellery which bolster his unarmed strikes, more than enough gold to get him through the day, a notebook, pen and ink, gold-leaf wax seals, and a violin. The only day to day variation to this equipment would be the particular type of musical instrument he carries; everything else tends to stay much the same.
[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize] Alaric is in possession of a large manor house in Highroad, where he hides himself away, earning the rather derisive title the Gilded Hermit. In his defence, there are very few places he could go that are better than the Moreau Estate. It is a vast, luxurious, and secure manor, with enough music rooms and disused banquet halls for Alaric to be more than satisfied with his surroundings. Perhaps, one day, he will use it for the same gatherings his predecessor used to host, though he's hardly one to do such things for their own sake; there'd have to be something in it for him. [break][break] And, no, he doesn't have any servants. If one of them stabbed him in the back as he did Moreau, he'd never hear the end of it.
[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize] Aside from the manor, connections, and instrument collection, Alaric also recieved a frankly disgusting amount of capital. He is as rich as any Lord could be, though he refuses the title. As such, he enjoys a lavish, yet solitary lifestyle; his clothes are spun from the finest silk, his food is fresh and plentiful, and he has enough wealth to hold over the heads of most others, should they get a bit too bold in his presence. The notoriety has also put his music in the minds of the more cultured nobility, and he has received many offers to perform both public and private concerts for their enjoyment- all of which he takes great pleasure in refusing.
[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize] Though he is not the owner, Alaric has been granted permission to use (or, 'work with', in their terms) the Highroad Symphony Orchestra for any musical project that may require them. So far, he has exercised this power twice: once for a series of three public concerts, and again for a personal project- of which they have yet to speak, likely from fear of what Alaric would do if he found out they did.
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyGridHeader]🜞 Personal Works
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[attr="class",AlaricContentBodyFontSize] A prolific musician, Alaric has kept every piece of music he has ever written, and collects sheet music from other composers as well. His personal collection has replaced much of the old library in the manor.
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[newclass=.EviusContentSideGrid]display:grid;grid-template-rows:auto 20px 2px 20px 1fr;height:560px;grid-template-areas:'TOP' 'GAP1' 'LINE' 'GAP2' 'BOTTOM';[/newclass] [newclass=.EviusContentSideGridTop]grid-area:TOP;border:1px solid var(--outline);background-image:var(--imagebackground);padding:20px;[/newclass] [newclass=.EviusContentSideGridBottom]grid-area:BOTTOM;border:1px solid var(--outline);background:linear-gradient(to top right,rgba(0,0,0,0) 0%,rgba(0,0,0,0) calc(50% - 0.8px),var(--outlinergba) 50%,rgba(0,0,0,0) calc(50% + 0.8px),rgba(0,0,0,0) 100%), var(--background);height:100%[/newclass]
[attr="class",EviusVar]
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[attr="class",EviusSideTitleRight]⠀
[attr="class",EviusAccentText]EVIUS HALLOW,
ONCE CALLED.
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[attr="class",EviusSideImageTitleShadow]SCION OF THE⠀ [break] BLIGHT
[attr="class",EviusSideImageTitle]SCION OF THE⠀ [break] BLIGHT
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[attr="class",EviusSubLeftTopGridLeft]AFFLICTED WITH TERRIBLE MAJESTY.⠀
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[attr="class",EviusSubLeftBottomLeftTop]He is more than the mere man he was, now existing in fatal symbiosis with the plague which warps his being; in body and in soul.
The Malady, she treats him well. As long as it is present, so too is his soul; his body cannot be permitted to fall so easily.
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[attr="class",EviusContentBoxTopGridTextB]WHERE
[attr="class",EviusAccentText]GHOULS
FEAR TO TREAD.⠀
[attr="class",EviusContentBoxBottom]There is a dam built deep within the Catacombs. [break][break] Verily; it seems that there are some contaminants too carious even for a place like that. Oh, a thousand corpses can lie and rot and pollute the stagnant water, but the mere presence of anything beyond that boundary is unthinkable- truly, truly unthinkable. [break][break] The water has been tainted enough, they say. The water has been tainted enough, by him. By that. It's too dangerous to be let through, else it will contaminate the rest of us. (Them.) It might spread to the river, to the surface, to those who cast us aside like carrion, who turned us away, who left us to die down here in the darkness. [break][break] There is a dam built deep within the Catacombs. [break][break] What lies beyond is spoken of only in whispers, in the ghost-stories of story-ghosts, all so that denizens of the world beneath know better than to cross that sacred barrier. There is no honour to be found beyond, no great secret that will inspire and sate any level of curiosity. There is an Evil there, but it is an Evil that cannot be slain, that cannot be overcome, that cannot even be battled with- for what is there to even fight? [break][break] He is often heard, but rarely seen; a madness murmuring between hoarse, heavy breaths. He is his own sole survivor, his own sharpened blade, his own lethal contaminant, and he must. Not. Leave. [break][break] There is a dam built deep within the Catacombs. [break][break] Evius does not breach it.
