Hello! You may call me Gato (cat in Spanish) I am a STAY Everybody wanna hear the real version of life, then don't get so sensitivewhen I say something a little bit raw
PM me the word tomato, NOW, ALL HAIL O_MERLIN_O, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. NOW GIVE ME A 4d8 attempt: [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
They silently drag their saintsbone cello through raging battlefields, feeling every gunshot fired from either side through their oracular curse. The mud and gore splatters across their osseous instrument. Then, they sit before their audience, corpses real and imagined, the ones that have been, and the ones that will be. They hang over their warped tool, listening, waiting, interpreting the words of the gods through the erratic, senseless violence.
Then, as if on cue, they begin to play. Fingers and bow dance. Their laughter echoes through the sky as it splits open like heaven's gates. Soldiers fall. Soldiers rise. The magic does not care about nationality, or loyalty, or rank. A song of beauty, of awe, of power, of disdain. For hours, hours, late into the night they play their horrible lullaby.
But just as suddenly as they started, they stop. The gunshots died down ages ago. The few soldiers remaining are huddled together, asleep. The Cellist stands. They silently drag their saintsbone cello through the silenced battlefield, imaginary wounds, inside and out, cleansed but unhealed. The mud and gore splatters across their osseous instrument.
A Bard who is a cursed, living antenna to the divine, burdened with incomprehensible songs and visions. They must paint, sing, and suffer in order to bear the words of their god.
They silently drag their saintsbone cello through raging battlefields, feeling every gunshot fired from either side through their oracular curse. The mud and gore splatters across their osseous instrument. Then, they sit before their audience, corpses real and imagined, the ones that have been, and the ones that will be. They hang over their warped tool, listening, waiting, interpreting the words of the gods through the erratic, senseless violence.
Then, as if on cue, they begin to play. Fingers and bow dance. Their laughter echoes through the sky as it splits open like heaven's gates. Soldiers fall. Soldiers rise. The magic does not care about nationality, or loyalty, or rank. A song of beauty, of awe, of power, of disdain. For hours, hours, late into the night they play their horrible lullaby.
But just as suddenly as they started, they stop. The gunshots died down ages ago. The few soldiers remaining are huddled together, asleep. The Cellist stands. They silently drag their saintsbone cello through the silenced battlefield, imaginary wounds, inside and out, cleansed but unhealed. The mud and gore splatters across their osseous instrument.
A Bard who is a cursed, living antenna to the divine, burdened with incomprehensible songs and visions. They must paint, sing, and suffer in order to bear the words of their god.
OOOOOOH
Rollback Post to RevisionRollBack
The clocks run out, too late to wake up. You're locked under this nightmare's thumb. Begging you hide and run.
My wings were clipped, my heart in a chain, I suffered then, I walked through pain, but even now I know my strength, and I know I'll go any length to save the ones I love.
My least favorite person is me, but my favorite people are y'all. Keeper of Lore, Scribe, Writer. Ask me about my writing!
I am tho
Artise
Totally not part Asian
Has cars (cats)
Yeah
What have you been doing recently?
Hello! You may call me Gato (cat in Spanish)
I am a STAY
Everybody wanna hear the real version of life, then don't get so sensitive when I say something a little bit raw
PM me the word tomato, NOW, ALL HAIL O_MERLIN_O, AND THE GREAT O_MERLIN_O ARMY. NOW GIVE ME A 4d8 attempt: [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] + [roll]1d8[/roll] = [roll][roll:-4]+[roll:-3]+[roll:-2]+[roll:-1][/roll]
School
Theatre
DND
The clocks run out, too late to wake up.
You're locked under this nightmare's thumb.
Begging you hide and run.
W H A T H A V E I B E C O M E ?
greetings homosapiens and those of non descript species
Indubitably the real account of the Salem you're thinking of, Mr. Mason Spark, the Prodigal Fox
Still a furry, still a weirdo. Love y'all
"Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk
Why hello there!
The clocks run out, too late to wake up.
You're locked under this nightmare's thumb.
Begging you hide and run.
W H A T H A V E I B E C O M E ?
