https://elanthipedia.play.net/api.php?action=feedcontributions&feedformat=atom&user=FOUCAULT 2026-04-27T14:51:47Z User contributions MediaWiki 1.39.12 https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Item:Dented_pewter_flask&diff=485029 2018-03-07T05:36:59Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>{{Item<br /> |name=dented pewter flask<br /> |noun=flask<br /> |look=You see nothing unusual.<br /> |MTag=metal<br /> |type=container, drink<br /> |wearloc=belt<br /> |weight=25<br /> |appcost=625<br /> |lsize=2<br /> |wsize=2<br /> |hsize=1<br /> |ilsize=3<br /> |iwsize=2<br /> |ihsize=2<br /> |csize=0<br /> |sourcetype=-<br /> |fname=No<br /> }}</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Item:Grey_wool_poncho_woven_with_a_large_crest&diff=485026 2018-03-07T04:48:42Z

<p>FOUCAULT: Created page with &quot;{{Item |name=grey wool poncho woven with a large crest |noun=poncho |look=The crest of the Grey Raven Prison is woven into the wool of the poncho. |type=clothing |wearloc=shir...&quot;</p> <hr /> <div>{{Item<br /> |name=grey wool poncho woven with a large crest<br /> |noun=poncho<br /> |look=The crest of the Grey Raven Prison is woven into the wool of the poncho.<br /> |type=clothing<br /> |wearloc=shirt (with armor)<br /> |weight=10<br /> |appcost=1781<br /> |lsize=13<br /> |wsize=4<br /> |hsize=1<br /> |sourcetype=-<br /> |fname=No<br /> }}</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Item:Dented_pewter_flask&diff=485025 2018-03-07T04:43:34Z

<p>FOUCAULT: Created page with &quot;{{Item |name=dented pewter flask |noun=flask |look=You see nothing unusual. |MTag=metal |type=container, drink |wearloc=belt |weight=25 |appcost=625 |lsize=2 |wsize=2 |hsize=1...&quot;</p> <hr /> <div>{{Item<br /> |name=dented pewter flask<br /> |noun=flask<br /> |look=You see nothing unusual.<br /> |MTag=metal<br /> |type=container, drink<br /> |wearloc=belt<br /> |weight=25<br /> |appcost=625<br /> |lsize=2<br /> |wsize=2<br /> |hsize=1<br /> |sourcetype=-<br /> |fname=No<br /> }}</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Charlize&diff=484492 2018-02-02T14:24:19Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>{{PC<br /> |name=Charlize Dejacque<br /> |status=a<br /> |race=Elf<br /> |gender=Female<br /> |guild=Ranger<br /> |instance=Prime<br /> |relat=Church of Aldauth, Contraire family, Maxwelinski<br /> }}<br /> == Kindling ==<br /> [[File:Charlize.jpg|thumb|390px|right|Charlize Dejacque, by [[Charlize]] ]]<br /> A black vulture circles over an expanse of dense forestry. Her last memory was an Elven one and she certainly could not fly. &quot;I must have died&quot; she thought as she soared higher, &quot;I suppose if this is death it isn't so bad&quot;. By the time she finished her thought, an arrow had let fly from the trees below, piercing her through the heart. She spun violently towards the ground, losing consciousness before disappearing among the evergreen trees. A lone wolf howls in the distance.<br /> <br /> &quot;Wake up&quot;, a voice whispered. A tiny female Elf opens her eyes slowly, taking note of her surroundings. Dirt caked her face and dried leaves fell from her long blonde hair as she sat up. Was that a dream? How long had she been here? She started picking the remaining debris from her clothes and hair.<br /> <br /> As she did so she noticed a fresh mound of disturbed soil nearby. Curious, she began digging with her hands. Her fingers finally reached something solid and she pulled it out of the shallow hole, blowing the dust off the top. It was her old chestnut lunchbox. The paint was peeled but the detailed carvings remained, revealing the faces of her old family members. <br /> <br /> She thought she had buried the lunchbox forever. Still not sure how she got here, or why, something moved behind her. Out of the corner of her eye was something at first resembling a hummingbird. The buzzing of small fast moving wings passed her ear until floating in front of her was a tiny fae. An image of Murrula flashed in her mind, causing her to start and blink. The fae was already gone. She felt like she could lay down and go back to sleep.<br /> <br /> A loud crash and branches breaking snapped her out of the trance she was in. She turned around and walked towards it, feeling like she had nothing left to lose if she found something dangerous. She came upon a small bonfire in a familiar grove. Two people, and Elf and a Rakash, were dragging a dying tree towards a stump where they'd been chopping wood with an axe. Suddenly aware of the fact that she had weapons on her, but hadn't used them in years, she felt uneasy... until a voice called out &quot;Hey! It's Charlize!&quot;.<br /> <br /> A sigh of relief escaped her when she realized it was her old friends Maxwelinski and Jalika. They came running towards her with hugs and Jalika quickly produced some sort of tea out of thin air and handed it to her. &quot;Come warm up by the fire&quot;, Jalika said. Charlize sat down on a log and crossed her legs in front of her. Before she knew it Max was next to her, with his head on her shoulder, his own cup of tea in hand. &quot;I've missed you&quot;, she said. &quot;I've missed you too&quot;, he replied.<br /> <br /> Sitting around the fire and catching up, they heard a commotion on the main road. The festival was starting. Everyone stood up to go, and she realized she felt lightheaded. Perhaps something was in the tea and she shot Jalika an inquisitive look, who just smiled and shrugged, not giving an answer either way. <br /> <br /> Maxwelinski offered to show Charlize around the spider. She said as long as it wasn't a date, and he made a quip about making her fall in love with him. The enchanted frost that crept along her arms while drawing on life mana felt present now in her heart, and she told him that would be doubtful. <br /> <br /> Arriving at the spider, they stood there in silence, quickly realizing the air was pungeunt outside any of the shops or vendor's stalls. Light-headed and high on the noxious fumes, caught up in a whirlwind of shopping and games, encouraging each other's best life decisions, little did she know they would end up eloping by the end of the week. <br /> <br /> While browsing, the two friends had purchased a small black diary that they started to fill with memories and little notes, writing back and forth when they could not be together. Amorous musings led to deeper conversations about philosophy and life, revealing a shared passion for the liberation of Siksraja. <br /> <br /> They decided to honeymoon in Mer'Kresh where they spent a week lounging together on the library balcony, watching the sun rise and set over the Reshalian sea as they studied the history of a culture that freed itself from oppression and racial tensions. Contradicting her vegan ways, she made him his favorite type of eggs every morning, a secret recipe from their days with the church and enhanced by her lessons from the '''[[Handbook_of_Hygienic_Housekeeping_(book)|Handbook of Hygienic Housekeeping by Maudie Prudynce]]'''. <br /> <br /> She also learned how to keep bedding fresh and springy using beech leaves, properly cure a hangover with little more than salt and fresh air, and plump her eyelashes by crushing burnt cloves into a fine powder.<br /> <br /> Eager to get back and share the manifesto they were creating with friends and family, they boarded the airship and headed home. The next morning, over his daily breakfast of unusual looking eggs, she noticed he had a small bottle sitting next to him and asked what was in it. He only had to wink and she went to grab her old lunchbox, now covered in dried soapy rings where some bubbles had landed and popped the night before.<br /> <br /> == New Gweth Who Dis ==<br /> <br /> Druid Charlize Dejacque, Trail Rider of M'Riss, an Elven Ranger.<br /> <br /> She has pointed ears, thick-lashed sapphire eyes and a button nose. Her honey-streaked ash-blonde hair is very long and curly, and is worn in a deceptively careless-looking arrangement of upswept locks held in place by a tiny geshiloira flower the color of winter snow. She has tanned skin and a svelte figure.<br /> <br /> Her face is decorated with wispy tendrils of silversteel wire dotted with pale green svelae, creating fern-like arabesques that curl around her left eye before ending in a bevy of small spirals on her cheekbone.<br /> <br /> Her forearm has a tattoo of a voluptuous woman in a suggestive pose.<br /> <br /> She is wearing a feral fae earcuff with adorable wide eyes, a diacan locket, a narrow gold collar inlaid with channel-set black diamonds, a forest green Peace rose, a full gown of forest green silks wound with resplendent flora, a dainty silversteel wedding ring displaying a beautiful heartstone, a small steel knife and some pitch black toe socks with silver foot-pads.<br /> <br /> She was born on the 28th day of the 5th month of Uthmor the Giant in the year of the Emerald Dolphin, 306 years after the victory of Lanival the Redeemer.<br /> <br /> She and Maxwelinski affirmed their vows before the gods in the 6th month of Arhat the Fire Lion in the year of the Emerald Dolphin, 425.<br /> <br /> Formerly Known As: [[Church of Aldauth|Charlize Vonderfecht]], [[Contraire family|Charlize Contraire]]<br /> <br /> Vonderfecht Crest: a pirate's flag unfurling from the stem of a jungle lily<br /> <br /> Contraire Crest: A lime green shield emblazoned with turkey leg and a mug of beer<br /> <br /> Other family members: [[Annieka|Annieka Dejacque]], [[Contrejour|Contrejour Dejacque]], Ruven Dejacque, Dresna Dejacque, Adlyn Dejacque<br /> <br /> == Lil Inski Fae ==<br /> <br /> A giggle like tiny crystal bells fills the air as your fae earcuff releases your ear, fluttering her wings to remain nearby. The gentle breeze leaves you feeling a little bit better, just enough to offset the pinch as she bites down on your flesh again.<br /> <br /> == Merry Ratufihen Rihidalo ~ With Love, The Inskis ==<br /> <br /> [Chris' Mass, A Card]<br /> <br /> Thick snow blankets a large hill at the edge of the forest, the large mound sloping at a steep angle. Numerous tracks mark a path upward, following the edge of a long area of snow packed tightly by the passing of numerous sleds. Sheets of ice dot the ground in several places, making the hillside even more treacherous -- or more fun, depending on the point of view.<br /> <br /> You also see a carved ice tree, a carved ice fae, a carved ice Elf, a carved ice Rakash, a carved ice throne, and a carved ice castle.<br /> <br /> Also here: Snowbeast Tamer Charlize and Snowbeast Tamer Maxwelinski.<br /> <br /> Obvious paths: east, south, up.<br /> <br /> == Prampus VonGruss: A Holiday Bedtime Story by Charlinski DeVonder ==<br /> <br /> Having escaped the Town Guards, a Rakash man and Elven woman once found themselves in an alleyway adjacent an orphanage and a tie-dyed canvas canopy. The tent seemed the obvious choice to duck into without anyone asking questions, so they did. Walking into a room full of wide eyed students there was an abrupt silence. A child spoke up to say, &quot;Oh, it's not even Dumezyl.&quot; Kids of all races, dressed in raggy clothing, went back to sitting restlessly and throwing origami dirigibles at each other.<br /> <br /> The couple gave each other a long look. They were dismayed. Not a single student was studying. All goofing off, misbehaving. And just before Chris’ Mass! The couple decided to teach these kids a lesson. Thus began the evening the kids of Zoluren would learn the horrifying story of Prampus. They gathered the children in a circle and began:<br /> <br /> “Prampus was a Prydaen, like Sonte Claws, except much darker. He had nightmare black fur, beady red eyes, and the sharpest pointiest teeth of any Prydaen in the lands. He wore a pair of goat horns on his forehead, and a single shoe styled to look like a black stallion's hoof.”<br /> <br /> A few disobedient children laughed as the story continued, but soon their mirth faded. They grew silent and listened on. This was a story with implications for the naughtiest among them. For the couple continued, explaining that to the children of the Air School that day, that Prampus would come to their very school that night. The night before Chris’ Mass was about to start.<br /> <br /> “This, children, is what is known as the Prampusnacht,” said the woman. The man said the word loudly with her, startling some of the kids, making them jump in their seats. “For the bad among you, Prampus comes with a large enchanted stick. He carries a basket of apples, to lure you. A stick, to whip you with. And for the worst, he commands a snaer hafwa, to chill your souls.”<br /> <br /> “Prampus knows if you have been bad or good. When you take an apple, if you have been good boys and girls, he will send you on your way. Else you will find yourself on the receiving end of his stick. Children, if Prampus hits you with this stick, your features will distort and become ugly instantly!” A little girl in the back began to cry. The Rakash man nudged her. “Too much,” he whispered. She shrugged.<br /> <br /> A boisterous, brave boy stood up suddenly. “I ain’t afraid ah nuh Prampus!” he shouted, “Prampus prolly ain’t even real!” The couple gave each other a glance, stifling a smile and a laugh as they realized their frightening story wouldn’t work on some of the young delinquents. Some would see right through it. Indeed, such a fanciful tale had to be made up, didn’t it? Of course it did. They had just made it up on the spot to frighten the children.<br /> <br /> The next day, the day of Chris’ Mass, they passed by the same orphanage and down the alley adjacent the Air School. Curiously, a number of children they recognized from the previous day were eating apples. And then they heard a sobbing noise from inside. As they passed under the canopy, they followed the sobs to a nook. It was the brave boy, not so brave now. Bawling. As he turned, what they saw horrified them.<br /> <br /> The Elf let out a gasp, her heart jumped in her chest and she turned away toward her partner so as not to look any longer. Before them the boy gazed up, tears running down what was now a completely different, hideously ugly, face. The man let out a high-pitched squeal and they turned, running out of the school as fast as they could.<br /> <br /> The boy would recover, his face healed. He eventually began to claim that he had been in an unfortunate caravan accident. But the couple, as well as the children of Dumezyl’s open school outside of the orphanage, knew the truth.<br /> <br /> == Fear and Loathing in Mer'Kresh ==<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski just butted his head against some iron bars, looking for all the world like a ram attacking a paladin.<br /> <br /> You hit your head soundly against some iron bars.<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski's song comes to an end.<br /> <br /> You are still stunned.<br /> <br /> Diwitt grasps your ears and returns your kiss with slobbery enthusiasm, leaving you with the taste of stale tobacco and rum in your mouth.<br /> <br /> As you reach towards Registrar Lokrain, he pulls out a wooden ruler and swats the back of your hand! &quot;Mind your manners! I didn't get where I am today by putting up with such shenanigans!&quot;, he exclaims.<br /> <br /> The celpeze hatchling stares at your fingers and hisses -- perhaps anticipating a treat other than a boring familiar biscuit.<br /> <br /> The bookcase contains such titles as: &quot;Cooking with FireShard&quot;, &quot;Magic in the Kitchen&quot;, &quot;15 Easy Needlepoint Arcane Symbol Patterns&quot;, &quot;Kort in Cooking&quot; and &quot;Love Potions: Belradi in the Bedroom&quot; ... but not a single reference on warrior mage lore.<br /> <br /> == Mad Max: Staho Pivo'hrr'schu'Mus ==<br /> <br /> '''In a world, where the weakest ones can change change the faith of their nation'''<br /> <br /> A bull shark lunges through a spray of foam, its teeth bared in rage at Maxwelinski. <br /> <br /> Maxwelinski leans back and hoists a bull shark into the air!<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski's suplex smashes a bull shark into the ground, landing an awesome strike to a bull shark's right leg!<br /> The bull shark is severely stunned!<br /> <br /> You lean back and hoist a bull shark into the air!<br /> <br /> Your suplex smashes a bull shark into the ground, landing a hard hit to a bull shark's chest!<br /> The bull shark is lightly stunned!<br /> <br /> '''Where the Gods themselves are being mocked by their people'''<br /> <br /> You say, &quot;Elf You Drogor!&quot;<br /> <br /> Moving skillfully, you bite your teeth at a bull shark. A bull shark fails to dodge. The teeth lands a good strike that lightly pierces the left forearm.<br /> A bull shark gives a final lunge, its teeth snapping mere inches from your skin, then shudders and turns belly up, biting in vain at anything within reach until it ceases all movement.<br /> <br /> '''A world of betrayal'''<br /> <br /> [Underground Streams, Source]<br /> <br /> You also see a small muddied box and a small muddied box labeled &quot;ZaiBox Nine&quot;.<br /> <br /> A few moments later...<br /> <br /> [Underground Streams, Source]<br /> <br /> You also see a small muddied box and a small muddied box labeled &quot;Charlinski&quot;.<br /> <br /> '''A world of pain'''<br /> <br /> You twirl Maxwelinski around, suddenly pushing him down in a dramatic dip. In a combination of sweaty fingers and mistimed movements, you drop him on the floor. Uh oh! Think he will believe that's part of the dance step?<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski performs his zills, clacking it annoyingly in your face.<br /> <br /> '''Only one person will be able to bring the balance'''<br /> <br /> You pull mightily on the oars, heading west.<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski pulls (with almost no effect) on the oars, heading west.<br /> <br /> ''Follow our heroes on their trip towards an uncertain end''<br /> <br /> '''THIS SPRING, STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT SEASON OF CHILDREN OF ALDAUTH'''<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Collapse=No<br /> }}</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Charlize&diff=483380 2018-01-16T01:37:56Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>{{PC<br /> |name=Charlize Dejacque<br /> |status=a<br /> |race=Elf<br /> |gender=Female<br /> |guild=Ranger<br /> |instance=Prime<br /> |relat=Church of Aldauth, Contraire family, Maxwelinski<br /> }}<br /> == Kindling ==<br /> [[File:Charlize.jpg|thumb|520px|right|Charlize Dejacque, by [[Charlize]] ]]<br /> A lone raven passes over an expanse of dense forestry. Her last memory was an Elven one and she certainly could not fly. &quot;I must have died&quot; she thought as she soared higher, &quot;I suppose if this is death it isn't so bad&quot;. By the time she finished her thought, an arrow had let fly from the trees below, piercing her through the heart. She spun violently towards the ground, losing consciousness before disappearing among the evergreen trees. A lone wolf howls in the distance.<br /> <br /> &quot;Wake up&quot;, a voice whispered. A tiny female Elf opens her eyes slowly, taking note of her surroundings. Dirt caked her face and dried leaves fell from her long blonde hair as she sat up. Was that a dream? How long had she been here? She started picking the remaining debris from her clothes and hair.<br /> <br /> As she did so she noticed a fresh mound of disturbed soil nearby. Curious, she began digging with her hands. Her fingers finally reached something solid and she pulled it out of the shallow hole, blowing the dust off the top. It was her old chestnut lunchbox. The paint was peeled but the detailed carvings remained, revealing the faces of her old family members. <br /> <br /> She thought she had buried the lunchbox forever. Still not sure how she got here, or why, something moved behind her. Out of the corner of her eye was something at first resembling a hummingbird. The buzzing of small fast moving wings passed her ear until floating in front of her was a tiny fae. An image of Huldah flashed in her mind, causing her to start and blink. The fae was already gone. She felt like she could lay down and go back to sleep.<br /> <br /> A loud crash and branches breaking snapped her out of the trance she was in. She turned around and walked towards it, feeling like she had nothing left to lose if she found something dangerous. She came upon a small bonfire in a familiar grove. Two people, and Elf and a Rakash, were dragging a dying tree towards a stump where they'd been chopping wood with an axe. Suddenly aware of the fact that she had weapons on her, but hadn't used them in years, she felt uneasy... until a voice called out &quot;Hey! It's Charlize!&quot;.<br /> <br /> A sigh of relief escaped her when she realized it was her old friends Maxwelinski and Jalika. They came running towards her with hugs and Jalika quickly produced some sort of tea out of thin air and handed it to her. &quot;Come warm up by the fire&quot;, Jalika said. Charlize sat down on a log and crossed her legs in front of her. Before she knew it Max was next to her, with his head on her shoulder, his own cup of tea in hand. &quot;I've missed you&quot;, she said. &quot;I've missed you too&quot;, he replied.<br /> <br /> Sitting around the fire and catching up, they heard a commotion on the main road. The festival was starting. Everyone stood up to go, and she realized she felt lightheaded. Perhaps something was in the tea and she shot Jalika an inquisitive look, who just smiled and shrugged, not giving an answer either way. <br /> <br /> Maxwelinski offered to show Charlize around the spider. She said as long as it wasn't a date, and he made a quip about making her fall in love with him. The enchanted frost that crept along her arms while drawing on life mana felt present now in her heart, and she told him that would be doubtful. <br /> <br /> Arriving at the spider, they stood there in silence, quickly realizing the air was pungeunt outside any of the shops or vendor's stalls. Light-headed and high on the noxious fumes, caught up in a whirlwind of shopping and games, encouraging each other's bad life decisions, little did she know they would end up eloping by the end of the week. <br /> <br /> While browsing, the two friends had purchased a small black diary that they started to fill with memories and little notes, writing back and forth when they could not be together. Amorous musings led to deeper conversations about philosophy and life, revealing a shared passion for the liberation of Siksraja. <br /> <br /> They decided to honeymoon in Mer'Kresh where they spent a week lounging together on the library balcony, watching the sun rise and set over the Reshalian sea as they studied the history of a culture that freed itself from oppression and racial tensions. Contradicting her vegan ways, she made him his favorite type of eggs every morning, a secret recipe from their days with the church and enhanced by her lessons from the '''[[Handbook_of_Hygienic_Housekeeping_(book)|Handbook of Hygienic Housekeeping by Maudie Prudynce]]'''. <br /> <br /> She also learned how to keep bedding fresh and springy using beech leaves, properly cure a hangover with little more than salt and fresh air, and plump her eyelashes by crushing burnt cloves into a fine powder.