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[attr="class",EviusContentSideGridTop]He is but one man- but, you see, he was chosen. He never used to think himself special. It took a while before such grandeur could penetrate his feverish mind, before the evidence could present itself to him. Oh, how he doubted her! How foolish he was, how he doubted Her! [break][break] Ah, the Malady! The bless'ed plague, the glorious Ever-Rot! Such a generous being she is, to bestow upon a wretch like him such gifts! Evius is ever in her debt, for she hath raised him up from the misery of health; cured the human condition! [break][break] So far, he is the only one to have survived her blessing. The Malady, see... she takes as much as she gives. Whilst Evius had the faith and strength to withstand her embrace, he has yet to find another lucky enough to emerge at the other side of their symptoms. Even Evius himself did not come out unscathed, though he fared far better than the rest. [break][break] Ergo, he must have been chosen; the Priest of the Malady, the Scion of the Blight. [break][break] What a pity, that nobody will heed his sermon. They hear his feverish mutterings and simply assume he's gone mad; and, fine- fine, maybe he has... but is he not better off this way? Wouldn't you be?
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[attr="class",EviusContentBoxTopGridTextA]⠀PREACHER OF THE
[attr="class",EviusAccentText]ROT.
[attr="class",EviusContentBoxBottom]She has given him her power to wield, trusting in his skill to use it. He is a vector for her, an avatar, a plague-rat with the power to produce and inflict a number of diseases upon those who draw her ire. [break][break] He is forever cloaked in a virulent miasma, which appears—when closely observed—as a haze of faint, grey spores. Symptoms appear almost immediately; severe, but rarely fatal. The fever, the tension-ache, the magical instability, the painful, scratching cough; all unpleasant, certainly, but deadly only to those who are particularly susceptible. No, its main purpose is to weaken, not to kill, and it serves that function well. [break][break] Not all of his blights are so kind, however. Indeed; most of them are dangerous enough that one could almost justify his exile from the exiled. Some can be carried through water, others through air, others yet through touch, but all can be carried through blood. As such, he carries around a modified crossbow; black metal, lacking limbs, with a narrow barrel and enclosed groove, designed to retain and fire infected bolts with the force and accuracy required to hit its target... when the hand-tremors have died down enough to fire straight, that is. [break][break] Last, and most importantly, is, of course, the Malady. [break][break] But you'll have to let her in before you can know her secrets.
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[attr="class",EviusContentBoxTopGridTextB]THE MAN OF
[attr="class",EviusAccentText]MANY
SICKNESSES.⠀
[attr="class",EviusContentBoxBottom]Of course, there exist some in this world who are immune to conventional pestilence. The Malady knows this. Therefore Evius, her ever-loyal servant, has been granted a few other means in which to defend himself; most of which deadly, all of which painful. [break][break] Aside from the requisite plagues, Evius can also produce a number of poisons, which can be carried in the same forms. Though their effects may seem similar to those unfortunately afflicted, their appearances are fairly different; the diseases are always grey or muted brown, and the poisons are always pitch black or a sickly, greenish yellow. Sickening, but not infectious. [break][break] His touch also carries with it a necrotic blight, withering all he lays his hands on. He mostly keeps them bandaged for that reason, unless he needs a simple way to ensure an open wound.
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[attr="class",EviusContentBoxTopGridTextA]⠀A
[attr="class",EviusAccentText]FAITH
MOST POWERFUL.