Ewhat
Artise
Totally not part Asian
Has cars (cats)
Oh, why hello. Care to dance? I've got no legs, so I shall simply float in space.
Indubitably the real account of the Salem you're thinking of, Mr. Mason Spark, the Prodigal Fox
Still a furry, still a weirdo. Love y'all
"Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk
You heard me, boy.
Indubitably the real account of the Salem you're thinking of, Mr. Mason Spark, the Prodigal Fox
Still a furry, still a weirdo. Love y'all
"Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk
My apologies, but, as a cat, I'm afraid I have two left feet.
The clocks run out, too late to wake up.
You're locked under this nightmare's thumb.
Begging you hide and run.
W H A T H A V E I B E C O M E ?
I no understand Englash
Artise
Totally not part Asian
Has cars (cats)
Ah, my sincerest regards. Foxes have two right feet... usually.
How are ya, Gonz?
Indubitably the real account of the Salem you're thinking of, Mr. Mason Spark, the Prodigal Fox
Still a furry, still a weirdo. Love y'all
"Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk
They silently drag their saintsbone cello through raging battlefields, feeling every gunshot fired from either side through their oracular curse. The mud and gore splatters across their osseous instrument. Then, they sit before their audience, corpses real and imagined, the ones that have been, and the ones that will be. They hang over their warped tool, listening, waiting, interpreting the words of the gods through the erratic, senseless violence.
Then, as if on cue, they begin to play. Fingers and bow dance. Their laughter echoes through the sky as it splits open like heaven's gates. Soldiers fall. Soldiers rise. The magic does not care about nationality, or loyalty, or rank. A song of beauty, of awe, of power, of disdain. For hours, hours, late into the night they play their horrible lullaby.
But just as suddenly as they started, they stop. The gunshots died down ages ago. The few soldiers remaining are huddled together, asleep. The Cellist stands. They silently drag their saintsbone cello through the silenced battlefield, imaginary wounds, inside and out, cleansed but unhealed. The mud and gore splatters across their osseous instrument.
A Bard who is a cursed, living antenna to the divine, burdened with incomprehensible songs and visions. They must paint, sing, and suffer in order to bear the words of their god.
Let him who is without sin cast the first stone.
Forever burdenless and terminally live!
OOOOOOH
The clocks run out, too late to wake up.
You're locked under this nightmare's thumb.
Begging you hide and run.
W H A T H A V E I B E C O M E ?
Quite good, quite good!
The clocks run out, too late to wake up.
You're locked under this nightmare's thumb.
Begging you hide and run.
W H A T H A V E I B E C O M E ?
I spun a wheel and got “Stories” as a prompt to make a thread with. No idea what to do with it yet
Somewhere between a genius and a moron.
It was me Barry! I Jumped Jack Flash!
If I pretend my problems don’t exist and walk fast enough, they’ll eventually disappear
Your honor, shut up, you wasn't even there
It’s only a war crime if you lose
You yes you 🫵
Won a ticket to a show of your choosing
You have to survive 3 days in said world
Artise
Totally not part Asian
Has cars (cats)
good to hear. I got Dr pepper so I'm happy fox
Indubitably the real account of the Salem you're thinking of, Mr. Mason Spark, the Prodigal Fox
Still a furry, still a weirdo. Love y'all
"Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk
We need a new multiversal hub Tavern...
My wings were clipped, my heart in a chain, I suffered then, I walked through pain, but even now I know my strength, and I know I'll go any length to save the ones I love.
My least favorite person is me, but my favorite people are y'all. Keeper of Lore, Scribe, Writer. Ask me about my writing!
Extended Signature!
Could I stay for longer, or can only stay for three days?
The clocks run out, too late to wake up.
You're locked under this nightmare's thumb.
Begging you hide and run.
W H A T H A V E I B E C O M E ?
I was thinking about remaking anytown USA or finally fleshing out Universal Rest Spot... idk
Indubitably the real account of the Salem you're thinking of, Mr. Mason Spark, the Prodigal Fox
Still a furry, still a weirdo. Love y'all
"Zoro knows exactly what MLM means." - AgateElk