<br /> <br /> Eager to get back and share the manifesto they were creating with friends and family, they boarded the airship and headed home. The next morning, over his daily breakfast of unusual looking eggs, she noticed he had a small bottle sitting next to him and asked what was in it. He only had to wink and she went to grab her old lunchbox, now covered in dried soapy rings where some bubbles had landed and popped the night before.<br /> <br /> == New Gweth Who Dis ==<br /> <br /> You see Charlize Dejacque, an Elf.<br /> <br /> Charlize has a fierce, untamed look to her that reminds you of a predatory animal.<br /> <br /> Her forearm has a tattoo of a voluptuous woman in a suggestive pose.<br /> <br /> She is wearing a feral fae earcuff with adorable wide eyes, a thick fleece-lined silverweave cloak with a deeply cowled hood, some dusky smuggler's robes belted with intertwined bloodlace and night diamonds, a tightly laced steelsilk bustier with snowy lace trim along the seams, a snowy white shadesatin gown with a feathery black gold overlay, a sleek bloodlace-wrapped parry stick with whisperlayne lashings, a dainty silversteel wedding ring displaying a beautiful heartstone, an instrument pick carved to resemble a snowflake, a small steel knife and some fur-lined thigh boots clasped with Zeltfish-bone hooks.<br /> <br /> She was born on the 28th day of the 5th month of Uthmor the Giant in the year of the Emerald Dolphin, 306 years after the victory of Lanival the Redeemer.<br /> <br /> She and Maxwelinski affirmed their vows before the gods in the 6th month of Arhat the Fire Lion in the year of the Emerald Dolphin, 425.<br /> <br /> Formerly Known As: [[Church of Aldauth|Charlize Vonderfecht]], [[Contraire family|Charlize Contraire]]<br /> <br /> Vonderfecht Crest: a pirate's flag unfurling from the stem of a jungle lily<br /> <br /> Contraire Crest: A lime green shield emblazoned with turkey leg and a mug of beer<br /> <br /> Other family members: [[Annieka|Annieka Dejacque]], [[Contrejour|Contrejour Dejacque]], Ruven Dejacque, Dresna Dejacque, Adlyn Dejacque<br /> <br /> == Lil Inski Fae ==<br /> <br /> A giggle like tiny crystal bells fills the air as your fae earcuff releases your ear, fluttering her wings to remain nearby. The gentle breeze leaves you feeling a little bit better, just enough to offset the pinch as she bites down on your flesh again.<br /> <br /> == Merry Ratufihen Rihidalo ~ With Love, The Inskis ==<br /> <br /> [Chris' Mass, A Card]<br /> <br /> Thick snow blankets a large hill at the edge of the forest, the large mound sloping at a steep angle. Numerous tracks mark a path upward, following the edge of a long area of snow packed tightly by the passing of numerous sleds. Sheets of ice dot the ground in several places, making the hillside even more treacherous -- or more fun, depending on the point of view.<br /> <br /> You also see a carved ice tree, a carved ice fae, a carved ice Elf, a carved ice Rakash, a carved ice throne, and a carved ice castle.<br /> <br /> Also here: Snowbeast Tamer Charlize and Snowbeast Tamer Maxwelinski.<br /> <br /> Obvious paths: east, south, up.<br /> <br /> == Prampus VonGruss: A Holiday Bedtime Story by Charlinski DeVonder ==<br /> <br /> Having escaped the Town Guards, a Rakash man and Elven woman once found themselves in an alleyway adjacent an orphanage and a tie-dyed canvas canopy. The tent seemed the obvious choice to duck into without anyone asking questions, so they did. Walking into a room full of wide eyed students there was an abrupt silence. A child spoke up to say, &quot;Oh, it's not even Dumezyl.&quot; Kids of all races, dressed in raggy clothing, went back to sitting restlessly and throwing origami dirigibles at each other.<br /> <br /> The couple gave each other a long look. They were dismayed. Not a single student was studying. All goofing off, misbehaving. And just before Chris’ Mass! The couple decided to teach these kids a lesson. Thus began the evening the kids of Zoluren would learn the horrifying story of Prampus. They gathered the children in a circle and began:<br /> <br /> “Prampus was a Prydaen, like Sonte Claws, except much darker. He had nightmare black fur, beady red eyes, and the sharpest pointiest teeth of any Prydaen in the lands. He wore a pair of goat horns on his forehead, and a single shoe styled to look like a black stallion's hoof.”<br /> <br /> A few disobedient children laughed as the story continued, but soon their mirth faded. They grew silent and listened on. This was a story with implications for the naughtiest among them. For the couple continued, explaining that to the children of the Air School that day, that Prampus would come to their very school that night. The night before Chris’ Mass was about to start.<br /> <br /> “This, children, is what is known as the Prampusnacht,” said the woman. The man said the word loudly with her, startling some of the kids, making them jump in their seats. “For the bad among you, Prampus comes with a large enchanted stick. He carries a basket of apples, to lure you. A stick, to whip you with. And for the worst, he commands a snaer hafwa, to chill your souls.”<br /> <br /> “Prampus knows if you have been bad or good. When you take an apple, if you have been good boys and girls, he will send you on your way. Else you will find yourself on the receiving end of his stick. Children, if Prampus hits you with this stick, your features will distort and become ugly instantly!” A little girl in the back began to cry. The Rakash man nudged her. “Too much,” he whispered. She shrugged.<br /> <br /> A boisterous, brave boy stood up suddenly. “I ain’t afraid ah nuh Prampus!” he shouted, “Prampus prolly ain’t even real!” The couple gave each other a glance, stifling a smile and a laugh as they realized their frightening story wouldn’t work on some of the young delinquents. Some would see right through it. Indeed, such a fanciful tale had to be made up, didn’t it? Of course it did. They had just made it up on the spot to frighten the children.<br /> <br /> The next day, the day of Chris’ Mass, they passed by the same orphanage and down the alley adjacent the Air School. Curiously, a number of children they recognized from the previous day were eating apples. And then they heard a sobbing noise from inside. As they passed under the canopy, they followed the sobs to a nook. It was the brave boy, not so brave now. Bawling. As he turned, what they saw horrified them.<br /> <br /> The Elf let out a gasp, her heart jumped in her chest and she turned away toward her partner so as not to look any longer. Before them the boy gazed up, tears running down what was now a completely different, hideously ugly, face. The man let out a high-pitched squeal and they turned, running out of the school as fast as they could.<br /> <br /> The boy would recover, his face healed. He eventually began to claim that he had been in an unfortunate caravan accident. But the couple, as well as the children of Dumezyl’s open school outside of the orphanage, knew the truth.<br /> <br /> == Fear and Loathing in Mer'Kresh ==<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski just butted his head against some iron bars, looking for all the world like a ram attacking a paladin.<br /> <br /> You hit your head soundly against some iron bars.<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski's song comes to an end.<br /> <br /> You are still stunned.<br /> <br /> Diwitt grasps your ears and returns your kiss with slobbery enthusiasm, leaving you with the taste of stale tobacco and rum in your mouth.<br /> <br /> As you reach towards Registrar Lokrain, he pulls out a wooden ruler and swats the back of your hand! &quot;Mind your manners! I didn't get where I am today by putting up with such shenanigans!&quot;, he exclaims.<br /> <br /> The celpeze hatchling stares at your fingers and hisses -- perhaps anticipating a treat other than a boring familiar biscuit.<br /> <br /> The bookcase contains such titles as: &quot;Cooking with FireShard&quot;, &quot;Magic in the Kitchen&quot;, &quot;15 Easy Needlepoint Arcane Symbol Patterns&quot;, &quot;Kort in Cooking&quot; and &quot;Love Potions: Belradi in the Bedroom&quot; ... but not a single reference on warrior mage lore.<br /> <br /> == Mad Max: Staho Pivo'hrr'schu'Mus ==<br /> <br /> '''In a world, where the weakest ones can change change the faith of their nation'''<br /> <br /> A bull shark lunges through a spray of foam, its teeth bared in rage at Maxwelinski. <br /> <br /> Maxwelinski leans back and hoists a bull shark into the air!<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski's suplex smashes a bull shark into the ground, landing an awesome strike to a bull shark's right leg!<br /> The bull shark is severely stunned!<br /> <br /> You lean back and hoist a bull shark into the air!<br /> <br /> Your suplex smashes a bull shark into the ground, landing a hard hit to a bull shark's chest!<br /> The bull shark is lightly stunned!<br /> <br /> '''Where the Gods themselves are being mocked by their people'''<br /> <br /> You say, &quot;Elf You Drogor!&quot;<br /> <br /> Moving skillfully, you bite your teeth at a bull shark. A bull shark fails to dodge. The teeth lands a good strike that lightly pierces the left forearm.<br /> A bull shark gives a final lunge, its teeth snapping mere inches from your skin, then shudders and turns belly up, biting in vain at anything within reach until it ceases all movement.<br /> <br /> '''A world of betrayal'''<br /> <br /> [Underground Streams, Source]<br /> <br /> You also see a small muddied box and a small muddied box labeled &quot;ZaiBox Nine&quot;.<br /> <br /> A few moments later...<br /> <br /> [Underground Streams, Source]<br /> <br /> You also see a small muddied box and a small muddied box labeled &quot;Charlinski&quot;.<br /> <br /> '''A world of pain'''<br /> <br /> You twirl Maxwelinski around, suddenly pushing him down in a dramatic dip. In a combination of sweaty fingers and mistimed movements, you drop him on the floor. Uh oh! Think he will believe that's part of the dance step?<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski performs his zills, clacking it annoyingly in your face.<br /> <br /> '''Only one person will be able to bring the balance'''<br /> <br /> You pull mightily on the oars, heading west.<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski pulls (with almost no effect) on the oars, heading west.<br /> <br /> ''Follow our heroes on their trip towards an uncertain end''<br /> <br /> '''THIS SPRING, STAY TUNED FOR THE NEXT SEASON OF CHILDREN OF HULDAH'''<br /> <br /> == Elfalicious- Confusion (The Remix) ==<br /> <br /> Charlize recites:<br /> <br /> &quot;Uh, uh, check it out <br /> <br /> Lil Boogle <br /> <br /> 425 <br /> <br /> To all the weasels in the place with style and grace <br /> <br /> Allow me to lace these lyrical mixtures, in your whiskers&quot;<br /> <br /> Charlize recites:<br /> <br /> &quot;Who rock grooves and make moves with all the faeries <br /> <br /> The back of the inn, sippin', is where you'll find me <br /> <br /> The back of the inn, prayin', my crew's behind me <br /> <br /> Mad question askin', Prydaen egg passin', music blastin'&quot;<br /> <br /> Charlize recites:<br /> <br /> &quot;Mischief sender, beartender <br /> <br /> Believe me sweety he got enough drinks to serve the needy <br /> <br /> No need to be greedy I got mad friends with caravans <br /> <br /> smugglin contraband <br /> <br /> Plats by the layers, true players <br /> <br /> Jump on the ferry, come over, you'll wanna stay here&quot;<br /> <br /> Charlize recites:<br /> <br /> &quot;I love it when you call me big Huldah <br /> <br /> To the weasels gettin' money playin' cats like dummies <br /> <br /> Straight up honey really I'm askin' <br /> <br /> Most of these faes think they be impin' but they be actin <br /> <br /> In for a Huldah Surprise, let's see whats inside&quot;<br /> <br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Collapse=No<br /> }}</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=File:Charlize.jpg&diff=483379 2018-01-16T01:31:45Z

<p>FOUCAULT: This is a drawing of the character Charlize, by the player of Charlize.</p> <hr /> <div>This is a drawing of the character Charlize, by the player of Charlize.</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=482400 2017-12-19T12:43:24Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>[[File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png|thumb|right|Dejacque Heraldry: In Ore Mingentem]]<br /> <br /> == Description ==<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> == Family and Stuff ==<br /> Maxwelinski has a horse named Horsewelinski and a babirusa.<br /> <br /> And there are people, too. [[Charlize]] Dejacque, the beautiful wifinski. [[Contrejour]] Dejacque. Cousin-sister [[Annieka]] Dejacque, brother-cousin [[Ruven]] Dejacque (although his name links to Kaldar skirts, he is in fact a real person), aunt-sister [[Dresna]] Dejacque.<br /> <br /> == The Story ==<br /> [[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.<br /> <br /> == Maxwelinski, starring in MAXWELINSKI, P.I. ==<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:SaltCrabsAreDangerous.jpg|thumb|450px|right|(This used to be a beautiful picture of the sign in the Riverhaven salt yard until Isharon removed it for reasons. Imagine: cute salt crabs and fat guards.)]]<br /> <br /> A light rain had just begun to patter down from above in the loose city known as the Crossing. I inhaled deeply on my stump cigar, wincing at the telltale odor of corpse. Three long years and they still haunted me. I looked up at the crude sketches on the wall. Likenesses of the missing Prydaens. All young. The trend of dressing little Prydaens as baby dolls had never fully disappeared, but this was something new.<br /> <br /> All of a sudden I heard a knock at my faux flamewood door. The faux sungold plaque engraved “MAXWELINSKI, P.I.” tumbled to the door, faux mistglass shattering everywhere. I put down nine iron ashtrays I had been juggling, snuff my cigar into one of them and call out, “IT’S OPEN DAMNIT!”<br /> <br /> This Cleric with an angular face walks into the room. He’s about the tallest drink of holy water I’ve ver seen this side of the Selgotha. He hangs his floating orb thing on my faux copperwood coat rack. His nose wrinkles up.<br /> <br /> “It smells like smoke.”<br /> <br /> I pull out a sky-blue imnera runestone and cast Zephyr. The smoke disperses.<br /> <br /> He sits down in front of me and crosses his legs suggestively, adjusting his cassock. I can feel the blood rush to my ears, but I manage to keep a straight face. I see his anloral shrew pin. Kerenhappuch, typical.<br /> <br /> “I have a job for you, Max,” he says. I bet you do, I think.<br /> <br /> “And I have some information.”<br /> <br /> This gets my attention. I can tell from his look that it’s about the missing Prydaens.<br /> <br /> “But first,” he says curtly, “you must do something for me.” There’s the rub.<br /> <br /> He slips a piece of parchment from his pouch and pushes it across my faux expensivewood desk. It looks like a child’s drawing of a blob man.<br /> <br /> “Do you recognize it? This construct killed thirteen people at the Rangers’ Guild. Me, and my associates, want it. When you find it, call me.”<br /> <br /> It looks like every single glass construct ever, but I nod assent. I look up at him, “How do I find you?”<br /> <br /> “You’re a Rakash, aren’t you? Just howl.”<br /> <br /> He stands up and goes for the door. He moves to jiggle the handle, turns and looks at me. We exchange glances. “You remember how to howl, don’t you?,” he asks, “You just put your lips together and go AAWWOOOO.”<br /> <br /> == Eyewitness testimony of the umbral moth invasion of Boar Clan, as told to Maxwelinski by an umbral moth ==<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:Welcome_to_merkresh.jpg|thumb|650px|right|This was another super cute picture that I made. Imagine Mer'Kresh on stilts, covered in lizards and origami.]]<br /> As early as I can remember, when I was but a pupa, my mother told me to watch out for the lights. No matter how pretty they look, just stay away from them. If someone offers you a light just say no. For most of my life I heeded this advice.<br /> <br /> During the day I slept in the shade beneath large leaves or nestled in the camouflaging bark of a large dryad’s tree. At night I came out to drink the nectar of flowering plants with my freakishly long proboscis. Many times I looked up at the stars and felt a pull, an attraction. Those were lights. But they were too far away. I flirted with them, but I was safe.<br /> <br /> During the twilight hours I awoke to find columns of people, caravans, headed toward a city. The road was lit with torches. I put this out of my mind and went about my job in the local ecosystem. As the night grew longer the light grew brighter. Light had all become concentrated in one area, visible toward the horizon. The pure dark of the night, the dark that lets you see stars unblemished, had become marred by a reddish-yellow haze.<br /> <br /> Light pollution. That was it. It drew me to it like a reaver to samatak. Up to this point in my life I stayed out of trouble. I was a model moth. I had a beneficial symbiotic relationship with night-blooming flowers. I was the fauna, the flora was itself. I pollinated while I drank. My proboscis is also generously endowed by moth standards. You could say I was an exceptional moth.<br /> <br /> I don’t remember the journey, only that I was in a city. Trees had been cut into logs, logs stacked to the height of at least three wingspans. All had been lit to produce massive, intoxicating, light-producing fires. Bipeds, Humans and Prydaens, their young, all gathered around.<br /> <br /> When I flew closer to the fire, closer to the action, people began to panic. There was screaming. Swords were drawn. I felt hard metal slap against my delicate, powdery wings. I tried to extend my feelers, my furred little legs, even my proboscis. This was a sign of peace. I’d witnessed bipeds do with their own upper appendages.<br /> <br /> The people had become hysterical. They were no longer in their right minds. Marty, the moth who lives in the closet of an abandoned farmhouse close to the tree I sleep in during the late spring, flew by just in time to see. I was trying to shake a flailing biped I had managed to secure in my six legs. I was pheromoning, “Biped, calm down! I’m not going to hurt you.” The biped was responding with loud auditory signals and chops from a hand axe.<br /> <br /> Almost immediately the word got around to the other moths. The whole forest came to see the spectacle. And the rest is history.<br /> <br /> == At The Necromancer Rally ==<br /> <br /> A tiny Gnome straddled on the shoulders of a tall Kaldar adjusts her hat. After tinkering with a small, geared device she raises her hand and cues a Moon Mage a few yards away. The Mage, raising his arm, brings a shadewatch mirror into existence. The Gnome smiles and speaks into it:<br /> <br /> “Hullo Zoluren! Welcome back to day three of live coverage at the Town Green. As you may know, two days ago controversy broke out when Necromancers descended en masse to protest the removal of a handwritten note by a Cleric. Since then all -heck- has broken loose between supporters of the Necromancers and their detractors!”<br /> <br /> With a movement of his arm, the Mage rotates his mirror to capture the crowd. An assortment of adults dressed mostly in lace and dark eyeliner are bunched up in front of the pond. The lipopod has a dubious expression.<br /> <br /> The Mage turns back to the Gnome newsperson:<br /> <br /> “In just a moment we will hear an organizer of this rally, Evul McHateface, one of the leaders of the so-called “Perverse” faction, address the crowd.”<br /> <br /> A tall lich, seemingly chinless, climbs upon a scaffold hastily manufactured from the bodies of fanatical followers. He pauses a moment to brush his Rakash-hide suit and adjust his Prydaen-tail tie. With each step new people dive forward underneath his feet. Finally he is elevated and easily visible above the crowd. He raises his hand and silence descends. A glass bottle lands at his feet with a lone “boo!”<br /> <br /> “I come from a long line of Necromancers. My daddy was a Necromancer, his daddy and his daddy before that! They fought with Lyras in the War of Prydaen Aggression! And I tell you, I am PROUD to be a Necromancer! I am proud to stand before you today, here to fight for NECROMANCER CULTURE. Why, we built these provinces before those immigrants, those Rakash and Prydaens, descended upon us in an INVASION. By the way, the Rakash, they have low intelligence and wisdom, let me tell you about...”<br /> <br /> A Cleric, having managed to unobtrusively climb on the stage, suddenly springs forth. He casts Fists of Faenella and hits the lich right in the face! A scuffle breaks out and the speech is temporarily disrupted. The shadewatch mirror turns back to the Gnome:<br /> <br /> “Uh oh! We seem to have a little interruption. Let’s hope they get it worked out. Maybe we can talk to some of the crowd.”<br /> <br /> The Gnome turns to a pudgy Human shuffling by. Bearing the signet of the Traders’ Guild, the Human seems to be panting with each step. He heaves forward with heavy pockets filled with coins on top of his own weight.<br /> <br /> “Hullo sir! Did you come for the demonstrations?”<br /> <br /> The Human Trader pauses to catch his breath before pulling out a cloth, wiping the residual blood of the peasantry from his hands as he responds,<br /> <br /> “It’s all bad. All bad, I say! The Clerics are just as bad as the Necromancers! Both sides. All violence! BOTH SIDES, I say! And that little Cleric girl tearing down notes. Bad I say! That is PRIVATE PROPERTY!”<br /> <br /> A strong gust of wind blows, dislodging the Trader’s orange muskrat fur toupee from his head. He manages to catch it between stubby fingers before finishing, “Now, excuse me. Excuse me, I say! I have a huge meeting with the Prince. My serfs have revolted and I need the guards to put those losers down!”<br /> <br /> The Trader waddles off and attention turns back to the Gnome:<br /> <br /> “There you have it, folks! Clerics just as bad as the Necromancers? I dunno! More on that later. We’re about to hear from Knobby VanDuplicitous, prominent figure in what has come to be known as the “Philosopher” faction of the Necromancers.”