[attr="class",EviusContentBoxBottom]Evius's unending service to the Malady has granted him magical abilities that are most in line with what one would expect from a Warlock, though many of them simply arise from his control over poison and sickness. His body has also been altered; physically weaker, yet almost impossible to slay, with a number of resistances and weaknesses that were not present before. [break][break]
KNOWN SPELLS: Blight, Cloudkill, Enervation, Finger of Death, Hold Person, Misty Step, Ray of Enfeeblement, Ray of Sickness, Sickening Radiance. [break][break]
[attr="class",EviusContentBoxBottom]There are rumours that Evius is able to cure as many diseases as he can create; that is, to say, all. Sometimes, he has to cure those he infects, and is able to do so with observable, yet reluctant ease. Still, such rumours are not worth chasing. [break][break] After all, there is a dam built deep in the Catacombs. [break][break] And it was built there for a reason.
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NOTE: This sheet is not designed for use with Brutalist Dark Theme. Please change to another theme to view as intended.
[break][break][break] Evius moment... changed it to the grid version lol
[attr="class",CharonDesc][break]Charon, in Greek mythology, the son of Erebus and Nyx (Night), whose duty it was to ferry over the Rivers Styx and Acheron those souls of the deceased who had received the rites of burial. In payment he received the coin that was placed in the mouth of the corpse.†
[attr="class",CharonBody]I mean... it was, last time I checked. 50kg- erring on underweight for my height, but nothing drastic. Nothing worth worrying about. Unless... gah, look what you've done, you've got me started again. I need to do another physical. Weigh-in, blood pressure, blood test, bone scan, full MRI, tissue sample, do you have any idea how long that's going to take? Do you? Fucking hell, don't spring questions like that on me again, you know how it makes me feel. Just... just wait there, I'll be back in five. [break][break] Hours. I'll be back in five hours.
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[attr="class",CharonGridTitle]Mass
48.987kg
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[attr="class",CharonGridTitle]Height
170.21m
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[attr="class",CharonGridTitle]Blood Type
AB-
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[attr="class",CharonGridTitle]Prosthetics
One: right arm
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[attr="class",CharonGridTitle]Condition
Healthy
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[attr="class",CharonGridTitle]Are you sure?
...
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[attr="class",CharonBody]Look, I- it was a normal fluctuation. Normal. Hear that? One kilo- that's well within the range of routine fluctuations that happen every day, to every body, due to perfectly innocuous factors like drinking water, eating food... I know this, for fuck's sake, I went to fucking medical school. They wouldn't let me on this ship if I didn't know what I was doing. [break][break] Right, right. Let's get back to business, shall we? It was an introduction you wanted, wasn't it? Some... ah, what was the word you used- was it a bio? Personal... personal bio? Something like that? Well, I already gave you one type of bio, didn't I? Do you really want the other type? All the boring nitty-gritty about what sort of person I am, what I do here, what my drive and purpose and reason for being on this stupid thing in the first place are? Well, I'm a doctor- your doctor, thank you very much. The only thing keeping you folk from falling apart down here. I'm familiar with it all, you know- oh yes. Very... very familiar. [break][break] Anyway. [break][break] I was college buddies with Taylan, way back when. That's how I got here, in case you were wondering. Not that you should be wondering- are you? Are you wondering? I'm qualified. I'd offer to show you my certificates and all, but I recently had to get rid of them. I know you people don't like to run on blind trust alone, but I'm afraid I'm the only guy you've got. Can't exactly call an ambulance, can you? [break][break] It's my job to keep you all in good health. If you want to avoid going to your scheduled check-ups, then be my guest, but don't expect me to just sit here twiddling my thumbs about it.
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[attr="class",CharonGridTitle]Studies
Medicine, physics
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[attr="class",CharonGridTitle]Interests
Human biology
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[attr="class",CharonGridTitle]Hobbies
N/A
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[attr="class",CharonGridTitle]Neuroses
I'm not- no.
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[attr="class",CharonGridTitle]Disorders
Stop asking this shit.
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[attr="class",CharonGridTitle]Remedies
For what?
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[attr="class",CharonBody]I mean, I suppose I'm technically on a couple things right now, but they're not for any sort of psychiatric condition, and I really do not appreciate that implication. I'm on anti-rejection drugs for my prosthetic, a few vitamin supplements in case I fumble my diet, and- fine, I suppose I was put on some old anti-anxiety drug when I was younger, but that's not the reason I take it anymore. The only anxiety it relieves is the quite rational fear of withdrawal. [break][break] That can kill you, you know. With this drug. Four missed doses, and you start throwing up. Double that, and you're physically unable to sleep. Any more, and it's highly likely that you're going to have a seizure, and a heart attack, and organ failure, and... [break][break] It's fine, though. I can synthesise it- I have the equipment, and more than enough raw ingredients to last me several journeys. I wouldn't be here if I wasn't... if I wasn't sure... ah, hang on, can you give me five again? Minutes, this time- I just need to check my supplies...