<br /> <br /> A man with unnaturally white, even bone-white, teeth gives the crowd a big smile before starting:<br /> <br /> “Friends let us unite! They call us Necromancers – but who gets to say what a Necromancer is anyway? Are you a Necromancer, am I? I don’t even know what the word means! I think they just call anyone they don’t like a Necromancer.”<br /> <br /> Kobby produces a severed hand from his cloak and points one of its fingers accusingly at the crowd of Clerics gathered, “Is that it? You just call us Necromancers because you disagree. Well, I say you are the -real- Necromancers!” The crowd erupts in mixture of noise. He raises his voice and continues:<br /> <br /> “And who gets to say Necromancy is even wrong, even if I am a Necromancer? Why, just the other day I saw a shop in Therengia sell a cupcake to Rakash. What if I don’t like that? How is me not liking that any different from some people not liking Necromancy!” More noise. The crowd grows increasingly hostile. He continues:<br /> <br /> “And what of burning our notes? We have a right to post our opinions in Prydaen blood ink penned on their fresh hides. Where has the TOLERANCE of the Gods gone now! Why do Clerics hate FREE SPEECH?” He punctuates every point with a jab of the severed hand he is holding, splattering the row closest to him with drops of blood. A few in the crowd have begun to forage branches, piling them and starting little fires. A nervous-looking Trader pushes his way through the Necromancer side of the crowd. He seems to be selling frozen peaches on sticks.<br /> <br /> It isn’t long before one of those delicious but hard frozen treats is hurled and a melee breaks out. The Gnome makes a hasty gesture at the Moon Mage. The Mage quickly opens up a moongate and the three-person crew duck through. The Gnome peeks her head out to deliver a closing, “Stay tuned folks! Next up, our coverage of the war with North Therengia. Why -ever- do they hate us!” She ducks back through the moongate and it closes behind her.<br /> <br /> == Assorted songskis for your enjoyment ==<br /> <br /> ==== Prydaens of Ilithi ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> Meow, meow, meow!<br /> Ilithian Prydaens,<br /> Raw food chow!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard,<br /> They pattered right on in.<br /> On itty-bitty Prydaen paws,<br /> These teachers-of-the-kin.<br /> <br /> It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> It’s so sickeningly sweet!<br /> Shard-dwelling Prydaens<br /> I say, eating up raw meat!<br /> <br /> When the Elotheans saw the Prydaens,<br /> They were jealous of their hair,<br /> And Prydaens lived in fear a time<br /> They couldn’t go nowhere.<br /> <br /> And then they passed a law,<br /> Prydaen hunting banned!<br /> No more Prydaen fur toupees,<br /> And no more Prydaen ashtray hands!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard;<br /> The lands became humane,<br /> Elotheans were no longer seen,<br /> As thieves of Prydaen mane<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens met the Elves,<br /> They got along real sweet!<br /> The Elves got the choicest parts<br /> The Prydaens ate raw meat!<br /> <br /> And the tradition,<br /> It continued to this day,<br /> The Elves at their tables,<br /> Prydaens below at play!<br /> <br /> And Prydaens they did mingle,<br /> With every Ilithic race!<br /> And had the kin that they pleased,<br /> In each and every place!<br /> <br /> And so they all ate raw meat,<br /> To this very day,<br /> So have a bite of something raw<br /> It’s the Pry-Ilithic way!<br /> <br /> So says Pry d’Ann the Bard,<br /> So just you listen close<br /> Pick some raw food off the floor<br /> Then pop it down your throat!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== The Therengian Wedding Duel ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> The nobl’st of customs.<br /> The woman not allowed to speak,<br /> just watch the men and trust ‘em.<br /> <br /> The Therengian view on girls,<br /> Is quite traditional.<br /> A Therengian girl’s rights you see,<br /> are quite conditional.<br /> <br /> The man he does not ask the lass,<br /> He goes straight to the pops<br /> And if he kisses something crass<br /> The pops lets him set up shop<br /> <br /> Because the Therengian man believes<br /> That it’s somewhat fatherly.<br /> And that a romantic thing to see<br /> Is women sold like property!<br /> <br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> A Theren man selects a Theren bride.<br /> The woman cannot run or flee,<br /> There’s nowhere she can hide.<br /> <br /> And if a Theren dad says no;<br /> And he makes a fuss;<br /> They can have a violent row,<br /> The winner considered just!<br /> <br /> Because in Theren might is right;<br /> The strong they crush the weak!<br /> And thus the Therengian wedding duel,<br /> is the tradition that they keep.<br /> <br /> So if you are a Therengian girl,<br /> And your mind is free.<br /> Pack your bags, escape at night<br /> And run away to sea!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Scholarship ====<br /> <br /> (This might be based on Juicy J's &quot;Scholarship&quot;)<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> You need some extra plat to pay the Academy with<br /> It just so happens, I've got a lot of it<br /> Spin around the Empath pole, do the splits<br /> Then come and teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Heal that cat - prepare a spell<br /> Dead body, didn't go too well<br /> Disarmed a box and lost a hand<br /> Killed a squirrel, shock again<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Coins and gems<br /> Tips and plats<br /> Stay trippy<br /> Eat georin grass<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Touched a tamarisk tree<br /> I'm doin' al-chem-y<br /> Shiftin' in the city<br /> Now they arrestin' me<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== A Prydaen Freestyle ====<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:PRYDAENSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right|Another picture taken down.]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Got a cleft lip, but I rap<br /> Better call me a kit, not a cat<br /> Eating live birds and some rats<br /> Prydaen - I'm a kit, not a cat<br /> <br /> Sharpen up my claws<br /> Pointy teeth in my jaws<br /> If bein' Prydaen was a crime<br /> I'd be breakin' all the laws<br /> <br /> Tail floppin' like a monkey<br /> You know I never bathe<br /> So I smell like somethin' funky<br /> And you know I never shave<br /> Raw meat junkie<br /> Yes - I said I never bathe<br /> <br /> How I wear a shoe?<br /> Got pads on my foot<br /> How do -you- do?<br /> Prydaen soul dark, soot<br /> Evil to the root<br /> <br /> Town guards they call me kitty<br /> Hesitate to let me in the city<br /> Prydaen life really gritty<br /> Insert some cat profan-ity<br /> <br /> Feelin' safe in the bank<br /> Showing off my hub rank<br /> City rough<br /> like a shark tank<br /> Birthin' tough<br /> Havin' kits in the bank<br /> Yes, havin' kits in the bank<br /> Don't make a stank<br /> I'm havin' my kits in the bank<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Reverend Rafaeli's Prayer ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little potpies<br /> You’ve got Glythtide’s body<br /> And Dergati’s eyes<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little tadpole tails<br /> Everild eating sausage<br /> Eluned eating whales<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little love blankets<br /> If baby Be'ort is bad<br /> Then you must spank it<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little cups of curds<br /> A full third of the Immortals’<br /> Animals are birds<br /> <br /> I hope you liked my prayer<br /> Try not to be jelly<br /> Two friendly kisses<br /> From Brother Rafaeli!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Fratvarit Rap ====<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:RAKASHSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right|That time we got to like number six on the vote website. We're mostly going for all text and no pictures on Elanthipedia since it's a text-based game.]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Alchemy is confusin'<br /> But alcohol's a solution<br /> It's a technical truth<br /> Not a lyrical illusion<br /> <br /> First you mash the apple<br /> Like a spousal battle<br /> Let the jug sit<br /> Then give it a rattle<br /> <br /> When it starts to brew<br /> Increase the heat to two<br /> At this point it's bitter<br /> And an explosive mixture<br /> <br /> So you better be careful<br /> Know the fumes ain't healthful<br /> Eyes on the prize<br /> The final product make you wealthful<br /> <br /> Then you crush the peppercorn<br /> With an elder deer horn<br /> Shake it in the bottle<br /> A drop'll sleep a newborn<br /> <br /> So that's how you star it<br /> In the game of fratvarit<br /> Now keep a crossbow loaded<br /> 'Cause Rakash keep the bar lit<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Short Song for Saphryna ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Who heals you when you're sick and stuff?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who hugs you when you're feelin' rough?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who fixes you when a box goes blast?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who picks you up off of your, er...<br /> Behind, behind!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=481466 2017-11-28T20:55:51Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>[[File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png|thumb|right|Dejacque Heraldry: In Ore Mingentem]]<br /> <br /> == Description ==<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> == Family and Stuff ==<br /> Maxwelinski has a horse named Horsewelinski and a babirusa.<br /> <br /> == The Story ==<br /> [[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.<br /> <br /> == Maxwelinski, starring in MAXWELINSKI, P.I. ==<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:SaltCrabsAreDangerous.jpg|thumb|450px|right|(This used to be a beautiful picture of the sign in the Riverhaven salt yard until Isharon removed it for reasons. Imagine: cute salt crabs and fat guards.)]]<br /> <br /> A light rain had just begun to patter down from above in the loose city known as the Crossing. I inhaled deeply on my stump cigar, wincing at the telltale odor of corpse. Three long years and they still haunted me. I looked up at the crude sketches on the wall. Likenesses of the missing Prydaens. All young. The trend of dressing little Prydaens as baby dolls had never fully disappeared, but this was something new.<br /> <br /> All of a sudden I heard a knock at my faux flamewood door. The faux sungold plaque engraved “MAXWELINSKI, P.I.” tumbled to the door, faux mistglass shattering everywhere. I put down nine iron ashtrays I had been juggling, snuff my cigar into one of them and call out, “IT’S OPEN DAMNIT!”<br /> <br /> This Cleric with an angular face walks into the room. He’s about the tallest drink of holy water I’ve ver seen this side of the Selgotha. He hangs his floating orb thing on my faux copperwood coat rack. His nose wrinkles up.<br /> <br /> “It smells like smoke.”<br /> <br /> I pull out a sky-blue imnera runestone and cast Zephyr. The smoke disperses.<br /> <br /> He sits down in front of me and crosses his legs suggestively, adjusting his cassock. I can feel the blood rush to my ears, but I manage to keep a straight face. I see his anloral shrew pin. Kerenhappuch, typical.<br /> <br /> “I have a job for you, Max,” he says. I bet you do, I think.<br /> <br /> “And I have some information.”<br /> <br /> This gets my attention. I can tell from his look that it’s about the missing Prydaens.<br /> <br /> “But first,” he says curtly, “you must do something for me.” There’s the rub.<br /> <br /> He slips a piece of parchment from his pouch and pushes it across my faux expensivewood desk. It looks like a child’s drawing of a blob man.<br /> <br /> “Do you recognize it? This construct killed thirteen people at the Rangers’ Guild. Me, and my associates, want it. When you find it, call me.”<br /> <br /> It looks like every single glass construct ever, but I nod assent. I look up at him, “How do I find you?”<br /> <br /> “You’re a Rakash, aren’t you? Just howl.”<br /> <br /> He stands up and goes for the door. He moves to jiggle the handle, turns and looks at me. We exchange glances. “You remember how to howl, don’t you?,” he asks, “You just put your lips together and go AAWWOOOO.”<br /> <br /> == Eyewitness testimony of the umbral moth invasion of Boar Clan, as told to Maxwelinski by an umbral moth ==<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:Welcome_to_merkresh.jpg|thumb|650px|right|This was another super cute picture that I made. Imagine Mer'Kresh on stilts, covered in lizards and origami.]]<br /> As early as I can remember, when I was but a pupa, my mother told me to watch out for the lights. No matter how pretty they look, just stay away from them. If someone offers you a light just say no. For most of my life I heeded this advice.<br /> <br /> During the day I slept in the shade beneath large leaves or nestled in the camouflaging bark of a large dryad’s tree. At night I came out to drink the nectar of flowering plants with my freakishly long proboscis. Many times I looked up at the stars and felt a pull, an attraction. Those were lights. But they were too far away. I flirted with them, but I was safe.<br /> <br /> During the twilight hours I awoke to find columns of people, caravans, headed toward a city. The road was lit with torches. I put this out of my mind and went about my job in the local ecosystem. As the night grew longer the light grew brighter. Light had all become concentrated in one area, visible toward the horizon. The pure dark of the night, the dark that lets you see stars unblemished, had become marred by a reddish-yellow haze.<br /> <br /> Light pollution. That was it. It drew me to it like a reaver to samatak. Up to this point in my life I stayed out of trouble. I was a model moth. I had a beneficial symbiotic relationship with night-blooming flowers. I was the fauna, the flora was itself. I pollinated while I drank. My proboscis is also generously endowed by moth standards. You could say I was an exceptional moth.<br /> <br /> I don’t remember the journey, only that I was in a city. Trees had been cut into logs, logs stacked to the height of at least three wingspans. All had been lit to produce massive, intoxicating, light-producing fires. Bipeds, Humans and Prydaens, their young, all gathered around.<br /> <br /> When I flew closer to the fire, closer to the action, people began to panic. There was screaming. Swords were drawn. I felt hard metal slap against my delicate, powdery wings. I tried to extend my feelers, my furred little legs, even my proboscis. This was a sign of peace. I’d witnessed bipeds do with their own upper appendages.<br /> <br /> The people had become hysterical. They were no longer in their right minds. Marty, the moth who lives in the closet of an abandoned farmhouse close to the tree I sleep in during the late spring, flew by just in time to see. I was trying to shake a flailing biped I had managed to secure in my six legs. I was pheromoning, “Biped, calm down! I’m not going to hurt you.” The biped was responding with loud auditory signals and chops from a hand axe.<br /> <br /> Almost immediately the word got around to the other moths. The whole forest came to see the spectacle. And the rest is history.<br /> <br /> == At The Necromancer Rally ==<br /> <br /> A tiny Gnome straddled on the shoulders of a tall Kaldar adjusts her hat. After tinkering with a small, geared device she raises her hand and cues a Moon Mage a few yards away. The Mage, raising his arm, brings a shadewatch mirror into existence. The Gnome smiles and speaks into it:<br /> <br /> “Hullo Zoluren! Welcome back to day three of live coverage at the Town Green. As you may know, two days ago controversy broke out when Necromancers descended en masse to protest the removal of a handwritten note by a Cleric. Since then all -heck- has broken loose between supporters of the Necromancers and their detractors!”<br /> <br /> With a movement of his arm, the Mage rotates his mirror to capture the crowd. An assortment of adults dressed mostly in lace and dark eyeliner are bunched up in front of the pond. The lipopod has a dubious expression.<br /> <br /> The Mage turns back to the Gnome newsperson:<br /> <br /> “In just a moment we will hear an organizer of this rally, Evul McHateface, one of the leaders of the so-called “Perverse” faction, address the crowd.”<br /> <br /> A tall lich, seemingly chinless, climbs upon a scaffold hastily manufactured from the bodies of fanatical followers. He pauses a moment to brush his Rakash-hide suit and adjust his Prydaen-tail tie. With each step new people dive forward underneath his feet. Finally he is elevated and easily visible above the crowd. He raises his hand and silence descends. A glass bottle lands at his feet with a lone “boo!”<br /> <br /> “I come from a long line of Necromancers. My daddy was a Necromancer, his daddy and his daddy before that! They fought with Lyras in the War of Prydaen Aggression! And I tell you, I am PROUD to be a Necromancer! I am proud to stand before you today, here to fight for NECROMANCER CULTURE. Why, we built these provinces before those immigrants, those Rakash and Prydaens, descended upon us in an INVASION. By the way, the Rakash, they have low intelligence and wisdom, let me tell you about...”<br /> <br /> A Cleric, having managed to unobtrusively climb on the stage, suddenly springs forth. He casts Fists of Faenella and hits the lich right in the face! A scuffle breaks out and the speech is temporarily disrupted. The shadewatch mirror turns back to the Gnome:<br /> <br /> “Uh oh! We seem to have a little interruption. Let’s hope they get it worked out. Maybe we can talk to some of the crowd.”<br /> <br /> The Gnome turns to a pudgy Human shuffling by. Bearing the signet of the Traders’ Guild, the Human seems to be panting with each step. He heaves forward with heavy pockets filled with coins on top of his own weight.<br /> <br /> “Hullo sir! Did you come for the demonstrations?”<br /> <br /> The Human Trader pauses to catch his breath before pulling out a cloth, wiping the residual blood of the peasantry from his hands as he responds,<br /> <br /> “It’s all bad. All bad, I say! The Clerics are just as bad as the Necromancers! Both sides. All violence! BOTH SIDES, I say! And that little Cleric girl tearing down notes. Bad I say! That is PRIVATE PROPERTY!”<br /> <br /> A strong gust of wind blows, dislodging the Trader’s orange muskrat fur toupee from his head. He manages to catch it between stubby fingers before finishing, “Now, excuse me. Excuse me, I say! I have a huge meeting with the Prince. My serfs have revolted and I need the guards to put those losers down!”<br /> <br /> The Trader waddles off and attention turns back to the Gnome:<br /> <br /> “There you have it, folks! Clerics just as bad as the Necromancers? I dunno! More on that later. We’re about to hear from Knobby VanDuplicitous, prominent figure in what has come to be known as the “Philosopher” faction of the Necromancers.”<br /> <br /> A man with unnaturally white, even bone-white, teeth gives the crowd a big smile before starting:<br /> <br /> “Friends let us unite! They call us Necromancers – but who gets to say what a Necromancer is anyway? Are you a Necromancer, am I? I don’t even know what the word means! I think they just call anyone they don’t like a Necromancer.”<br /> <br /> Kobby produces a severed hand from his cloak and points one of its fingers accusingly at the crowd of Clerics gathered, “Is that it? You just call us Necromancers because you disagree. Well, I say you are the -real- Necromancers!” The crowd erupts in mixture of noise. He raises his voice and continues:<br /> <br /> “And who gets to say Necromancy is even wrong, even if I am a Necromancer? Why, just the other day I saw a shop in Therengia sell a cupcake to Rakash. What if I don’t like that? How is me not liking that any different from some people not liking Necromancy!” More noise. The crowd grows increasingly hostile. He continues:<br /> <br /> “And what of burning our notes? We have a right to post our opinions in Prydaen blood ink penned on their fresh hides. Where has the TOLERANCE of the Gods gone now! Why do Clerics hate FREE SPEECH?” He punctuates every point with a jab of the severed hand he is holding, splattering the row closest to him with drops of blood. A few in the crowd have begun to forage branches, piling them and starting little fires. A nervous-looking Trader pushes his way through the Necromancer side of the crowd. He seems to be selling frozen peaches on sticks.<br /> <br /> It isn’t long before one of those delicious but hard frozen treats is hurled and a melee breaks out. The Gnome makes a hasty gesture at the Moon Mage. The Mage quickly opens up a moongate and the three-person crew duck through. The Gnome peeks her head out to deliver a closing, “Stay tuned folks! Next up, our coverage of the war with North Therengia. Why -ever- do they hate us!” She ducks back through the moongate and it closes behind her.<br /> <br /> == Songbirds ==<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:Tentacle_trading_final.JPG|thumb|650px|right|This was a picture of pit traders scrambling over tentacles. Imagine all the excitement, all the tentacles. This one was also removed for reasons.]]<br /> I stand outside the Empaths’ Guild. The rain is cool on my face. The distinct rain of early spring. I walk to the door, but Constanze quickly appears and blocks my passage. I wasn't to be allowed back in before the Anlas of some thing or the other. Telling time is difficult. Popping a dusk berry into my mouth and quickly twisting the neck of a red-chested songbird, I walk away. I make it two blocks before I faceplant into a doorway. When I wake up, I feel much better about not being in the infirmary. My mind wanders to the disapproving face of Sophrona as I casually twist the head off of another bird, rise to my feet and continue down the street.<br /> <br /> When I get to Taelbert's Inn I check my wallet. It's light. Count the coins. There are only six platinums. I had nine. A bug flies into a lit candle nearby and makes a hissing noise, distracting me. I shrug. You can't buy anything with two plats. Except for alcohol. That's why I'm at Taelbert's. At a mere sixty coppers, I can buy still buy enough alcohol to drink myself into a coma and have a nice meal on top of it.<br /> <br /> This is Rakash life. Maybe you've read Coming of Age or Rakash Traditions and Dawvs. The kinds of books you'll find in the library at Siksraja. Tales about old times by old Rakash. How many of us live that way now? I take a sip of my sparkling cider. No one else is in the bar. I drink my cider alone. The sun goes down. That's how I know it's time to leave.<br /> <br /> I meet her in a far section of the Temple garden. Black roses grow around us. My heart beats faster when I see her blue eyes. I can feel it in my chest. I take a sharp razor out of my pocket, reach down and cut the stem of a rose. It smells funny, but I give it to her anyway. She smiles at me and puts her arms around my neck. I take a deep breath and inhale the scent of her hair.<br /> <br /> When we wake up it's nearing dawn. The sun is just visible from the second-story inn window. So are the buildings of the city, small and squat, and the few larger ones. It's warm and the covers are pulled halfway off. Her leg is draped over mine. She pretends to sleep, but I catch her looking at me through half-closed eyes. I reach over and pick a Purple Lion cigarillo out of a bag and toss it onto the bed. Somehow I manage to get it lit with a flint and a knife.<br /> <br /> “Don't do that, you'll set the bed on fire.”<br /> <br /> She's right. You're not supposed to light tobacco in bed with a flint. I take a long drag and exhale. The room fills with smoke, easily visible by a ray of light cast through the window. She doesn't smoke, but she says she likes the smell. We lay in bed until mid-morning. I stare at the paint on the wall. A small patch is peeling. Her head rests on my lap as she dozes in and out of sleep. Her curly hair tickles my thighs and I twirl a loose lock around my finger.<br /> <br /> By the time we make it outside the sun is high in the sky. I wince and shield my eyes from the brightness. It's blinding. I look over at her through squinting eyes. She has the same expression on her face. We turn and walk back inside – to the bar.<br /> <br /> The bartender passes a strong, reddish drink to her. I can smell it from here. People forget that Rakash have an acute sense of smell. I order a cider. And I can still smell her from last night. The scent of her hair. Her body. She starts to lecture me on using light thrown weapons. I sip my cider and gaze at her, listening patiently. The class goes from banter to flirting. Soon we are just staring at one another. We go back to our room and don't leave until the sun goes down.<br /> <br /> We climb the tree. It smells like cat. A viscous red liquid seems out of place on a bar. A table supports an assortment of cages. I dig an ornate birdcage from my bag and set it on the floor. One by one I remove a songbird from a cage on the table and gently place it in my own birdcage. When I can't fit another comfortably inside I pick it up and off we go.<br /> <br /> The ground is littered with sawdust, tacks, nails and dirt. It all has a smell unique to the Empath infirmary. A mixture of blood and body odor. Three Prydaens stand in a circle pulling each others tails. When I retrieve my birdcage out they all look up, suddenly distracted. A typical Prydaen trait. I nod at another Rakash, an older fellow, whistling loudly in the corner. He sees me, covers his face and shakes his head.<br /> <br /> I toss a dead songbird into the air. The Prydaens clamber over themselves, leaping to snatch them out of the sky before they hit the ground. There are feathers everywhere. The blood is not out of place in the infirmary. Empaths regularly bleed on the floor as they practice medical techniques upon their own bodies. But the feathers. A sour, matronly Empath shoots me an evil glance an walks out. The Prydaens giggle away while eating raw birds.<br /> <br /> == Healing ==<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:Tentacle after auction.JPG|thumb|650px|right|This was a picture I made of pit traders scrambling over a bundle of tentacles. It was gorgeous and was probably going to be put on show at the Lourve Museum. People loved it, but it was purged in the great meme purging of 2017.]]<br /> &quot;Is anybody 'ealin',&quot; says some guy. I glance down into my duffel bag. It's heavy with the weight of multiple eel skins and a weapon called a snake cleaver. My shoulder tenses and I shrug, pain all down one side of my back, up into my neck, face and eye. Eeling. I pull out a skin and wrap it around my neck and face. Then I lay down on the floor. It's thick with thumb tacks and sawdust. There's a distinct odor of dried blood. I crawl on my stomach out of the infirmary like an eel would. I glance back at my wife. She follows me, covering her face with her hands and shaking her head.<br /> <br /> I reel in another fish. It's a monstrous little creature with two faces and three small fish parts. A creppo. I pull out a small knife and think about opening it up, but can't bring myself to do it. I drop it on the ground. There's a small pile of disgusting fish. I'm reminded of Pyrdaen delicacies. Finally, a sturgeon. A normal fish with two eyes. That's a fish I can relate to. I slice it open and carefully remove a few choice innards.<br /> <br /> Still no eel. I'm staring off at a cloud and my lips are moving as I think to myself. I've got a giblet in my hand, squeezing it absently. I look over at my wife. She's exploring an iron grill propped up on a stone bench. I toss the squished giblet down onto the grill in front of her. She looks up at me with a start and then shoots me a blank expression. It might be tolerance. When I walk back over to the shore I reach down and touch the sand, grabbing a handful. It's gritty and the sand sticks. I dip both of my hands into the water and scrub them.<br /> <br /> &quot;Use the soap,&quot; she says. She tosses me a small bar. I do. When I bring my hands up to my face they smell like lavender. I leave the bar sitting on the bench. She hooks her arm in mine. We're about to leave, but I remember the fishing pole. I stop, run back and grab it. Then I hurl it as far as I can into the sea. We walk off, arm in arm.<br /> <br /> It looks like a costume party. A dozen or so people stand about. A few are collecting small piles of debris, the ever-present tacks and nails, then kicking them. Tacks and nails are flying everywhere. It's complete chaos. I recall someone having requested an eel. My stomach tightens up. I couldn't catch an eel. I reach into my pocket and feel something squish. It's a loose fish giblet. I wince and drop it on the ground.<br /> <br /> &quot;Why are you dropping your giblets on the ground!&quot; A thin woman with crazy eyes shrieks at me. My face turns red. She is dressed in a formal attire and is completely terrifying. Her lips are moving. There are sounds coming out of her mouth, but now I'm transfixed on white blotches of spittle forming at the corners.<br /> <br /> &quot;I said, why are you dropping your giblets on the ground!&quot; She seems to be on the verge of hysteria. I don't think it is even a question.<br /> <br /> &quot;They're not mine. They came from a fish.&quot;<br /> <br /> Her eyes widen. She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. Then she hollers out, &quot;There's a bucket right there!&quot; I'm not sure what she wants. Someone kicks a pile and a rusty nail bounces off the side of my face. A man is laying in the corner, trying to tend a gaping wound in his abdomen. A small Empath, a Gnome, is crying out with the pain of healing him. This woman continues to stare at me, then down at the giblets, then back at my face. The noise in the room is overwhelming. I think she is telling me to put them in the bucket.<br /> <br /> I feel a soft hand grab mine, squeezing. I can smell her and the muscles in my neck relax. My wife tugs me while she reaches down fast, picks up the giblets and throws them in the bucket. My arm gets pulled along and I take a step forward to keep my balance. There she is, her body suddenly between mine and this woman. My wife is stepping on the hem of her gown. I don't know if it is deliberate. People are still screaming and crying in the background. In an instant we are out the door.<br /> <br /> We don't go far. We're in a small alley and I tug her up into a recessed doorway. I put both of my arms around her waist and she leans back against the door. I squeeze her tightly and rest my head on her chest. She puts her chin on the top of my head. I can feel her hands stroking my back.<br /> <br /> &quot;That woman was crazy.&quot;<br /> <br /> &quot;Yeah, she's a lunatic.&quot;<br /> <br /> The door opens and we almost fall inside. An old man shouts at us to get out of his doorway. We hold hands and skip off, laughing.<br /> <br /> == Assorted songskis for your enjoyment ==<br /> <br /> ==== Prydaens of Ilithi ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> Meow, meow, meow!<br /> Ilithian Prydaens,<br /> Raw food chow!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard,<br /> They pattered right on in.<br /> On itty-bitty Prydaen paws,<br /> These teachers-of-the-kin.<br /> <br /> It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> It’s so sickeningly sweet!<br /> Shard-dwelling Prydaens<br /> I say, eating up raw meat!<br /> <br /> When the Elotheans saw the Prydaens,<br /> They were jealous of their hair,<br /> And Prydaens lived in fear a time<br /> They couldn’t go nowhere.<br /> <br /> And then they passed a law,<br /> Prydaen hunting banned!<br /> No more Prydaen fur toupees,<br /> And no more Prydaen ashtray hands!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard;<br /> The lands became humane,<br /> Elotheans were no longer seen,<br /> As thieves of Prydaen mane<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens met the Elves,<br /> They got along real sweet!<br /> The Elves got the choicest parts<br /> The Prydaens ate raw meat!<br /> <br /> And the tradition,<br /> It continued to this day,<br /> The Elves at their tables,<br /> Prydaens below at play!<br /> <br /> And Prydaens they did mingle,<br /> With every Ilithic race!<br /> And had the kin that they pleased,<br /> In each and every place!<br /> <br /> And so they all ate raw meat,<br /> To this very day,<br /> So have a bite of something raw<br /> It’s the Pry-Ilithic way!<br /> <br /> So says Pry d’Ann the Bard,<br /> So just you listen close<br /> Pick some raw food off the floor<br /> Then pop it down your throat!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== The Therengian Wedding Duel ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> The nobl’st of customs.<br /> The woman not allowed to speak,<br /> just watch the men and trust ‘em.<br /> <br /> The Therengian view on girls,<br /> Is quite traditional.<br /> A Therengian girl’s rights you see,<br /> are quite conditional.<br /> <br /> The man he does not ask the lass,<br /> He goes straight to the pops<br /> And if he kisses something crass<br /> The pops lets him set up shop<br /> <br /> Because the Therengian man believes<br /> That it’s somewhat fatherly.<br /> And that a romantic thing to see<br /> Is women sold like property!<br /> <br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> A Theren man selects a Theren bride.<br /> The woman cannot run or flee,<br /> There’s nowhere she can hide.<br /> <br /> And if a Theren dad says no;<br /> And he makes a fuss;<br /> They can have a violent row,<br /> The winner considered just!<br /> <br /> Because in Theren might is right;<br /> The strong they crush the weak!<br /> And thus the Therengian wedding duel,<br /> is the tradition that they keep.<br /> <br /> So if you are a Therengian girl,<br /> And your mind is free.<br /> Pack your bags, escape at night<br /> And run away to sea!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Scholarship ====<br /> <br /> (This might be based on Juicy J's &quot;Scholarship&quot;)<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> You need some extra plat to pay the Academy with<br /> It just so happens, I've got a lot of it<br /> Spin around the Empath pole, do the splits<br /> Then come and teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Heal that cat - prepare a spell<br /> Dead body, didn't go too well<br /> Disarmed a box and lost a hand<br /> Killed a squirrel, shock again<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Coins and gems<br /> Tips and plats<br /> Stay trippy<br /> Eat georin grass<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Touched a tamarisk tree<br /> I'm doin' al-chem-y<br /> Shiftin' in the city<br /> Now they arrestin' me<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== A Prydaen Freestyle ====<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:PRYDAENSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right|Another picture taken down.]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Got a cleft lip, but I rap<br /> Better call me a kit, not a cat<br /> Eating live birds and some rats<br /> Prydaen - I'm a kit, not a cat<br /> <br /> Sharpen up my claws<br /> Pointy teeth in my jaws<br /> If bein' Prydaen was a crime<br /> I'd be breakin' all the laws<br /> <br /> Tail floppin' like a monkey<br /> You know I never bathe<br /> So I smell like somethin' funky<br /> And you know I never shave<br /> Raw meat junkie<br /> Yes - I said I never bathe<br /> <br /> How I wear a shoe?<br /> Got pads on my foot<br /> How do -you- do?<br /> Prydaen soul dark, soot<br /> Evil to the root<br /> <br /> Town guards they call me kitty<br /> Hesitate to let me in the city<br /> Prydaen life really gritty<br /> Insert some cat profan-ity<br /> <br /> Feelin' safe in the bank<br /> Showing off my hub rank<br /> City rough<br /> like a shark tank<br /> Birthin' tough<br /> Havin' kits in the bank<br /> Yes, havin' kits in the bank<br /> Don't make a stank<br /> I'm havin' my kits in the bank<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Reverend Rafaeli's Prayer ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little potpies<br /> You’ve got Glythtide’s body<br /> And Dergati’s eyes<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little tadpole tails<br /> Everild eating sausage<br /> Eluned eating whales<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little love blankets<br /> If baby Be'ort is bad<br /> Then you must spank it<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little cups of curds<br /> A full third of the Immortals’<br /> Animals are birds<br /> <br /> I hope you liked my prayer<br /> Try not to be jelly<br /> Two friendly kisses<br /> From Brother Rafaeli!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Fratvarit Rap ====<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:RAKASHSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right|That time we got to like number six on the vote website. We're mostly going for all text and no pictures on Elanthipedia since it's a text-based game.]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Alchemy is confusin'<br /> But alcohol's a solution<br /> It's a technical truth<br /> Not a lyrical illusion<br /> <br /> First you mash the apple<br /> Like a spousal battle<br /> Let the jug sit<br /> Then give it a rattle<br /> <br /> When it starts to brew<br /> Increase the heat to two<br /> At this point it's bitter<br /> And an explosive mixture<br /> <br /> So you better be careful<br /> Know the fumes ain't healthful<br /> Eyes on the prize<br /> The final product make you wealthful<br /> <br /> Then you crush the peppercorn<br /> With an elder deer horn<br /> Shake it in the bottle<br /> A drop'll sleep a newborn<br /> <br /> So that's how you star it<br /> In the game of fratvarit<br /> Now keep a crossbow loaded<br /> 'Cause Rakash keep the bar lit<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Short Song for Saphryna ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Who heals you when you're sick and stuff?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who hugs you when you're feelin' rough?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who fixes you when a box goes blast?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who picks you up off of your, er...<br /> Behind, behind!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=474654 2017-08-27T13:35:46Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>[[File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png|thumb|right|Dejacque Heraldry: In Ore Mingentem]]<br /> <br /> == Description ==<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> == Family and Stuff ==<br /> Maxwelinski has a horse named Horsewelinski and a babirusa.<br /> <br /> He also has a wife named [[Caidie]] and a pupinski named [[Laroux]]<br /> <br /> == The Story ==<br /> [[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.<br /> <br /> == Maxwelinski, starring in MAXWELINSKI, P.I. ==<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:SaltCrabsAreDangerous.jpg|thumb|450px|right|(This used to be a beautiful picture of the sign in the Riverhaven salt yard until Isharon removed it for reasons. Imagine: cute salt crabs and fat guards.)]]<br /> <br /> A light rain had just begun to patter down from above in the loose city known as the Crossing. I inhaled deeply on my stump cigar, wincing at the telltale odor of corpse. Three long years and they still haunted me. I looked up at the crude sketches on the wall. Likenesses of the missing Prydaens. All young. The trend of dressing little Prydaens as baby dolls had never fully disappeared, but this was something new.<br /> <br /> All of a sudden I heard a knock at my faux flamewood door. The faux sungold plaque engraved “MAXWELINSKI, P.I.” tumbled to the door, faux mistglass shattering everywhere. I put down nine iron ashtrays I had been juggling, snuff my cigar into one of them and call out, “IT’S OPEN DAMNIT!”<br /> <br /> This Cleric with an angular face walks into the room. He’s about the tallest drink of holy water I’ve ver seen this side of the Selgotha. He hangs his floating orb thing on my faux copperwood coat rack. His nose wrinkles up.<br /> <br /> “It smells like smoke.”<br /> <br /> I pull out a sky-blue imnera runestone and cast Zephyr. The smoke disperses.<br /> <br /> He sits down in front of me and crosses his legs suggestively, adjusting his cassock. I can feel the blood rush to my ears, but I manage to keep a straight face. I see his anloral shrew pin. Kerenhappuch, typical.<br /> <br /> “I have a job for you, Max,” he says. I bet you do, I think.<br /> <br /> “And I have some information.”<br /> <br /> This gets my attention. I can tell from his look that it’s about the missing Prydaens.<br /> <br /> “But first,” he says curtly, “you must do something for me.” There’s the rub.<br /> <br /> He slips a piece of parchment from his pouch and pushes it across my faux expensivewood desk. It looks like a child’s drawing of a blob man.<br /> <br /> “Do you recognize it? This construct killed thirteen people at the Rangers’ Guild. Me, and my associates, want it. When you find it, call me.”<br /> <br /> It looks like every single glass construct ever, but I nod assent. I look up at him, “How do I find you?”<br /> <br /> “You’re a Rakash, aren’t you? Just howl.”<br /> <br /> He stands up and goes for the door. He moves to jiggle the handle, turns and looks at me. We exchange glances. “You remember how to howl, don’t you?,” he asks, “You just put your lips together and go AAWWOOOO.”<br /> <br /> == Eyewitness testimony of the umbral moth invasion of Boar Clan, as told to Maxwelinski by an umbral moth ==<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:Welcome_to_merkresh.jpg|thumb|650px|right|This was another super cute picture that I made. Imagine Mer'Kresh on stilts, covered in lizards and origami.]]<br /> As early as I can remember, when I was but a pupa, my mother told me to watch out for the lights. No matter how pretty they look, just stay away from them. If someone offers you a light just say no. For most of my life I heeded this advice.<br /> <br /> During the day I slept in the shade beneath large leaves or nestled in the camouflaging bark of a large dryad’s tree. At night I came out to drink the nectar of flowering plants with my freakishly long proboscis. Many times I looked up at the stars and felt a pull, an attraction. Those were lights. But they were too far away. I flirted with them, but I was safe.<br /> <br /> During the twilight hours I awoke to find columns of people, caravans, headed toward a city. The road was lit with torches. I put this out of my mind and went about my job in the local ecosystem. As the night grew longer the light grew brighter. Light had all become concentrated in one area, visible toward the horizon. The pure dark of the night, the dark that lets you see stars unblemished, had become marred by a reddish-yellow haze.<br /> <br /> Light pollution. That was it. It drew me to it like a reaver to samatak. Up to this point in my life I stayed out of trouble. I was a model moth. I had a beneficial symbiotic relationship with night-blooming flowers. I was the fauna, the flora was itself. I pollinated while I drank. My proboscis is also generously endowed by moth standards. You could say I was an exceptional moth.<br /> <br /> I don’t remember the journey, only that I was in a city. Trees had been cut into logs, logs stacked to the height of at least three wingspans. All had been lit to produce massive, intoxicating, light-producing fires. Bipeds, Humans and Prydaens, their young, all gathered around.<br /> <br /> When I flew closer to the fire, closer to the action, people began to panic. There was screaming. Swords were drawn. I felt hard metal slap against my delicate, powdery wings. I tried to extend my feelers, my furred little legs, even my proboscis. This was a sign of peace. I’d witnessed bipeds do with their own upper appendages.<br /> <br /> The people had become hysterical. They were no longer in their right minds. Marty, the moth who lives in the closet of an abandoned farmhouse close to the tree I sleep in during the late spring, flew by just in time to see. I was trying to shake a flailing biped I had managed to secure in my six legs. I was pheromoning, “Biped, calm down! I’m not going to hurt you.” The biped was responding with loud auditory signals and chops from a hand axe.<br /> <br /> Almost immediately the word got around to the other moths. The whole forest came to see the spectacle. And the rest is history.<br /> <br /> == At The Necromancer Rally ==<br /> <br /> A tiny Gnome straddled on the shoulders of a tall Kaldar adjusts her hat. After tinkering with a small, geared device she raises her hand and cues a Moon Mage a few yards away. The Mage, raising his arm, brings a shadewatch mirror into existence. The Gnome smiles and speaks into it:<br /> <br /> “Hullo Zoluren! Welcome back to day three of live coverage at the Town Green. As you may know, two days ago controversy broke out when Necromancers descended en masse to protest the removal of a handwritten note by a Cleric. Since then all -heck- has broken loose between supporters of the Necromancers and their detractors!”