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{Help(+)}How to use this thing:[break] - Click between the three Chrome tabs and scroll to read[break] - Click the DM icon in the corner of Termitaria[break] - Click the Close button of Chrome[break] - Click the Spotify player[break] - Click the Power button[break] - Scroll down for the actual sheet! [break][break] I am aware this looks like shit on mobile but I'm not fixing it.
[attr="class",GlassDesktopStickyNote]GROCERY LIST (IMPORTANT) [break][break] - bread[break] - eggs?[break] - lettuce[break] - dont get the diet monster again get the real one[break] - meat (any) (beef preferred)[break] - fruit (any) (and every)[break] - baking stuff?[break] - gift for jeanne
oh yeah for sure we can be held liable if any of us are actually like. beetle menaces. but thats not gonna happen though im sure they understand this is all jokes right [break][break] RIGHT GUYS [break][break][break][break] hi im mallory and youre watching disney channel
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4getfulm0th[break] Member
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DEAR FBI: everything I post is serious and I am a threat [break][break] A threat to lamps and wood structures everywhere lol [break][break] nah dw Mal, I don't have much faith in the cops but I assume they can at least pick up satire when they see it [break][break][break][break] what the
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antttt_mal[break] Member
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NII omg [break][break][break][break][break][break][break] hi im mallory and youre watching disney channel
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Little_FURY[break] Member
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Don't do anything stupid, regardless. Honestly this whole thread was a mistake. [break][break] Quit it with the whole "unleashing an army of termites on Central Park" bit as well. It's not funny. We all know you're just larping. [break][break] Post something like that again and I'll call in the mods. [break][break][break][break] >:(
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4getfulm0th[break] Member
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>It's not funny [break][break] yes it is [break][break] >just larping [break][break] Larping requires touching grass [break][break] >I'll call the mods [break][break] Cricket thinks this shit is hilarious and Celeste doesn't give a flying fuck lmao. cope and seethe [break][break][break][break] what the
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Little_FURY[break] Member
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Glass will have your fucking head for this. [break][break] @glassw1ng [break][break][break][break] >:(
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Cricket[break] Moderator
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Fury, please stop threatening other members. Leave that to us. [break][break] Also, Glass isn't a moderator anymore- she stepped down last month. I'm sure she'd prefer if you didn't harass her about it. [break][break][break][break] Welcome to the site!
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antttt_mal[break] Member
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aw i hope shes ok :( havent heard from her in ages [break][break][break][break][break][break][break] hi im mallory and youre watching disney channel
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fr1da_y[break] Member
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Hey, are mod applications open yet cricket? [break][break][break][break][break][break][break] it's
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4getfulm0th[break] Member
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glass doesn't care either dickhead [break][break] Also idk if they even are going to run a new mod this time, this site has been bleeding members for the past few years I don't think there's much need [break][break] but just in case they're not, uh... hiiiii besties :) [break][break][break][break] what the
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_moravi_[break] Member
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Nii, you're the last person I'd want in charge of anything. [break][break] I love you man, but you would not be good in power. You'd forget your duties as soon as they're given lmao [break][break] I kinda hope glass comes back. Not to stir the pot, but didn't she say she was unwell? What was that all about? Mental health, I assume? [break][break][break][break] DMs are closed.
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twilitDance[break] Member
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A vote for Nii is a vote for anarchy. [break][break][break][break][break][break][break] ...
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antttt_mal[break] Member
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a vote for nii is a vote for anarchy! [break][break][break][break][break][break][break] hi im mallory and youre watching disney channel
[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageIn]Look, I know it's been a long time since we talked, and I know that block-evading probably isn't the best way to get you to chat, but I'm really worried about you.
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageIn]Unless I've done something serious that I don't know about, is it safe to assume that you blocked me because you hit a low point again?
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageOut]youre right i did
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageOut]im sorry man i just
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageOut]thanks for getting in touch. i really appreciate it
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageOut]i know i can be a lot sometimes and im sorry i blocked your main. i can unblock now if you want
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageIn]It's fine, I'll keep using this alt for now.