<br /> <br /> With a movement of his arm, the Mage rotates his mirror to capture the crowd. An assortment of adults dressed mostly in lace and dark eyeliner are bunched up in front of the pond. The lipopod has a dubious expression.<br /> <br /> The Mage turns back to the Gnome newsperson:<br /> <br /> “In just a moment we will hear an organizer of this rally, Evul McHateface, one of the leaders of the so-called “Perverse” faction, address the crowd.”<br /> <br /> A tall lich, seemingly chinless, climbs upon a scaffold hastily manufactured from the bodies of fanatical followers. He pauses a moment to brush his Rakash-hide suit and adjust his Prydaen-tail tie. With each step new people dive forward underneath his feet. Finally he is elevated and easily visible above the crowd. He raises his hand and silence descends. A glass bottle lands at his feet with a lone “boo!”<br /> <br /> “I come from a long line of Necromancers. My daddy was a Necromancer, his daddy and his daddy before that! They fought with Lyras in the War of Prydaen Aggression! And I tell you, I am PROUD to be a Necromancer! I am proud to stand before you today, here to fight for NECROMANCER CULTURE. Why, we built these provinces before those immigrants, those Rakash and Prydaens, descended upon us in an INVASION. By the way, the Rakash, they have low intelligence and wisdom, let me tell you about...”<br /> <br /> A Cleric, having managed to unobtrusively climb on the stage, suddenly springs forth. He casts Fists of Faenella and hits the lich right in the face! A scuffle breaks out and the speech is temporarily disrupted. The shadewatch mirror turns back to the Gnome:<br /> <br /> “Uh oh! We seem to have a little interruption. Let’s hope they get it worked out. Maybe we can talk to some of the crowd.”<br /> <br /> The Gnome turns to a pudgy Human shuffling by. Bearing the signet of the Traders’ Guild, the Human seems to be panting with each step. He heaves forward with heavy pockets filled with coins on top of his own weight.<br /> <br /> “Hullo sir! Did you come for the demonstrations?”<br /> <br /> The Human Trader pauses to catch his breath before pulling out a cloth, wiping the residual blood of the peasantry from his hands as he responds,<br /> <br /> “It’s all bad. All bad, I say! The Clerics are just as bad as the Necromancers! Both sides. All violence! BOTH SIDES, I say! And that little Cleric girl tearing down notes. Bad I say! That is PRIVATE PROPERTY!”<br /> <br /> A strong gust of wind blows, dislodging the Trader’s orange muskrat fur toupee from his head. He manages to catch it between stubby fingers before finishing, “Now, excuse me. Excuse me, I say! I have a huge meeting with the Prince. My serfs have revolted and I need the guards to put those losers down!”<br /> <br /> The Trader waddles off and attention turns back to the Gnome:<br /> <br /> “There you have it, folks! Clerics just as bad as the Necromancers? I dunno! More on that later. We’re about to hear from Knobby VanDuplicitous, prominent figure in what has come to be known as the “Philosopher” faction of the Necromancers.”<br /> <br /> A man with unnaturally white, even bone-white, teeth gives the crowd a big smile before starting:<br /> <br /> “Friends let us unite! They call us Necromancers – but who gets to say what a Necromancer is anyway? Are you a Necromancer, am I? I don’t even know what the word means! I think they just call anyone they don’t like a Necromancer.”<br /> <br /> Kobby produces a severed hand from his cloak and points one of its fingers accusingly at the crowd of Clerics gathered, “Is that it? You just call us Necromancers because you disagree. Well, I say you are the -real- Necromancers!” The crowd erupts in mixture of noise. He raises his voice and continues:<br /> <br /> “And who gets to say Necromancy is even wrong, even if I am a Necromancer? Why, just the other day I saw a shop in Therengia sell a cupcake to Rakash. What if I don’t like that? How is me not liking that any different from some people not liking Necromancy!” More noise. The crowd grows increasingly hostile. He continues:<br /> <br /> “And what of burning our notes? We have a right to post our opinions in Prydaen blood ink penned on their fresh hides. Where has the TOLERANCE of the Gods gone now! Why do Clerics hate FREE SPEECH?” He punctuates every point with a jab of the severed hand he is holding, splattering the row closest to him with drops of blood. A few in the crowd have begun to forage branches, piling them and starting little fires. A nervous-looking Trader pushes his way through the Necromancer side of the crowd. He seems to be selling frozen peaches on sticks.<br /> <br /> It isn’t long before one of those delicious but hard frozen treats is hurled and a melee breaks out. The Gnome makes a hasty gesture at the Moon Mage. The Mage quickly opens up a moongate and the three-person crew duck through. The Gnome peeks her head out to deliver a closing, “Stay tuned folks! Next up, our coverage of the war with North Therengia. Why -ever- do they hate us!” She ducks back through the moongate and it closes behind her.<br /> <br /> == Songbirds ==<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:Tentacle_trading_final.JPG|thumb|650px|right|This was a picture of pit traders scrambling over tentacles. Imagine all the excitement, all the tentacles. This one was also removed for reasons.]]<br /> I stand outside the Empaths’ Guild. The rain is cool on my face. The distinct rain of early spring. I walk to the door, but Constanze quickly appears and blocks my passage. I wasn't to be allowed back in before the Anlas of some thing or the other. Telling time is difficult. Popping a dusk berry into my mouth and quickly twisting the neck of a red-chested songbird, I walk away. I make it two blocks before I faceplant into a doorway. When I wake up, I feel much better about not being in the infirmary. My mind wanders to the disapproving face of Sophrona as I casually twist the head off of another bird, rise to my feet and continue down the street.<br /> <br /> When I get to Taelbert's Inn I check my wallet. It's light. Count the coins. There are only six platinums. I had nine. A bug flies into a lit candle nearby and makes a hissing noise, distracting me. I shrug. You can't buy anything with two plats. Except for alcohol. That's why I'm at Taelbert's. At a mere sixty coppers, I can buy still buy enough alcohol to drink myself into a coma and have a nice meal on top of it.<br /> <br /> This is Rakash life. Maybe you've read Coming of Age or Rakash Traditions and Dawvs. The kinds of books you'll find in the library at Siksraja. Tales about old times by old Rakash. How many of us live that way now? I take a sip of my sparkling cider. No one else is in the bar. I drink my cider alone. The sun goes down. That's how I know it's time to leave.<br /> <br /> I meet her in a far section of the Temple garden. Black roses grow around us. My heart beats faster when I see her blue eyes. I can feel it in my chest. I take a sharp razor out of my pocket, reach down and cut the stem of a rose. It smells funny, but I give it to her anyway. She smiles at me and puts her arms around my neck. I take a deep breath and inhale the scent of her hair.<br /> <br /> When we wake up it's nearing dawn. The sun is just visible from the second-story inn window. So are the buildings of the city, small and squat, and the few larger ones. It's warm and the covers are pulled halfway off. Her leg is draped over mine. She pretends to sleep, but I catch her looking at me through half-closed eyes. I reach over and pick a Purple Lion cigarillo out of a bag and toss it onto the bed. Somehow I manage to get it lit with a flint and a knife.<br /> <br /> “Don't do that, you'll set the bed on fire.”<br /> <br /> She's right. You're not supposed to light tobacco in bed with a flint. I take a long drag and exhale. The room fills with smoke, easily visible by a ray of light cast through the window. She doesn't smoke, but she says she likes the smell. We lay in bed until mid-morning. I stare at the paint on the wall. A small patch is peeling. Her head rests on my lap as she dozes in and out of sleep. Her curly hair tickles my thighs and I twirl a loose lock around my finger.<br /> <br /> By the time we make it outside the sun is high in the sky. I wince and shield my eyes from the brightness. It's blinding. I look over at her through squinting eyes. She has the same expression on her face. We turn and walk back inside – to the bar.<br /> <br /> The bartender passes a strong, reddish drink to her. I can smell it from here. People forget that Rakash have an acute sense of smell. I order a cider. And I can still smell her from last night. The scent of her hair. Her body. She starts to lecture me on using light thrown weapons. I sip my cider and gaze at her, listening patiently. The class goes from banter to flirting. Soon we are just staring at one another. We go back to our room and don't leave until the sun goes down.<br /> <br /> We climb the tree. It smells like cat. A viscous red liquid seems out of place on a bar. A table supports an assortment of cages. I dig an ornate birdcage from my bag and set it on the floor. One by one I remove a songbird from a cage on the table and gently place it in my own birdcage. When I can't fit another comfortably inside I pick it up and off we go.<br /> <br /> The ground is littered with sawdust, tacks, nails and dirt. It all has a smell unique to the Empath infirmary. A mixture of blood and body odor. Three Prydaens stand in a circle pulling each others tails. When I retrieve my birdcage out they all look up, suddenly distracted. A typical Prydaen trait. I nod at another Rakash, an older fellow, whistling loudly in the corner. He sees me, covers his face and shakes his head.<br /> <br /> I toss a dead songbird into the air. The Prydaens clamber over themselves, leaping to snatch them out of the sky before they hit the ground. There are feathers everywhere. The blood is not out of place in the infirmary. Empaths regularly bleed on the floor as they practice medical techniques upon their own bodies. But the feathers. A sour, matronly Empath shoots me an evil glance an walks out. The Prydaens giggle away while eating raw birds.<br /> <br /> == Healing ==<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:Tentacle after auction.JPG|thumb|650px|right|This was a picture I made of pit traders scrambling over a bundle of tentacles. It was gorgeous and was probably going to be put on show at the Lourve Museum. People loved it, but it was purged in the great meme purging of 2017.]]<br /> &quot;Is anybody 'ealin',&quot; says some guy. I glance down into my duffel bag. It's heavy with the weight of multiple eel skins and a weapon called a snake cleaver. My shoulder tenses and I shrug, pain all down one side of my back, up into my neck, face and eye. Eeling. I pull out a skin and wrap it around my neck and face. Then I lay down on the floor. It's thick with thumb tacks and sawdust. There's a distinct odor of dried blood. I crawl on my stomach out of the infirmary like an eel would. I glance back at my wife. She follows me, covering her face with her hands and shaking her head.<br /> <br /> I reel in another fish. It's a monstrous little creature with two faces and three small fish parts. A creppo. I pull out a small knife and think about opening it up, but can't bring myself to do it. I drop it on the ground. There's a small pile of disgusting fish. I'm reminded of Pyrdaen delicacies. Finally, a sturgeon. A normal fish with two eyes. That's a fish I can relate to. I slice it open and carefully remove a few choice innards.<br /> <br /> Still no eel. I'm staring off at a cloud and my lips are moving as I think to myself. I've got a giblet in my hand, squeezing it absently. I look over at my wife. She's exploring an iron grill propped up on a stone bench. I toss the squished giblet down onto the grill in front of her. She looks up at me with a start and then shoots me a blank expression. It might be tolerance. When I walk back over to the shore I reach down and touch the sand, grabbing a handful. It's gritty and the sand sticks. I dip both of my hands into the water and scrub them.<br /> <br /> &quot;Use the soap,&quot; she says. She tosses me a small bar. I do. When I bring my hands up to my face they smell like lavender. I leave the bar sitting on the bench. She hooks her arm in mine. We're about to leave, but I remember the fishing pole. I stop, run back and grab it. Then I hurl it as far as I can into the sea. We walk off, arm in arm.<br /> <br /> It looks like a costume party. A dozen or so people stand about. A few are collecting small piles of debris, the ever-present tacks and nails, then kicking them. Tacks and nails are flying everywhere. It's complete chaos. I recall someone having requested an eel. My stomach tightens up. I couldn't catch an eel. I reach into my pocket and feel something squish. It's a loose fish giblet. I wince and drop it on the ground.<br /> <br /> &quot;Why are you dropping your giblets on the ground!&quot; A thin woman with crazy eyes shrieks at me. My face turns red. She is dressed in a formal attire and is completely terrifying. Her lips are moving. There are sounds coming out of her mouth, but now I'm transfixed on white blotches of spittle forming at the corners.<br /> <br /> &quot;I said, why are you dropping your giblets on the ground!&quot; She seems to be on the verge of hysteria. I don't think it is even a question.<br /> <br /> &quot;They're not mine. They came from a fish.&quot;<br /> <br /> Her eyes widen. She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. Then she hollers out, &quot;There's a bucket right there!&quot; I'm not sure what she wants. Someone kicks a pile and a rusty nail bounces off the side of my face. A man is laying in the corner, trying to tend a gaping wound in his abdomen. A small Empath, a Gnome, is crying out with the pain of healing him. This woman continues to stare at me, then down at the giblets, then back at my face. The noise in the room is overwhelming. I think she is telling me to put them in the bucket.<br /> <br /> I feel a soft hand grab mine, squeezing. I can smell her and the muscles in my neck relax. My wife tugs me while she reaches down fast, picks up the giblets and throws them in the bucket. My arm gets pulled along and I take a step forward to keep my balance. There she is, her body suddenly between mine and this woman. My wife is stepping on the hem of her gown. I don't know if it is deliberate. People are still screaming and crying in the background. In an instant we are out the door.<br /> <br /> We don't go far. We're in a small alley and I tug her up into a recessed doorway. I put both of my arms around her waist and she leans back against the door. I squeeze her tightly and rest my head on her chest. She puts her chin on the top of my head. I can feel her hands stroking my back.<br /> <br /> &quot;That woman was crazy.&quot;<br /> <br /> &quot;Yeah, she's a lunatic.&quot;<br /> <br /> The door opens and we almost fall inside. An old man shouts at us to get out of his doorway. We hold hands and skip off, laughing.<br /> <br /> == Assorted songskis for your enjoyment ==<br /> <br /> ==== Prydaens of Ilithi ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> Meow, meow, meow!<br /> Ilithian Prydaens,<br /> Raw food chow!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard,<br /> They pattered right on in.<br /> On itty-bitty Prydaen paws,<br /> These teachers-of-the-kin.<br /> <br /> It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> It’s so sickeningly sweet!<br /> Shard-dwelling Prydaens<br /> I say, eating up raw meat!<br /> <br /> When the Elotheans saw the Prydaens,<br /> They were jealous of their hair,<br /> And Prydaens lived in fear a time<br /> They couldn’t go nowhere.<br /> <br /> And then they passed a law,<br /> Prydaen hunting banned!<br /> No more Prydaen fur toupees,<br /> And no more Prydaen ashtray hands!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard;<br /> The lands became humane,<br /> Elotheans were no longer seen,<br /> As thieves of Prydaen mane<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens met the Elves,<br /> They got along real sweet!<br /> The Elves got the choicest parts<br /> The Prydaens ate raw meat!<br /> <br /> And the tradition,<br /> It continued to this day,<br /> The Elves at their tables,<br /> Prydaens below at play!<br /> <br /> And Prydaens they did mingle,<br /> With every Ilithic race!<br /> And had the kin that they pleased,<br /> In each and every place!<br /> <br /> And so they all ate raw meat,<br /> To this very day,<br /> So have a bite of something raw<br /> It’s the Pry-Ilithic way!<br /> <br /> So says Pry d’Ann the Bard,<br /> So just you listen close<br /> Pick some raw food off the floor<br /> Then pop it down your throat!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== The Therengian Wedding Duel ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> The nobl’st of customs.<br /> The woman not allowed to speak,<br /> just watch the men and trust ‘em.<br /> <br /> The Therengian view on girls,<br /> Is quite traditional.<br /> A Therengian girl’s rights you see,<br /> are quite conditional.<br /> <br /> The man he does not ask the lass,<br /> He goes straight to the pops<br /> And if he kisses something crass<br /> The pops lets him set up shop<br /> <br /> Because the Therengian man believes<br /> That it’s somewhat fatherly.<br /> And that a romantic thing to see<br /> Is women sold like property!<br /> <br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> A Theren man selects a Theren bride.<br /> The woman cannot run or flee,<br /> There’s nowhere she can hide.<br /> <br /> And if a Theren dad says no;<br /> And he makes a fuss;<br /> They can have a violent row,<br /> The winner considered just!<br /> <br /> Because in Theren might is right;<br /> The strong they crush the weak!<br /> And thus the Therengian wedding duel,<br /> is the tradition that they keep.<br /> <br /> So if you are a Therengian girl,<br /> And your mind is free.<br /> Pack your bags, escape at night<br /> And run away to sea!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Scholarship ====<br /> <br /> (This might be based on Juicy J's &quot;Scholarship&quot;)<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> You need some extra plat to pay the Academy with<br /> It just so happens, I've got a lot of it<br /> Spin around the Empath pole, do the splits<br /> Then come and teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Heal that cat - prepare a spell<br /> Dead body, didn't go too well<br /> Disarmed a box and lost a hand<br /> Killed a squirrel, shock again<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Coins and gems<br /> Tips and plats<br /> Stay trippy<br /> Eat georin grass<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Touched a tamarisk tree<br /> I'm doin' al-chem-y<br /> Shiftin' in the city<br /> Now they arrestin' me<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== A Prydaen Freestyle ====<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:PRYDAENSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right|Another picture taken down.]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Got a cleft lip, but I rap<br /> Better call me a kit, not a cat<br /> Eating live birds and some rats<br /> Prydaen - I'm a kit, not a cat<br /> <br /> Sharpen up my claws<br /> Pointy teeth in my jaws<br /> If bein' Prydaen was a crime<br /> I'd be breakin' all the laws<br /> <br /> Tail floppin' like a monkey<br /> You know I never bathe<br /> So I smell like somethin' funky<br /> And you know I never shave<br /> Raw meat junkie<br /> Yes - I said I never bathe<br /> <br /> How I wear a shoe?<br /> Got pads on my foot<br /> How do -you- do?<br /> Prydaen soul dark, soot<br /> Evil to the root<br /> <br /> Town guards they call me kitty<br /> Hesitate to let me in the city<br /> Prydaen life really gritty<br /> Insert some cat profan-ity<br /> <br /> Feelin' safe in the bank<br /> Showing off my hub rank<br /> City rough<br /> like a shark tank<br /> Birthin' tough<br /> Havin' kits in the bank<br /> Yes, havin' kits in the bank<br /> Don't make a stank<br /> I'm havin' my kits in the bank<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Reverend Rafaeli's Prayer ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little potpies<br /> You’ve got Glythtide’s body<br /> And Dergati’s eyes<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little tadpole tails<br /> Everild eating sausage<br /> Eluned eating whales<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little love blankets<br /> If baby Be'ort is bad<br /> Then you must spank it<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little cups of curds<br /> A full third of the Immortals’<br /> Animals are birds<br /> <br /> I hope you liked my prayer<br /> Try not to be jelly<br /> Two friendly kisses<br /> From Brother Rafaeli!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Fratvarit Rap ====<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|180px|right]]<br /> [[File:RAKASHSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right|That time we got to like number six on the vote website. We're mostly going for all text and no pictures on Elanthipedia since it's a text-based game.]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Alchemy is confusin'<br /> But alcohol's a solution<br /> It's a technical truth<br /> Not a lyrical illusion<br /> <br /> First you mash the apple<br /> Like a spousal battle<br /> Let the jug sit<br /> Then give it a rattle<br /> <br /> When it starts to brew<br /> Increase the heat to two<br /> At this point it's bitter<br /> And an explosive mixture<br /> <br /> So you better be careful<br /> Know the fumes ain't healthful<br /> Eyes on the prize<br /> The final product make you wealthful<br /> <br /> Then you crush the peppercorn<br /> With an elder deer horn<br /> Shake it in the bottle<br /> A drop'll sleep a newborn<br /> <br /> So that's how you star it<br /> In the game of fratvarit<br /> Now keep a crossbow loaded<br /> 'Cause Rakash keep the bar lit<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Short Song for Saphryna ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Who heals you when you're sick and stuff?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who hugs you when you're feelin' rough?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who fixes you when a box goes blast?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who picks you up off of your, er...<br /> Behind, behind!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=474653 2017-08-27T13:31:45Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>[[File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png|thumb|right|Dejacque Heraldry: In Ore Mingentem]]<br /> <br /> == Description ==<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> == Family and Stuff ==<br /> Maxwelinski has a horse named Horsewelinski and a babirusa.<br /> <br /> He also has a wife named [[Caidie]] and a pupinski named [[Laroux]]<br /> <br /> == The Story ==<br /> [[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.<br /> <br /> == Maxwelinski, starring in MAXWELINSKI, P.I. ==<br /> [[File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg|thumb|250px|right]<br /> [[File:SaltCrabsAreDangerous.jpg|thumb|450px|right|(This used to be a beautiful picture of the sign in the Riverhaven salt yard until Isharon removed it for reasons. Imagine: cute salt crabs and fat guards.)]]<br /> <br /> A light rain had just begun to patter down from above in the loose city known as the Crossing. I inhaled deeply on my stump cigar, wincing at the telltale odor of corpse. Three long years and they still haunted me. I looked up at the crude sketches on the wall. Likenesses of the missing Prydaens. All young. The trend of dressing little Prydaens as baby dolls had never fully disappeared, but this was something new.<br /> <br /> All of a sudden I heard a knock at my faux flamewood door. The faux sungold plaque engraved “MAXWELINSKI, P.I.” tumbled to the door, faux mistglass shattering everywhere. I put down nine iron ashtrays I had been juggling, snuff my cigar into one of them and call out, “IT’S OPEN DAMNIT!”<br /> <br /> This Cleric with an angular face walks into the room. He’s about the tallest drink of holy water I’ve ver seen this side of the Selgotha. He hangs his floating orb thing on my faux copperwood coat rack. His nose wrinkles up.<br /> <br /> “It smells like smoke.”<br /> <br /> I pull out a sky-blue imnera runestone and cast Zephyr. The smoke disperses.<br /> <br /> He sits down in front of me and crosses his legs suggestively, adjusting his cassock. I can feel the blood rush to my ears, but I manage to keep a straight face. I see his anloral shrew pin. Kerenhappuch, typical.<br /> <br /> “I have a job for you, Max,” he says. I bet you do, I think.<br /> <br /> “And I have some information.”<br /> <br /> This gets my attention. I can tell from his look that it’s about the missing Prydaens.<br /> <br /> “But first,” he says curtly, “you must do something for me.” There’s the rub.<br /> <br /> He slips a piece of parchment from his pouch and pushes it across my faux expensivewood desk. It looks like a child’s drawing of a blob man.<br /> <br /> “Do you recognize it? This construct killed thirteen people at the Rangers’ Guild. Me, and my associates, want it. When you find it, call me.”<br /> <br /> It looks like every single glass construct ever, but I nod assent. I look up at him, “How do I find you?”<br /> <br /> “You’re a Rakash, aren’t you? Just howl.”<br /> <br /> He stands up and goes for the door. He moves to jiggle the handle, turns and looks at me. We exchange glances. “You remember how to howl, don’t you?,” he asks, “You just put your lips together and go AAWWOOOO.”<br /> <br /> == Eyewitness testimony of the umbral moth invasion of Boar Clan, as told to Maxwelinski by an umbral moth ==<br /> [[File:Welcome_to_merkresh.jpg|thumb|650px|right|This was another super cute picture that I made. Imagine Mer'Kresh on stilts, covered in lizards and origami.]]<br /> As early as I can remember, when I was but a pupa, my mother told me to watch out for the lights. No matter how pretty they look, just stay away from them. If someone offers you a light just say no. For most of my life I heeded this advice.<br /> <br /> During the day I slept in the shade beneath large leaves or nestled in the camouflaging bark of a large dryad’s tree. At night I came out to drink the nectar of flowering plants with my freakishly long proboscis. Many times I looked up at the stars and felt a pull, an attraction. Those were lights. But they were too far away. I flirted with them, but I was safe.<br /> <br /> During the twilight hours I awoke to find columns of people, caravans, headed toward a city. The road was lit with torches. I put this out of my mind and went about my job in the local ecosystem. As the night grew longer the light grew brighter. Light had all become concentrated in one area, visible toward the horizon. The pure dark of the night, the dark that lets you see stars unblemished, had become marred by a reddish-yellow haze.<br /> <br /> Light pollution. That was it. It drew me to it like a reaver to samatak. Up to this point in my life I stayed out of trouble. I was a model moth. I had a beneficial symbiotic relationship with night-blooming flowers. I was the fauna, the flora was itself. I pollinated while I drank. My proboscis is also generously endowed by moth standards. You could say I was an exceptional moth.<br /> <br /> I don’t remember the journey, only that I was in a city. Trees had been cut into logs, logs stacked to the height of at least three wingspans. All had been lit to produce massive, intoxicating, light-producing fires. Bipeds, Humans and Prydaens, their young, all gathered around.<br /> <br /> When I flew closer to the fire, closer to the action, people began to panic. There was screaming. Swords were drawn. I felt hard metal slap against my delicate, powdery wings. I tried to extend my feelers, my furred little legs, even my proboscis. This was a sign of peace. I’d witnessed bipeds do with their own upper appendages.<br /> <br /> The people had become hysterical. They were no longer in their right minds. Marty, the moth who lives in the closet of an abandoned farmhouse close to the tree I sleep in during the late spring, flew by just in time to see. I was trying to shake a flailing biped I had managed to secure in my six legs. I was pheromoning, “Biped, calm down! I’m not going to hurt you.” The biped was responding with loud auditory signals and chops from a hand axe.<br /> <br /> Almost immediately the word got around to the other moths. The whole forest came to see the spectacle. And the rest is history.<br /> <br /> == At The Necromancer Rally ==<br /> <br /> A tiny Gnome straddled on the shoulders of a tall Kaldar adjusts her hat. After tinkering with a small, geared device she raises her hand and cues a Moon Mage a few yards away. The Mage, raising his arm, brings a shadewatch mirror into existence. The Gnome smiles and speaks into it:<br /> <br /> “Hullo Zoluren! Welcome back to day three of live coverage at the Town Green. As you may know, two days ago controversy broke out when Necromancers descended en masse to protest the removal of a handwritten note by a Cleric. Since then all -heck- has broken loose between supporters of the Necromancers and their detractors!”<br /> <br /> With a movement of his arm, the Mage rotates his mirror to capture the crowd. An assortment of adults dressed mostly in lace and dark eyeliner are bunched up in front of the pond. The lipopod has a dubious expression.<br /> <br /> The Mage turns back to the Gnome newsperson:<br /> <br /> “In just a moment we will hear an organizer of this rally, Evul McHateface, one of the leaders of the so-called “Perverse” faction, address the crowd.”<br /> <br /> A tall lich, seemingly chinless, climbs upon a scaffold hastily manufactured from the bodies of fanatical followers. He pauses a moment to brush his Rakash-hide suit and adjust his Prydaen-tail tie. With each step new people dive forward underneath his feet. Finally he is elevated and easily visible above the crowd. He raises his hand and silence descends. A glass bottle lands at his feet with a lone “boo!”<br /> <br /> “I come from a long line of Necromancers. My daddy was a Necromancer, his daddy and his daddy before that! They fought with Lyras in the War of Prydaen Aggression! And I tell you, I am PROUD to be a Necromancer! I am proud to stand before you today, here to fight for NECROMANCER CULTURE. Why, we built these provinces before those immigrants, those Rakash and Prydaens, descended upon us in an INVASION. By the way, the Rakash, they have low intelligence and wisdom, let me tell you about...”<br /> <br /> A Cleric, having managed to unobtrusively climb on the stage, suddenly springs forth. He casts Fists of Faenella and hits the lich right in the face! A scuffle breaks out and the speech is temporarily disrupted. The shadewatch mirror turns back to the Gnome:<br /> <br /> “Uh oh! We seem to have a little interruption. Let’s hope they get it worked out. Maybe we can talk to some of the crowd.”<br /> <br /> The Gnome turns to a pudgy Human shuffling by. Bearing the signet of the Traders’ Guild, the Human seems to be panting with each step. He heaves forward with heavy pockets filled with coins on top of his own weight.<br /> <br /> “Hullo sir! Did you come for the demonstrations?”<br /> <br /> The Human Trader pauses to catch his breath before pulling out a cloth, wiping the residual blood of the peasantry from his hands as he responds,<br /> <br /> “It’s all bad. All bad, I say! The Clerics are just as bad as the Necromancers! Both sides. All violence! BOTH SIDES, I say! And that little Cleric girl tearing down notes. Bad I say! That is PRIVATE PROPERTY!”<br /> <br /> A strong gust of wind blows, dislodging the Trader’s orange muskrat fur toupee from his head. He manages to catch it between stubby fingers before finishing, “Now, excuse me. Excuse me, I say! I have a huge meeting with the Prince. My serfs have revolted and I need the guards to put those losers down!”<br /> <br /> The Trader waddles off and attention turns back to the Gnome:<br /> <br /> “There you have it, folks! Clerics just as bad as the Necromancers? I dunno! More on that later. We’re about to hear from Knobby VanDuplicitous, prominent figure in what has come to be known as the “Philosopher” faction of the Necromancers.”<br /> <br /> A man with unnaturally white, even bone-white, teeth gives the crowd a big smile before starting:<br /> <br /> “Friends let us unite! They call us Necromancers – but who gets to say what a Necromancer is anyway? Are you a Necromancer, am I? I don’t even know what the word means! I think they just call anyone they don’t like a Necromancer.”<br /> <br /> Kobby produces a severed hand from his cloak and points one of its fingers accusingly at the crowd of Clerics gathered, “Is that it? You just call us Necromancers because you disagree. Well, I say you are the -real- Necromancers!” The crowd erupts in mixture of noise. He raises his voice and continues:<br /> <br /> “And who gets to say Necromancy is even wrong, even if I am a Necromancer? Why, just the other day I saw a shop in Therengia sell a cupcake to Rakash. What if I don’t like that? How is me not liking that any different from some people not liking Necromancy!” More noise. The crowd grows increasingly hostile. He continues:<br /> <br /> “And what of burning our notes? We have a right to post our opinions in Prydaen blood ink penned on their fresh hides. Where has the TOLERANCE of the Gods gone now! Why do Clerics hate FREE SPEECH?” He punctuates every point with a jab of the severed hand he is holding, splattering the row closest to him with drops of blood. A few in the crowd have begun to forage branches, piling them and starting little fires. A nervous-looking Trader pushes his way through the Necromancer side of the crowd. He seems to be selling frozen peaches on sticks.<br /> <br /> It isn’t long before one of those delicious but hard frozen treats is hurled and a melee breaks out. The Gnome makes a hasty gesture at the Moon Mage. The Mage quickly opens up a moongate and the three-person crew duck through. The Gnome peeks her head out to deliver a closing, “Stay tuned folks! Next up, our coverage of the war with North Therengia. Why -ever- do they hate us!” She ducks back through the moongate and it closes behind her.<br /> <br /> == Songbirds ==<br /> [[File:Tentacle_trading_final.JPG|thumb|650px|right|This was a picture of pit traders scrambling over tentacles. Imagine all the excitement, all the tentacles. This one was also removed for reasons.]]<br /> I stand outside the Empaths’ Guild. The rain is cool on my face. The distinct rain of early spring. I walk to the door, but Constanze quickly appears and blocks my passage. I wasn't to be allowed back in before the Anlas of some thing or the other. Telling time is difficult. Popping a dusk berry into my mouth and quickly twisting the neck of a red-chested songbird, I walk away. I make it two blocks before I faceplant into a doorway. When I wake up, I feel much better about not being in the infirmary. My mind wanders to the disapproving face of Sophrona as I casually twist the head off of another bird, rise to my feet and continue down the street.<br /> <br /> When I get to Taelbert's Inn I check my wallet. It's light. Count the coins. There are only six platinums. I had nine. A bug flies into a lit candle nearby and makes a hissing noise, distracting me. I shrug. You can't buy anything with two plats. Except for alcohol. That's why I'm at Taelbert's. At a mere sixty coppers, I can buy still buy enough alcohol to drink myself into a coma and have a nice meal on top of it.<br /> <br /> This is Rakash life. Maybe you've read Coming of Age or Rakash Traditions and Dawvs. The kinds of books you'll find in the library at Siksraja. Tales about old times by old Rakash. How many of us live that way now? I take a sip of my sparkling cider. No one else is in the bar. I drink my cider alone. The sun goes down. That's how I know it's time to leave.<br /> <br /> I meet her in a far section of the Temple garden. Black roses grow around us. My heart beats faster when I see her blue eyes. I can feel it in my chest. I take a sharp razor out of my pocket, reach down and cut the stem of a rose. It smells funny, but I give it to her anyway. She smiles at me and puts her arms around my neck. I take a deep breath and inhale the scent of her hair.<br /> <br /> When we wake up it's nearing dawn. The sun is just visible from the second-story inn window. So are the buildings of the city, small and squat, and the few larger ones. It's warm and the covers are pulled halfway off. Her leg is draped over mine. She pretends to sleep, but I catch her looking at me through half-closed eyes. I reach over and pick a Purple Lion cigarillo out of a bag and toss it onto the bed. Somehow I manage to get it lit with a flint and a knife.<br /> <br /> “Don't do that, you'll set the bed on fire.”<br /> <br /> She's right. You're not supposed to light tobacco in bed with a flint. I take a long drag and exhale. The room fills with smoke, easily visible by a ray of light cast through the window. She doesn't smoke, but she says she likes the smell. We lay in bed until mid-morning. I stare at the paint on the wall. A small patch is peeling. Her head rests on my lap as she dozes in and out of sleep. Her curly hair tickles my thighs and I twirl a loose lock around my finger.<br /> <br /> By the time we make it outside the sun is high in the sky. I wince and shield my eyes from the brightness. It's blinding. I look over at her through squinting eyes. She has the same expression on her face. We turn and walk back inside – to the bar.<br /> <br /> The bartender passes a strong, reddish drink to her. I can smell it from here. People forget that Rakash have an acute sense of smell. I order a cider. And I can still smell her from last night. The scent of her hair. Her body. She starts to lecture me on using light thrown weapons. I sip my cider and gaze at her, listening patiently. The class goes from banter to flirting. Soon we are just staring at one another. We go back to our room and don't leave until the sun goes down.<br /> <br /> We climb the tree. It smells like cat. A viscous red liquid seems out of place on a bar. A table supports an assortment of cages. I dig an ornate birdcage from my bag and set it on the floor. One by one I remove a songbird from a cage on the table and gently place it in my own birdcage. When I can't fit another comfortably inside I pick it up and off we go.<br /> <br /> The ground is littered with sawdust, tacks, nails and dirt. It all has a smell unique to the Empath infirmary. A mixture of blood and body odor. Three Prydaens stand in a circle pulling each others tails. When I retrieve my birdcage out they all look up, suddenly distracted. A typical Prydaen trait. I nod at another Rakash, an older fellow, whistling loudly in the corner. He sees me, covers his face and shakes his head.<br /> <br /> I toss a dead songbird into the air. The Prydaens clamber over themselves, leaping to snatch them out of the sky before they hit the ground. There are feathers everywhere. The blood is not out of place in the infirmary. Empaths regularly bleed on the floor as they practice medical techniques upon their own bodies. But the feathers. A sour, matronly Empath shoots me an evil glance an walks out. The Prydaens giggle away while eating raw birds.<br /> <br /> == Healing ==<br /> [[File:Tentacle after auction.JPG|thumb|650px|right|This was a picture I made of pit traders scrambling over a bundle of tentacles. It was gorgeous and was probably going to be put on show at the Lourve Museum. People loved it, but it was purged in the great meme purging of 2017.]]<br /> &quot;Is anybody 'ealin',&quot; says some guy. I glance down into my duffel bag. It's heavy with the weight of multiple eel skins and a weapon called a snake cleaver. My shoulder tenses and I shrug, pain all down one side of my back, up into my neck, face and eye. Eeling. I pull out a skin and wrap it around my neck and face. Then I lay down on the floor. It's thick with thumb tacks and sawdust. There's a distinct odor of dried blood. I crawl on my stomach out of the infirmary like an eel would. I glance back at my wife. She follows me, covering her face with her hands and shaking her head.<br /> <br /> I reel in another fish. It's a monstrous little creature with two faces and three small fish parts. A creppo. I pull out a small knife and think about opening it up, but can't bring myself to do it. I drop it on the ground. There's a small pile of disgusting fish. I'm reminded of Pyrdaen delicacies. Finally, a sturgeon. A normal fish with two eyes. That's a fish I can relate to. I slice it open and carefully remove a few choice innards.<br /> <br /> Still no eel. I'm staring off at a cloud and my lips are moving as I think to myself. I've got a giblet in my hand, squeezing it absently. I look over at my wife. She's exploring an iron grill propped up on a stone bench. I toss the squished giblet down onto the grill in front of her. She looks up at me with a start and then shoots me a blank expression. It might be tolerance. When I walk back over to the shore I reach down and touch the sand, grabbing a handful. It's gritty and the sand sticks. I dip both of my hands into the water and scrub them.<br /> <br /> &quot;Use the soap,&quot; she says. She tosses me a small bar. I do. When I bring my hands up to my face they smell like lavender. I leave the bar sitting on the bench. She hooks her arm in mine. We're about to leave, but I remember the fishing pole. I stop, run back and grab it. Then I hurl it as far as I can into the sea. We walk off, arm in arm.<br /> <br /> It looks like a costume party. A dozen or so people stand about. A few are collecting small piles of debris, the ever-present tacks and nails, then kicking them. Tacks and nails are flying everywhere. It's complete chaos. I recall someone having requested an eel. My stomach tightens up. I couldn't catch an eel. I reach into my pocket and feel something squish. It's a loose fish giblet. I wince and drop it on the ground.<br /> <br /> &quot;Why are you dropping your giblets on the ground!&quot; A thin woman with crazy eyes shrieks at me. My face turns red. She is dressed in a formal attire and is completely terrifying. Her lips are moving. There are sounds coming out of her mouth, but now I'm transfixed on white blotches of spittle forming at the corners.<br /> <br /> &quot;I said, why are you dropping your giblets on the ground!&quot; She seems to be on the verge of hysteria. I don't think it is even a question.<br /> <br /> &quot;They're not mine. They came from a fish.&quot;<br /> <br /> Her eyes widen. She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. Then she hollers out, &quot;There's a bucket right there!&quot; I'm not sure what she wants. Someone kicks a pile and a rusty nail bounces off the side of my face. A man is laying in the corner, trying to tend a gaping wound in his abdomen. A small Empath, a Gnome, is crying out with the pain of healing him. This woman continues to stare at me, then down at the giblets, then back at my face. The noise in the room is overwhelming. I think she is telling me to put them in the bucket.<br /> <br /> I feel a soft hand grab mine, squeezing. I can smell her and the muscles in my neck relax. My wife tugs me while she reaches down fast, picks up the giblets and throws them in the bucket. My arm gets pulled along and I take a step forward to keep my balance. There she is, her body suddenly between mine and this woman. My wife is stepping on the hem of her gown. I don't know if it is deliberate. People are still screaming and crying in the background. In an instant we are out the door.<br /> <br /> We don't go far. We're in a small alley and I tug her up into a recessed doorway. I put both of my arms around her waist and she leans back against the door. I squeeze her tightly and rest my head on her chest. She puts her chin on the top of my head. I can feel her hands stroking my back.<br /> <br /> &quot;That woman was crazy.&quot;<br /> <br /> &quot;Yeah, she's a lunatic.&quot;<br /> <br /> The door opens and we almost fall inside. An old man shouts at us to get out of his doorway. We hold hands and skip off, laughing.<br /> <br /> == Assorted songskis for your enjoyment ==<br /> <br /> ==== Prydaens of Ilithi ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> Meow, meow, meow!<br /> Ilithian Prydaens,<br /> Raw food chow!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard,<br /> They pattered right on in.<br /> On itty-bitty Prydaen paws,<br /> These teachers-of-the-kin.<br /> <br /> It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> It’s so sickeningly sweet!<br /> Shard-dwelling Prydaens<br /> I say, eating up raw meat!<br /> <br /> When the Elotheans saw the Prydaens,<br /> They were jealous of their hair,<br /> And Prydaens lived in fear a time<br /> They couldn’t go nowhere.<br /> <br /> And then they passed a law,<br /> Prydaen hunting banned!<br /> No more Prydaen fur toupees,<br /> And no more Prydaen ashtray hands!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard;<br /> The lands became humane,<br /> Elotheans were no longer seen,<br /> As thieves of Prydaen mane<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens met the Elves,<br /> They got along real sweet!<br /> The Elves got the choicest parts<br /> The Prydaens ate raw meat!