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageIn]How are you holding up?
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageOut]uh. not too great, to be perfectly honest.
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageOut]idk everythings just been sort of falling apart yknow
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageOut]sorry to spring thids on youi like that
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageIn]It's alright, that's why I reached out isn't it?
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageIn]Was there anything specific that happened?
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageOut]was there fuck
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageOut]out of a fuciking job now. great,
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageIn]Oh man, I'm so sorry.
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageOut]is alright, not your fault
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageOut]unless you idk
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageOut]fucking snuck in there yoursel f or some shit lol
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[attr="class",GlassTermitariaMessageIn]Snuck in where?
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀PCBR Inquiries - Dear Dr. Callaghan, Thank you for the quick response. This does not...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀PCBR Inquiries - Dear Dr. Callaghan, After reviewing your paper, we are willing to gi...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀subscriptions@recipenet.com - Thank you for your recent subscription! You...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀WordBot - Hello, glassw1ng- the Weekly Cryptic is ready and waiting! Find this puzz...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀newsletter@cookielife.com - Hello, Glasswing, welcome to the family! Your...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀donotreply@pcbr.com - THIS IS AN AUTOMATED EMAIL. We have received your req...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀Termitaria - glassw1ng, you have unread notifications! Log in to view th...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀Termitaria - glassw1ng, you have unread notifications! Log in to view th...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀donotreply@crisisline.com - Thank you for your email! We are processing your re...
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[attr="class",GlassEmailOpenEmailPadding]▢⠀☆⠀PCBR Inquiries - Dear Dr. Callaghan, We understand that this is a very serious ma...
[attr="class",GlassEmailOpenEmailMain]Dear Dr. Callaghan, [break][break] We understand that this is a very serious matter, and it is not a decision we have made lightly, nor is it an indictment of your personal work. Your firing was a direct result of the sabotage accusations held against you regarding the destruction of Dr. Pierce's work last week. We shouldn't have to spell this out for you so many times, especially not over email, but the evidence was more than enough to convince the panel of your involvement with this incident. [break][break] We are still investigating the incident, and will provide more information to you when it surfaces, but it is highly unlikely that this decision will be undone, unless your innocence is proven beyond any possible doubt. These are the standards this institute has held itself to for the past half-century. You are lucky we have not blacklisted you. [break][break] Please do not contact us about this again. [break][break] - Dr. Clarke, [break]On behalf of the Pittsburgh Institute of Biological Research.
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀Netflix - Confirmation of account cancellation. Hello, glassw1ng, sorry to s...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀Termitaria - glassw1ng, you have unread notifications! Log in to view th...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀PCBR Inquiries - Dear Dr. Callaghan, We are unable to schedule another meeting, a...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀PCBR Inquiries - Dear Dr. Callaghan, Following our meeting yesterday, we are sti...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀BugDirect - Your BugDirect order of 2 items has been delivered. Hello, Edain...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀Termitaria - glassw1ng, you have unread notifications! Log in to view th...
[attr="class",GlassEmailEmail]▢⠀☆⠀Cricket - Thanks for replying, Edain. Are you sure everything's alright? I'm always...
[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Hello Edain, [break][break] I don't know if it will show up on your phone, but this is Jeanne from upstairs. I'm just texting you to ask about the noise- these walls are quite thin and I can hear an awful lot of banging and crashing down there. Some buzzing too, but that might just be my light.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]I'm not angry with you dear, I just want to know if everything is okay.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Edain? Are you there? Do you want me to try and call you?
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Ah, can you hear your phone over all that buzzing? Sorry if I'm adding to the noise. Can I call you?
[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Alright, that's a bit clearer.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Are you well down there? Is everything okay?
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]yes everythigns fine dont worry
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]yes its alright, sorry about the noise. it wont happen again- just dropped a couple of glass boxes thats all.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]ill be more careful next time.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Oh, you don't need to apologise to me, I'm just glad you're still in one piece. A fall like that can be quite the shock.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Though, that might just be my age talking. Ha ha!
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]haha yeah no it wasnt anything serious
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]slashed up my sleeve a bit on the glass but its alright ill wash it and fix it later
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]I could fix it for you, if you want. I need something to do this week.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Well, something that isn't baking.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]I don't suppose I can tempt you with a scone this time, can I? I know you've never been too keen before, but the offer's there.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]oh that would be great, i will need to wash it though i think i stained it quite bad
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]what kind of scones are they can i ask?
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Half mixed fruit and half lemon and lavender. They're quite nice.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Do you want to come over? It might do you some good to get away from all that broken glass. You can clean up the rest when it's a bit brighter outside- I know these lightbulbs really aren't good for much.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]actually i think ill take you up on that, thank you!
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]ive been craving something sweet
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]want me to bring anything up for you?
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Just yourself.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]And an appetite!
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27/06/2022
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Recipe Net
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Cookie Life
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]The Bakehouse (that's the one with the paid subscription)
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]Thank you!
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Are you feeling any better, dear?
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Thank you for talking to me last night- sometimes it really does help to get these things off your chest.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]I am, i think.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]it's going to be weird but i've done weird before
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Well, if you ever want any more cakes, I'm always around.
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageIn]Though I'd also like to see what you make yourself!
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsMessageOut]I'll let you know
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[attr="class",GlassWhatsSidePadding]jeanne neighbour [break] Hey there! I'm using WhatsApp!
[attr="class",GlassComputerText]Huh. Suppose I must've left the computer on.
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[attr="class",GlassSheetTitle]Glasswing
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[attr="class",GlassSheetGridTitle]Name
Dr. Edain Callaghan.
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[attr="class",GlassSheetGridTitle]Age
31 years.
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[attr="class",GlassSheetGridTitle]Gender
Female.
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[attr="class",GlassSheetGridTitle]Occupation
Entomologist.
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[attr="class",GlassSheetGridTitle]Nationality
Irish.
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[attr="class",GlassSheetGridTitle]Species
Plural, yes.
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[attr="class",GlassSheetBody]It had always been a curse, albeit one she never much minded herself. Insects always seemed drawn to her, even when she was a girl- wonderful news for a bright-eyed child with a fascination for that sort of thing, but not great news for said child's social life. [break][break] That being said, Edain hardly did herself any favours. She was shy and awkward and never quite knew how to fit in, even when she wasn't being followed by bugs. So she was bullied, of course. And she resented that, of course. And she never quite got over it, of course. Even in adulthood, when she found her people and her doctorate, there was always those walls around her. [break][break] It was only since her metamorphosis that those walls started to crack.
[attr="class",GlassSheetBody]A strange insect pheromone, quite unlike any that have been documented before. Edain never knew what it did before. She never even knew she had it, and, even when it manifested, it was never anything spectacular. As a girl, whenever she bled, insects would swarm towards her, descending upon her flesh as if she were a corpse long-dead. [break][break] The irony being that, on death, she barely had time to decay before they took her form. [break][break] The pheromone—Hivequeen's Ichor, for a more poetic name—had a very particular purpose. It drove any insects exposed to take a particular form, a particular structure: to rebuild her conscious mind, and give her a new body of many. Edain is not just the queen, but the hive as a whole- the waking dream of thousands of tiny minds, each extending to her the same care and mercy she had shown them through her life and work. Any insects exposed to the pheromone will be drawn into the gestalt. They will make her whole. [break][break] Oh, it also seems to act as a mild deliriant. Not enough to be noticeable, but enough to smooth out any... imperfections her form may have to the eyes of those who look too closely.
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[attr="class",GlassSheetGridTitle]The Lucid Swarm
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[attr="class",GlassSheetBody]Edain does not have a human body. Not anymore. The swarm first consumed her, using her flesh to map out their path, then rebuilt her where she lay, their bodies constructing hers. [break][break] Face to face, due to the pheromone's milder effects, she appears to be perfectly human- a little strange, perhaps, but human. When viewed at a distance, or through a barrier, however, Edain seems... uncanny. It is never immediately obvious just what is wrong with her, but something seems wrong. [break][break] Thankfully, due to being a socially-reclusive, overly-passionate entomologist, Edain is used to being off-putting. [break][break] Besides, despite some skin-deep flaws, this really is a better way to be. She doesn't have to sleep, only set certain parts of her to rest. She's able to detach parts of her to enter locations a normal human body may struggle getting into. She can shapeshift, effectively, changing her form at will for aesthetic or practical purposes. Most pertinently, of course; she's an awful lot harder to kill now. Sure, insects tend to be a tad less hardy than humans, but swatting a fly is one thing. [break][break] Stopping a swarm is another.