<br /> <br /> And the tradition,<br /> It continued to this day,<br /> The Elves at their tables,<br /> Prydaens below at play!<br /> <br /> And Prydaens they did mingle,<br /> With every Ilithic race!<br /> And had the kin that they pleased,<br /> In each and every place!<br /> <br /> And so they all ate raw meat,<br /> To this very day,<br /> So have a bite of something raw<br /> It’s the Pry-Ilithic way!<br /> <br /> So says Pry d’Ann the Bard,<br /> So just you listen close<br /> Pick some raw food off the floor<br /> Then pop it down your throat!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== The Therengian Wedding Duel ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> The nobl’st of customs.<br /> The woman not allowed to speak,<br /> just watch the men and trust ‘em.<br /> <br /> The Therengian view on girls,<br /> Is quite traditional.<br /> A Therengian girl’s rights you see,<br /> are quite conditional.<br /> <br /> The man he does not ask the lass,<br /> He goes straight to the pops<br /> And if he kisses something crass<br /> The pops lets him set up shop<br /> <br /> Because the Therengian man believes<br /> That it’s somewhat fatherly.<br /> And that a romantic thing to see<br /> Is women sold like property!<br /> <br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> A Theren man selects a Theren bride.<br /> The woman cannot run or flee,<br /> There’s nowhere she can hide.<br /> <br /> And if a Theren dad says no;<br /> And he makes a fuss;<br /> They can have a violent row,<br /> The winner considered just!<br /> <br /> Because in Theren might is right;<br /> The strong they crush the weak!<br /> And thus the Therengian wedding duel,<br /> is the tradition that they keep.<br /> <br /> So if you are a Therengian girl,<br /> And your mind is free.<br /> Pack your bags, escape at night<br /> And run away to sea!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Scholarship ====<br /> <br /> (This might be based on Juicy J's &quot;Scholarship&quot;)<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> You need some extra plat to pay the Academy with<br /> It just so happens, I've got a lot of it<br /> Spin around the Empath pole, do the splits<br /> Then come and teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Heal that cat - prepare a spell<br /> Dead body, didn't go too well<br /> Disarmed a box and lost a hand<br /> Killed a squirrel, shock again<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Coins and gems<br /> Tips and plats<br /> Stay trippy<br /> Eat georin grass<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Touched a tamarisk tree<br /> I'm doin' al-chem-y<br /> Shiftin' in the city<br /> Now they arrestin' me<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== A Prydaen Freestyle ====<br /> [[File:PRYDAENSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right|Another picture taken down.]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Got a cleft lip, but I rap<br /> Better call me a kit, not a cat<br /> Eating live birds and some rats<br /> Prydaen - I'm a kit, not a cat<br /> <br /> Sharpen up my claws<br /> Pointy teeth in my jaws<br /> If bein' Prydaen was a crime<br /> I'd be breakin' all the laws<br /> <br /> Tail floppin' like a monkey<br /> You know I never bathe<br /> So I smell like somethin' funky<br /> And you know I never shave<br /> Raw meat junkie<br /> Yes - I said I never bathe<br /> <br /> How I wear a shoe?<br /> Got pads on my foot<br /> How do -you- do?<br /> Prydaen soul dark, soot<br /> Evil to the root<br /> <br /> Town guards they call me kitty<br /> Hesitate to let me in the city<br /> Prydaen life really gritty<br /> Insert some cat profan-ity<br /> <br /> Feelin' safe in the bank<br /> Showing off my hub rank<br /> City rough<br /> like a shark tank<br /> Birthin' tough<br /> Havin' kits in the bank<br /> Yes, havin' kits in the bank<br /> Don't make a stank<br /> I'm havin' my kits in the bank<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Reverend Rafaeli's Prayer ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little potpies<br /> You’ve got Glythtide’s body<br /> And Dergati’s eyes<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little tadpole tails<br /> Everild eating sausage<br /> Eluned eating whales<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little love blankets<br /> If baby Be'ort is bad<br /> Then you must spank it<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little cups of curds<br /> A full third of the Immortals’<br /> Animals are birds<br /> <br /> I hope you liked my prayer<br /> Try not to be jelly<br /> Two friendly kisses<br /> From Brother Rafaeli!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Fratvarit Rap ====<br /> [[File:RAKASHSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right|That time we got to like number six on the vote website. We're mostly going for all text and no pictures on Elanthipedia since it's a text-based game.]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Alchemy is confusin'<br /> But alcohol's a solution<br /> It's a technical truth<br /> Not a lyrical illusion<br /> <br /> First you mash the apple<br /> Like a spousal battle<br /> Let the jug sit<br /> Then give it a rattle<br /> <br /> When it starts to brew<br /> Increase the heat to two<br /> At this point it's bitter<br /> And an explosive mixture<br /> <br /> So you better be careful<br /> Know the fumes ain't healthful<br /> Eyes on the prize<br /> The final product make you wealthful<br /> <br /> Then you crush the peppercorn<br /> With an elder deer horn<br /> Shake it in the bottle<br /> A drop'll sleep a newborn<br /> <br /> So that's how you star it<br /> In the game of fratvarit<br /> Now keep a crossbow loaded<br /> 'Cause Rakash keep the bar lit<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Short Song for Saphryna ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Who heals you when you're sick and stuff?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who hugs you when you're feelin' rough?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who fixes you when a box goes blast?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who picks you up off of your, er...<br /> Behind, behind!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=File:Too_hot_for_dr.jpg&diff=474652 2017-08-27T13:29:38Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div></div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=473565 2017-08-01T18:38:52Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>[[File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png|thumb|right|Dejacque Heraldry: In Ore Mingentem]]<br /> <br /> == Description ==<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> == Family and Stuff ==<br /> Maxwelinski has a horse named Horsewelinski and a babirusa.<br /> <br /> He also has a wife named [[Caidie]] and a pupinski named [[Laroux]]<br /> <br /> == The Story ==<br /> [[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.<br /> <br /> == Maxwelinski, starring in MAXWELINSKI, P.I. ==<br /> [[File:SaltCrabsAreDangerous.jpg|thumb|450px|right]]<br /> <br /> A light rain had just begun to patter down from above in the loose city known as the Crossing. I inhaled deeply on my stump cigar, wincing at the telltale odor of corpse. Three long years and they still haunted me. I looked up at the crude sketches on the wall. Likenesses of the missing Prydaens. All young. The trend of dressing little Prydaens as baby dolls had never fully disappeared, but this was something new.<br /> <br /> All of a sudden I heard a knock at my faux flamewood door. The faux sungold plaque engraved “MAXWELINSKI, P.I.” tumbled to the door, faux mistglass shattering everywhere. I put down nine iron ashtrays I had been juggling, snuff my cigar into one of them and call out, “IT’S OPEN DAMNIT!”<br /> <br /> This Cleric with an angular face walks into the room. He’s about the tallest drink of holy water I’ve ver seen this side of the Selgotha. He hangs his floating orb thing on my faux copperwood coat rack. His nose wrinkles up.<br /> <br /> “It smells like smoke.”<br /> <br /> I pull out a sky-blue imnera runestone and cast Zephyr. The smoke disperses.<br /> <br /> He sits down in front of me and crosses his legs suggestively, adjusting his cassock. I can feel the blood rush to my ears, but I manage to keep a straight face. I see his anloral shrew pin. Kerenhappuch, typical.<br /> <br /> “I have a job for you, Max,” he says. I bet you do, I think.<br /> <br /> “And I have some information.”<br /> <br /> This gets my attention. I can tell from his look that it’s about the missing Prydaens.<br /> <br /> “But first,” he says curtly, “you must do something for me.” There’s the rub.<br /> <br /> He slips a piece of parchment from his pouch and pushes it across my faux expensivewood desk. It looks like a child’s drawing of a blob man.<br /> <br /> “Do you recognize it? This construct killed thirteen people at the Rangers’ Guild. Me, and my associates, want it. When you find it, call me.”<br /> <br /> It looks like every single glass construct ever, but I nod assent. I look up at him, “How do I find you?”<br /> <br /> “You’re a Rakash, aren’t you? Just howl.”<br /> <br /> He stands up and goes for the door. He moves to jiggle the handle, turns and looks at me. We exchange glances. “You remember how to howl, don’t you?,” he asks, “You just put your lips together and go AAWWOOOO.”<br /> <br /> == Eyewitness testimony of the umbral moth invasion of Boar Clan, as told to Maxwelinski by an umbral moth ==<br /> [[File:Welcome_to_merkresh.jpg|thumb|650px|right]]<br /> As early as I can remember, when I was but a pupa, my mother told me to watch out for the lights. No matter how pretty they look, just stay away from them. If someone offers you a light just say no. For most of my life I heeded this advice.<br /> <br /> During the day I slept in the shade beneath large leaves or nestled in the camouflaging bark of a large dryad’s tree. At night I came out to drink the nectar of flowering plants with my freakishly long proboscis. Many times I looked up at the stars and felt a pull, an attraction. Those were lights. But they were too far away. I flirted with them, but I was safe.<br /> <br /> During the twilight hours I awoke to find columns of people, caravans, headed toward a city. The road was lit with torches. I put this out of my mind and went about my job in the local ecosystem. As the night grew longer the light grew brighter. Light had all become concentrated in one area, visible toward the horizon. The pure dark of the night, the dark that lets you see stars unblemished, had become marred by a reddish-yellow haze.<br /> <br /> Light pollution. That was it. It drew me to it like a reaver to samatak. Up to this point in my life I stayed out of trouble. I was a model moth. I had a beneficial symbiotic relationship with night-blooming flowers. I was the fauna, the flora was itself. I pollinated while I drank. My proboscis is also generously endowed by moth standards. You could say I was an exceptional moth.<br /> <br /> I don’t remember the journey, only that I was in a city. Trees had been cut into logs, logs stacked to the height of at least three wingspans. All had been lit to produce massive, intoxicating, light-producing fires. Bipeds, Humans and Prydaens, their young, all gathered around.<br /> <br /> When I flew closer to the fire, closer to the action, people began to panic. There was screaming. Swords were drawn. I felt hard metal slap against my delicate, powdery wings. I tried to extend my feelers, my furred little legs, even my proboscis. This was a sign of peace. I’d witnessed bipeds do with their own upper appendages.<br /> <br /> The people had become hysterical. They were no longer in their right minds. Marty, the moth who lives in the closet of an abandoned farmhouse close to the tree I sleep in during the late spring, flew by just in time to see. I was trying to shake a flailing biped I had managed to secure in my six legs. I was pheromoning, “Biped, calm down! I’m not going to hurt you.” The biped was responding with loud auditory signals and chops from a hand axe.<br /> <br /> Almost immediately the word got around to the other moths. The whole forest came to see the spectacle. And the rest is history.<br /> <br /> == Songbirds ==<br /> [[File:Tentacle_trading_final.JPG|thumb|650px|right]]<br /> I stand outside the Empaths’ Guild. The rain is cool on my face. The distinct rain of early spring. I walk to the door, but Constanze quickly appears and blocks my passage. I wasn't to be allowed back in before the Anlas of some thing or the other. Telling time is difficult. Popping a dusk berry into my mouth and quickly twisting the neck of a red-chested songbird, I walk away. I make it two blocks before I faceplant into a doorway. When I wake up, I feel much better about not being in the infirmary. My mind wanders to the disapproving face of Sophrona as I casually twist the head off of another bird, rise to my feet and continue down the street.<br /> <br /> When I get to Taelbert's Inn I check my wallet. It's light. Count the coins. There are only six platinums. I had nine. A bug flies into a lit candle nearby and makes a hissing noise, distracting me. I shrug. You can't buy anything with two plats. Except for alcohol. That's why I'm at Taelbert's. At a mere sixty coppers, I can buy still buy enough alcohol to drink myself into a coma and have a nice meal on top of it.<br /> <br /> This is Rakash life. Maybe you've read Coming of Age or Rakash Traditions and Dawvs. The kinds of books you'll find in the library at Siksraja. Tales about old times by old Rakash. How many of us live that way now? I take a sip of my sparkling cider. No one else is in the bar. I drink my cider alone. The sun goes down. That's how I know it's time to leave.<br /> <br /> I meet her in a far section of the Temple garden. Black roses grow around us. My heart beats faster when I see her blue eyes. I can feel it in my chest. I take a sharp razor out of my pocket, reach down and cut the stem of a rose. It smells funny, but I give it to her anyway. She smiles at me and puts her arms around my neck. I take a deep breath and inhale the scent of her hair.<br /> <br /> When we wake up it's nearing dawn. The sun is just visible from the second-story inn window. So are the buildings of the city, small and squat, and the few larger ones. It's warm and the covers are pulled halfway off. Her leg is draped over mine. She pretends to sleep, but I catch her looking at me through half-closed eyes. I reach over and pick a Purple Lion cigarillo out of a bag and toss it onto the bed. Somehow I manage to get it lit with a flint and a knife.<br /> <br /> “Don't do that, you'll set the bed on fire.”<br /> <br /> She's right. You're not supposed to light tobacco in bed with a flint. I take a long drag and exhale. The room fills with smoke, easily visible by a ray of light cast through the window. She doesn't smoke, but she says she likes the smell. We lay in bed until mid-morning. I stare at the paint on the wall. A small patch is peeling. Her head rests on my lap as she dozes in and out of sleep. Her curly hair tickles my thighs and I twirl a loose lock around my finger.<br /> <br /> By the time we make it outside the sun is high in the sky. I wince and shield my eyes from the brightness. It's blinding. I look over at her through squinting eyes. She has the same expression on her face. We turn and walk back inside – to the bar.<br /> <br /> The bartender passes a strong, reddish drink to her. I can smell it from here. People forget that Rakash have an acute sense of smell. I order a cider. And I can still smell her from last night. The scent of her hair. Her body. She starts to lecture me on using light thrown weapons. I sip my cider and gaze at her, listening patiently. The class goes from banter to flirting. Soon we are just staring at one another. We go back to our room and don't leave until the sun goes down.<br /> <br /> We climb the tree. It smells like cat. A viscous red liquid seems out of place on a bar. A table supports an assortment of cages. I dig an ornate birdcage from my bag and set it on the floor. One by one I remove a songbird from a cage on the table and gently place it in my own birdcage. When I can't fit another comfortably inside I pick it up and off we go.<br /> <br /> The ground is littered with sawdust, tacks, nails and dirt. It all has a smell unique to the Empath infirmary. A mixture of blood and body odor. Three Prydaens stand in a circle pulling each others tails. When I retrieve my birdcage out they all look up, suddenly distracted. A typical Prydaen trait. I nod at another Rakash, an older fellow, whistling loudly in the corner. He sees me, covers his face and shakes his head.<br /> <br /> I toss a dead songbird into the air. The Prydaens clamber over themselves, leaping to snatch them out of the sky before they hit the ground. There are feathers everywhere. The blood is not out of place in the infirmary. Empaths regularly bleed on the floor as they practice medical techniques upon their own bodies. But the feathers. A sour, matronly Empath shoots me an evil glance an walks out. The Prydaens giggle away while eating raw birds.<br /> <br /> == Healing ==<br /> [[File:Tentacle after auction.JPG|thumb|650px|right]]<br /> &quot;Is anybody 'ealin',&quot; says some guy. I glance down into my duffel bag. It's heavy with the weight of multiple eel skins and a weapon called a snake cleaver. My shoulder tenses and I shrug, pain all down one side of my back, up into my neck, face and eye. Eeling. I pull out a skin and wrap it around my neck and face. Then I lay down on the floor. It's thick with thumb tacks and sawdust. There's a distinct odor of dried blood. I crawl on my stomach out of the infirmary like an eel would. I glance back at my wife. She follows me, covering her face with her hands and shaking her head.<br /> <br /> I reel in another fish. It's a monstrous little creature with two faces and three small fish parts. A creppo. I pull out a small knife and think about opening it up, but can't bring myself to do it. I drop it on the ground. There's a small pile of disgusting fish. I'm reminded of Pyrdaen delicacies. Finally, a sturgeon. A normal fish with two eyes. That's a fish I can relate to. I slice it open and carefully remove a few choice innards.<br /> <br /> Still no eel. I'm staring off at a cloud and my lips are moving as I think to myself. I've got a giblet in my hand, squeezing it absently. I look over at my wife. She's exploring an iron grill propped up on a stone bench. I toss the squished giblet down onto the grill in front of her. She looks up at me with a start and then shoots me a blank expression. It might be tolerance. When I walk back over to the shore I reach down and touch the sand, grabbing a handful. It's gritty and the sand sticks. I dip both of my hands into the water and scrub them.<br /> <br /> &quot;Use the soap,&quot; she says. She tosses me a small bar. I do. When I bring my hands up to my face they smell like lavender. I leave the bar sitting on the bench. She hooks her arm in mine. We're about to leave, but I remember the fishing pole. I stop, run back and grab it. Then I hurl it as far as I can into the sea. We walk off, arm in arm.<br /> <br /> It looks like a costume party. A dozen or so people stand about. A few are collecting small piles of debris, the ever-present tacks and nails, then kicking them. Tacks and nails are flying everywhere. It's complete chaos. I recall someone having requested an eel. My stomach tightens up. I couldn't catch an eel. I reach into my pocket and feel something squish. It's a loose fish giblet. I wince and drop it on the ground.<br /> <br /> &quot;Why are you dropping your giblets on the ground!&quot; A thin woman with crazy eyes shrieks at me. My face turns red. She is dressed in a formal attire and is completely terrifying. Her lips are moving. There are sounds coming out of her mouth, but now I'm transfixed on white blotches of spittle forming at the corners.<br /> <br /> &quot;I said, why are you dropping your giblets on the ground!&quot; She seems to be on the verge of hysteria. I don't think it is even a question.<br /> <br /> &quot;They're not mine. They came from a fish.&quot;<br /> <br /> Her eyes widen. She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. Then she hollers out, &quot;There's a bucket right there!&quot; I'm not sure what she wants. Someone kicks a pile and a rusty nail bounces off the side of my face. A man is laying in the corner, trying to tend a gaping wound in his abdomen. A small Empath, a Gnome, is crying out with the pain of healing him. This woman continues to stare at me, then down at the giblets, then back at my face. The noise in the room is overwhelming. I think she is telling me to put them in the bucket.<br /> <br /> I feel a soft hand grab mine, squeezing. I can smell her and the muscles in my neck relax. My wife tugs me while she reaches down fast, picks up the giblets and throws them in the bucket. My arm gets pulled along and I take a step forward to keep my balance. There she is, her body suddenly between mine and this woman. My wife is stepping on the hem of her gown. I don't know if it is deliberate. People are still screaming and crying in the background. In an instant we are out the door.<br /> <br /> We don't go far. We're in a small alley and I tug her up into a recessed doorway. I put both of my arms around her waist and she leans back against the door. I squeeze her tightly and rest my head on her chest. She puts her chin on the top of my head. I can feel her hands stroking my back.<br /> <br /> &quot;That woman was crazy.&quot;<br /> <br /> &quot;Yeah, she's a lunatic.&quot;<br /> <br /> The door opens and we almost fall inside. An old man shouts at us to get out of his doorway. We hold hands and skip off, laughing.<br /> <br /> == Assorted songskis for your enjoyment ==<br /> <br /> ==== Prydaens of Ilithi ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> Meow, meow, meow!<br /> Ilithian Prydaens,<br /> Raw food chow!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard,<br /> They pattered right on in.<br /> On itty-bitty Prydaen paws,<br /> These teachers-of-the-kin.<br /> <br /> It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> It’s so sickeningly sweet!<br /> Shard-dwelling Prydaens<br /> I say, eating up raw meat!<br /> <br /> When the Elotheans saw the Prydaens,<br /> They were jealous of their hair,<br /> And Prydaens lived in fear a time<br /> They couldn’t go nowhere.<br /> <br /> And then they passed a law,<br /> Prydaen hunting banned!<br /> No more Prydaen fur toupees,<br /> And no more Prydaen ashtray hands!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard;<br /> The lands became humane,<br /> Elotheans were no longer seen,<br /> As thieves of Prydaen mane<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens met the Elves,<br /> They got along real sweet!