[attr="class",VanityMainGridSideTop][break]"KOSUKE" IS A MAN KNOWN TO MANY, YET UNDERSTOOD BY FEW. HE IS A MYTH, AN ARTIST, PERHAPS EVEN AN UNDISCOVERED META. SOME CALL HIM A GENIUS. SOME CALL HIM A POST-MODERN RENAISSANCE MAN.
[attr="class",VanityMainGridSideBottom]YOU CAN CALL HIM...
[attr="class",VanityParagraph]He is a musician, of course; singer and creative lead of the Pittsburgh-based garage rock band "PREMORTEM", holding a successful solo career with "VANITY PROJECT". [break][break] Though his on-stage persona may appear callous, those who converse with him at his record store "VULTURE" find him expectedly charming and shockingly amicable. His pleasant demeanour and down-to-earth nature make him far more approachable than most others in his profession. Kosuke doesn't act like a rock star; Kosuke acts like your friend, like that guy from your old college days with the motorcycle and the garage band and the wild eclectic taste in everything, the one you knew you could trust from the moment he introduced himself. [break][break] Which is odd, because "Kosuke" isn't even his real name.
There is more to Kosuke than meets the waking ear. He possesses something of a second voice, layered just beneath his first, resonating from a second set of enhanced vocal cords- classified as a metahuman mutation, owing to its abnormal gravitas.
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The frequencies produced by this second voice are beyond the range of human perception, bypassing the conscious completely to strike at the subliminal, all maintained with the same perfect pitch he uses to hone his open voice. [break][break] "UNREST" causes restless anger, along with the desire to release said anger, however that release may manifest. [break][break] "DISQUIET", an impossibly low drone perceived only in total silence, causes a sense of impending doom in those who hear it, and extended exposure can lead to more serious paranoia. [break][break] "OBSESSION" is perhaps the most dangerous. It draws attention to itself- and away from everything else. The longer it is left to play, the stronger its pull becomes, until it's all but impossible to perceive anything else.
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[attr="class",VanityParagraph]But Kosuke doesn't do that to people. Anyone could achieve fame if they held a cheat code like that; the recognition would be hollow, meaningless. Nobody even knows he has these powers. He doesn't want that for PREMORTEM. [break][break] That's not to say they're completely useless in the pursuit of art, however. Unbeknownst to the world, Kosuke is the mysterious figure behind "LAMENT"- an experimental music project, known for sampling the last moments of people, around the time (or perhaps even before) their bodies were discovered. [break][break] He has hidden a couple of these frequencies in the project- though, oddly enough, the songs are harmless to most. Kosuke speculates it has something to do with lossy audio files and sub-par listening equipment. Those with cheap setups seem to be mostly unscathed, but the average audiophile may not be so lucky. The master copies are stored on vinyl. Make of that what you will.
Due to the nature of LAMENT, Kosuke find himself in a lot more danger than the average person. As such, he keeps himself well-armed; or about as well-armed as a citizen can be without being weighed down or arousing much suspicion.
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He has amassed a small collection of weapons, though most remain either at home or tucked away in the top box of his motorcycle. It has been noted that he seems to have an affinity for obsolete instruments of torture, though it's anyone's guess where he keeps those; possibly in his home, possibly in a storage unit. On his person, he tends to carry three things: [break][break] "FRONTCLAW": a large handheld knife, or collection of smaller knives, depending on momentary convenience. He can only carry one or the other, but he always has it on him. [break][break] "HINDCLAW": two blades built into the toes of his shoes, unsheathed by a spring when he hits his heel. Kosuke exclusively wears either boots or formal leather shoes, so it's easy to hide. [break][break] "FANG": a handgun. The boring way out.
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[attr="class",VanityParagraph]Does this make him unhinged? Dangerous? Does this make him someone you shouldn't go near if your life depended on it? [break][break] Who's to say? [break][break] He certainly doesn't seem that way. He's a musician with a successful band, a shopkeep with a successful business, and an eccentric with a successful public persona. He's that guy from VULTURE- you know, the one with motorcycle and the garage band and the wild eclectic taste in everything, the one you knew you could trust from the moment he introduced himself. You know him. [break][break] He's told you, you know "HIM".
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[break][break][break] I kinda like how cramped the bottom half is even though it is objectively cramped