<br /> The Elves got the choicest parts<br /> The Prydaens ate raw meat!<br /> <br /> And the tradition,<br /> It continued to this day,<br /> The Elves at their tables,<br /> Prydaens below at play!<br /> <br /> And Prydaens they did mingle,<br /> With every Ilithic race!<br /> And had the kin that they pleased,<br /> In each and every place!<br /> <br /> And so they all ate raw meat,<br /> To this very day,<br /> So have a bite of something raw<br /> It’s the Pry-Ilithic way!<br /> <br /> So says Pry d’Ann the Bard,<br /> So just you listen close<br /> Pick some raw food off the floor<br /> Then pop it down your throat!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== The Therengian Wedding Duel ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> The nobl’st of customs.<br /> The woman not allowed to speak,<br /> just watch the men and trust ‘em.<br /> <br /> The Therengian view on girls,<br /> Is quite traditional.<br /> A Therengian girl’s rights you see,<br /> are quite conditional.<br /> <br /> The man he does not ask the lass,<br /> He goes straight to the pops<br /> And if he kisses something crass<br /> The pops lets him set up shop<br /> <br /> Because the Therengian man believes<br /> That it’s somewhat fatherly.<br /> And that a romantic thing to see<br /> Is women sold like property!<br /> <br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> A Theren man selects a Theren bride.<br /> The woman cannot run or flee,<br /> There’s nowhere she can hide.<br /> <br /> And if a Theren dad says no;<br /> And he makes a fuss;<br /> They can have a violent row,<br /> The winner considered just!<br /> <br /> Because in Theren might is right;<br /> The strong they crush the weak!<br /> And thus the Therengian wedding duel,<br /> is the tradition that they keep.<br /> <br /> So if you are a Therengian girl,<br /> And your mind is free.<br /> Pack your bags, escape at night<br /> And run away to sea!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Scholarship ====<br /> <br /> (This might be based on Juicy J's &quot;Scholarship&quot;)<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> You need some extra plat to pay the Academy with<br /> It just so happens, I've got a lot of it<br /> Spin around the Empath pole, do the splits<br /> Then come and teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Heal that cat - prepare a spell<br /> Dead body, didn't go too well<br /> Disarmed a box and lost a hand<br /> Killed a squirrel, shock again<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Coins and gems<br /> Tips and plats<br /> Stay trippy<br /> Eat georin grass<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Touched a tamarisk tree<br /> I'm doin' al-chem-y<br /> Shiftin' in the city<br /> Now they arrestin' me<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== A Prydaen Freestyle ====<br /> [[File:PRYDAENSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Got a cleft lip, but I rap<br /> Better call me a kit, not a cat<br /> Eating live birds and some rats<br /> Prydaen - I'm a kit, not a cat<br /> <br /> Sharpen up my claws<br /> Pointy teeth in my jaws<br /> If bein' Prydaen was a crime<br /> I'd be breakin' all the laws<br /> <br /> Tail floppin' like a monkey<br /> You know I never bathe<br /> So I smell like somethin' funky<br /> And you know I never shave<br /> Raw meat junkie<br /> Yes - I said I never bathe<br /> <br /> How I wear a shoe?<br /> Got pads on my foot<br /> How do -you- do?<br /> Prydaen soul dark, soot<br /> Evil to the root<br /> <br /> Town guards they call me kitty<br /> Hesitate to let me in the city<br /> Prydaen life really gritty<br /> Insert some cat profan-ity<br /> <br /> Feelin' safe in the bank<br /> Showing off my hub rank<br /> City rough<br /> like a shark tank<br /> Birthin' tough<br /> Havin' kits in the bank<br /> Yes, havin' kits in the bank<br /> Don't make a stank<br /> I'm havin' my kits in the bank<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Reverend Rafaeli's Prayer ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little potpies<br /> You’ve got Glythtide’s body<br /> And Dergati’s eyes<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little tadpole tails<br /> Everild eating sausage<br /> Eluned eating whales<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little love blankets<br /> If baby Be'ort is bad<br /> Then you must spank it<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little cups of curds<br /> A full third of the Immortals’<br /> Animals are birds<br /> <br /> I hope you liked my prayer<br /> Try not to be jelly<br /> Two friendly kisses<br /> From Brother Rafaeli!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Fratvarit Rap ====<br /> [[File:RAKASHSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right|That time we got to like number six on the vote website]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Alchemy is confusin'<br /> But alcohol's a solution<br /> It's a technical truth<br /> Not a lyrical illusion<br /> <br /> First you mash the apple<br /> Like a spousal battle<br /> Let the jug sit<br /> Then give it a rattle<br /> <br /> When it starts to brew<br /> Increase the heat to two<br /> At this point it's bitter<br /> And an explosive mixture<br /> <br /> So you better be careful<br /> Know the fumes ain't healthful<br /> Eyes on the prize<br /> The final product make you wealthful<br /> <br /> Then you crush the peppercorn<br /> With an elder deer horn<br /> Shake it in the bottle<br /> A drop'll sleep a newborn<br /> <br /> So that's how you star it<br /> In the game of fratvarit<br /> Now keep a crossbow loaded<br /> 'Cause Rakash keep the bar lit<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Short Song for Saphryna ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Who heals you when you're sick and stuff?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who hugs you when you're feelin' rough?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who fixes you when a box goes blast?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who picks you up off of your, er...<br /> Behind, behind!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=473562 2017-08-01T16:01:10Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>[[File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png|thumb|right|Dejacque Heraldry: In Ore Mingentem]]<br /> <br /> == Description ==<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> == Family and Stuff ==<br /> Maxwelinski has a horse named Horsewelinski and a babirusa.<br /> <br /> He also has a wife named [[Caidie]] and a pupinski named [[Laroux]]<br /> <br /> == The Story ==<br /> [[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.<br /> <br /> == Maxwelinski, starring in MAXWELINSKI, P.I. ==<br /> [[File:SaltCrabsAreDangerous.jpg|thumb|450px|right]]<br /> <br /> A light rain had just begun to patter down from above in the loose city known as the Crossing. I inhaled deeply on my stump cigar, wincing at the telltale odor of corpse. Three long years and they still haunted me. I looked up at the crude sketches on the wall. Likenesses of the missing Prydaens. All young. The trend of dressing little Prydaens as baby dolls had never fully disappeared, but this was something new.<br /> <br /> All of a sudden I heard a knock at my faux flamewood door. The faux sungold plaque engraved “MAXWELINSKI, P.I.” tumbled to the door, faux mistglass shattering everywhere. I put down nine iron ashtrays I had been juggling, snuff my cigar into one of them and call out, “IT’S OPEN DAMNIT!”<br /> <br /> This Cleric with an angular face walks into the room. He’s about the tallest drink of holy water I’ve ver seen this side of the Selgotha. He hangs his floating orb thing on my faux copperwood coat rack. His nose wrinkles up.<br /> <br /> “It smells like smoke.”<br /> <br /> I pull out a sky-blue imnera runestone and cast Zephyr. The smoke disperses.<br /> <br /> He sits down in front of me and crosses his legs suggestively, adjusting his cassock. I can feel the blood rush to my ears, but I manage to keep a straight face. I see his anloral shrew pin. Kerenhappuch, typical.<br /> <br /> “I have a job for you, Max,” he says. I bet you do, I think.<br /> <br /> “And I have some information.”<br /> <br /> This gets my attention. I can tell from his look that it’s about the missing Prydaens.<br /> <br /> “But first,” he says curtly, “you must do something for me.” There’s the rub.<br /> <br /> He slips a piece of parchment from his pouch and pushes it across my faux expensivewood desk. It looks like a child’s drawing of a blob man.<br /> <br /> “Do you recognize it? This construct killed thirteen people at the Rangers’ Guild. Me, and my associates, want it. When you find it, call me.”<br /> <br /> It looks like every single glass construct ever, but I nod assent. I look up at him, “How do I find you?”<br /> <br /> “You’re a Rakash, aren’t you? Just howl.”<br /> <br /> He stands up and goes for the door. He moves to jiggle the handle, turns and looks at me. We exchange glances. “You remember how to howl, don’t you?,” he asks, “You just put your lips together and go AAWWOOOO.”<br /> <br /> == Eyewitness testimony of the umbral moth invasion of Boar Clan, as told to Maxwelinski by an umbral moth ==<br /> [[File:Welcome_to_merkresh.jpg|thumb|650px|right]]<br /> As early as I can remember, when I was but a pupa, my mother told me to watch out for the lights. No matter how pretty they look, just stay away from them. If someone offers you a light just say no. For most of my life I heeded this advice.<br /> <br /> During the day I slept in the shade beneath large leaves or nestled in the camouflaging bark of a large dryad’s tree. At night I came out to drink the nectar of flowering plants with my freakishly long proboscis. Many times I looked up at the stars and felt a pull, an attraction. Those were lights. But they were too far away. I flirted with them, but I was safe.<br /> <br /> During the twilight hours I awoke to find columns of people, caravans, headed toward a city. The road was lit with torches. I put this out of my mind and went about my job in the local ecosystem. As the night grew longer the light grew brighter. Light had all become concentrated in one area, visible toward the horizon. The pure dark of the night, the dark that lets you see stars unblemished, had become marred by a reddish-yellow haze.<br /> <br /> Light pollution. That was it. It drew me to it like a reaver to samatak. Up to this point in my life I stayed out of trouble. I was a model moth. I had a beneficial symbiotic relationship with night-blooming flowers. I was the fauna, the flora was itself. I pollinated while I drank. My proboscis is also generously endowed by moth standards. You could say I was an exceptional moth.<br /> <br /> I don’t remember the journey, only that I was in a city. Trees had been cut into logs, logs stacked to the height of at least three wingspans. All had been lit to produce massive, intoxicating, light-producing fires. Bipeds, Humans and Prydaens, their young, all gathered around.<br /> <br /> When I flew closer to the fire, closer to the action, people began to panic. There was screaming. Swords were drawn. I felt hard metal slap against my delicate, powdery wings. I tried to extend my feelers, my furred little legs, even my proboscis. This was a sign of peace. I’d witnessed bipeds do with their own upper appendages.<br /> <br /> The people had become hysterical. They were no longer in their right minds. Marty, the moth who lives in the closet of an abandoned farmhouse close to the tree I sleep in during the late spring, flew by just in time to see. I was trying to shake a flailing biped I had managed to secure in my six legs. I was pheromoning, “Biped, calm down! I’m not going to hurt you.” The biped was responding with loud auditory signals and chops from a hand axe.<br /> <br /> Almost immediately the word got around to the other moths. The whole forest came to see the spectacle. And the rest is history.<br /> <br /> == Songbirds ==<br /> I stand outside the Empaths’ Guild. The rain is cool on my face. The distinct rain of early spring. I walk to the door, but Constanze quickly appears and blocks my passage. I wasn't to be allowed back in before the Anlas of some thing or the other. Telling time is difficult. Popping a dusk berry into my mouth and quickly twisting the neck of a red-chested songbird, I walk away. I make it two blocks before I faceplant into a doorway. When I wake up, I feel much better about not being in the infirmary. My mind wanders to the disapproving face of Sophrona as I casually twist the head off of another bird, rise to my feet and continue down the street.<br /> <br /> When I get to Taelbert's Inn I check my wallet. It's light. Count the coins. There are only six platinums. I had nine. A bug flies into a lit candle nearby and makes a hissing noise, distracting me. I shrug. You can't buy anything with two plats. Except for alcohol. That's why I'm at Taelbert's. At a mere sixty coppers, I can buy still buy enough alcohol to drink myself into a coma and have a nice meal on top of it.<br /> <br /> This is Rakash life. Maybe you've read Coming of Age or Rakash Traditions and Dawvs. The kinds of books you'll find in the library at Siksraja. Tales about old times by old Rakash. How many of us live that way now? I take a sip of my sparkling cider. No one else is in the bar. I drink my cider alone. The sun goes down. That's how I know it's time to leave.<br /> <br /> I meet her in a far section of the Temple garden. Black roses grow around us. My heart beats faster when I see her blue eyes. I can feel it in my chest. I take a sharp razor out of my pocket, reach down and cut the stem of a rose. It smells funny, but I give it to her anyway. She smiles at me and puts her arms around my neck. I take a deep breath and inhale the scent of her hair.<br /> <br /> When we wake up it's nearing dawn. The sun is just visible from the second-story inn window. So are the buildings of the city, small and squat, and the few larger ones. It's warm and the covers are pulled halfway off. Her leg is draped over mine. She pretends to sleep, but I catch her looking at me through half-closed eyes. I reach over and pick a Purple Lion cigarillo out of a bag and toss it onto the bed. Somehow I manage to get it lit with a flint and a knife.<br /> <br /> “Don't do that, you'll set the bed on fire.”<br /> <br /> She's right. You're not supposed to light tobacco in bed with a flint. I take a long drag and exhale. The room fills with smoke, easily visible by a ray of light cast through the window. She doesn't smoke, but she says she likes the smell. We lay in bed until mid-morning. I stare at the paint on the wall. A small patch is peeling. Her head rests on my lap as she dozes in and out of sleep. Her curly hair tickles my thighs and I twirl a loose lock around my finger.<br /> <br /> By the time we make it outside the sun is high in the sky. I wince and shield my eyes from the brightness. It's blinding. I look over at her through squinting eyes. She has the same expression on her face. We turn and walk back inside – to the bar.<br /> <br /> The bartender passes a strong, reddish drink to her. I can smell it from here. People forget that Rakash have an acute sense of smell. I order a cider. And I can still smell her from last night. The scent of her hair. Her body. She starts to lecture me on using light thrown weapons. I sip my cider and gaze at her, listening patiently. The class goes from banter to flirting. Soon we are just staring at one another. We go back to our room and don't leave until the sun goes down.<br /> <br /> We climb the tree. It smells like cat. A viscous red liquid seems out of place on a bar. A table supports an assortment of cages. I dig an ornate birdcage from my bag and set it on the floor. One by one I remove a songbird from a cage on the table and gently place it in my own birdcage. When I can't fit another comfortably inside I pick it up and off we go.<br /> <br /> The ground is littered with sawdust, tacks, nails and dirt. It all has a smell unique to the Empath infirmary. A mixture of blood and body odor. Three Prydaens stand in a circle pulling each others tails. When I retrieve my birdcage out they all look up, suddenly distracted. A typical Prydaen trait. I nod at another Rakash, an older fellow, whistling loudly in the corner. He sees me, covers his face and shakes his head.<br /> <br /> I toss a dead songbird into the air. The Prydaens clamber over themselves, leaping to snatch them out of the sky before they hit the ground. There are feathers everywhere. The blood is not out of place in the infirmary. Empaths regularly bleed on the floor as they practice medical techniques upon their own bodies. But the feathers. A sour, matronly Empath shoots me an evil glance an walks out. The Prydaens giggle away while eating raw birds.<br /> <br /> == Healing ==<br /> &quot;Is anybody 'ealin',&quot; says some guy. I glance down into my duffel bag. It's heavy with the weight of multiple eel skins and a weapon called a snake cleaver. My shoulder tenses and I shrug, pain all down one side of my back, up into my neck, face and eye. Eeling. I pull out a skin and wrap it around my neck and face. Then I lay down on the floor. It's thick with thumb tacks and sawdust. There's a distinct odor of dried blood. I crawl on my stomach out of the infirmary like an eel would. I glance back at my wife. She follows me, covering her face with her hands and shaking her head.<br /> <br /> I reel in another fish. It's a monstrous little creature with two faces and three small fish parts. A creppo. I pull out a small knife and think about opening it up, but can't bring myself to do it. I drop it on the ground. There's a small pile of disgusting fish. I'm reminded of Pyrdaen delicacies. Finally, a sturgeon. A normal fish with two eyes. That's a fish I can relate to. I slice it open and carefully remove a few choice innards.<br /> <br /> Still no eel. I'm staring off at a cloud and my lips are moving as I think to myself. I've got a giblet in my hand, squeezing it absently. I look over at my wife. She's exploring an iron grill propped up on a stone bench. I toss the squished giblet down onto the grill in front of her. She looks up at me with a start and then shoots me a blank expression. It might be tolerance. When I walk back over to the shore I reach down and touch the sand, grabbing a handful. It's gritty and the sand sticks. I dip both of my hands into the water and scrub them.<br /> <br /> &quot;Use the soap,&quot; she says. She tosses me a small bar. I do. When I bring my hands up to my face they smell like lavender. I leave the bar sitting on the bench. She hooks her arm in mine. We're about to leave, but I remember the fishing pole. I stop, run back and grab it. Then I hurl it as far as I can into the sea. We walk off, arm in arm.<br /> <br /> It looks like a costume party. A dozen or so people stand about. A few are collecting small piles of debris, the ever-present tacks and nails, then kicking them. Tacks and nails are flying everywhere. It's complete chaos. I recall someone having requested an eel. My stomach tightens up. I couldn't catch an eel. I reach into my pocket and feel something squish. It's a loose fish giblet. I wince and drop it on the ground.<br /> <br /> &quot;Why are you dropping your giblets on the ground!&quot; A thin woman with crazy eyes shrieks at me. My face turns red. She is dressed in a formal attire and is completely terrifying. Her lips are moving. There are sounds coming out of her mouth, but now I'm transfixed on white blotches of spittle forming at the corners.<br /> <br /> &quot;I said, why are you dropping your giblets on the ground!&quot; She seems to be on the verge of hysteria. I don't think it is even a question.<br /> <br /> &quot;They're not mine. They came from a fish.&quot;<br /> <br /> Her eyes widen. She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. Then she hollers out, &quot;There's a bucket right there!&quot; I'm not sure what she wants. Someone kicks a pile and a rusty nail bounces off the side of my face. A man is laying in the corner, trying to tend a gaping wound in his abdomen. A small Empath, a Gnome, is crying out with the pain of healing him. This woman continues to stare at me, then down at the giblets, then back at my face. The noise in the room is overwhelming. I think she is telling me to put them in the bucket.<br /> <br /> I feel a soft hand grab mine, squeezing. I can smell her and the muscles in my neck relax. My wife tugs me while she reaches down fast, picks up the giblets and throws them in the bucket. My arm gets pulled along and I take a step forward to keep my balance. There she is, her body suddenly between mine and this woman. My wife is stepping on the hem of her gown. I don't know if it is deliberate. People are still screaming and crying in the background. In an instant we are out the door.<br /> <br /> We don't go far. We're in a small alley and I tug her up into a recessed doorway. I put both of my arms around her waist and she leans back against the door. I squeeze her tightly and rest my head on her chest. She puts her chin on the top of my head. I can feel her hands stroking my back.<br /> <br /> &quot;That woman was crazy.&quot;<br /> <br /> &quot;Yeah, she's a lunatic.&quot;<br /> <br /> The door opens and we almost fall inside. An old man shouts at us to get out of his doorway. We hold hands and skip off, laughing.<br /> <br /> == Assorted songskis for your enjoyment ==<br /> <br /> ==== Prydaens of Ilithi ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> Meow, meow, meow!<br /> Ilithian Prydaens,<br /> Raw food chow!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard,<br /> They pattered right on in.<br /> On itty-bitty Prydaen paws,<br /> These teachers-of-the-kin.<br /> <br /> It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> It’s so sickeningly sweet!<br /> Shard-dwelling Prydaens<br /> I say, eating up raw meat!<br /> <br /> When the Elotheans saw the Prydaens,<br /> They were jealous of their hair,<br /> And Prydaens lived in fear a time<br /> They couldn’t go nowhere.<br /> <br /> And then they passed a law,<br /> Prydaen hunting banned!<br /> No more Prydaen fur toupees,<br /> And no more Prydaen ashtray hands!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard;<br /> The lands became humane,<br /> Elotheans were no longer seen,<br /> As thieves of Prydaen mane<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens met the Elves,<br /> They got along real sweet!<br /> The Elves got the choicest parts<br /> The Prydaens ate raw meat!<br /> <br /> And the tradition,<br /> It continued to this day,<br /> The Elves at their tables,<br /> Prydaens below at play!<br /> <br /> And Prydaens they did mingle,<br /> With every Ilithic race!<br /> And had the kin that they pleased,<br /> In each and every place!<br /> <br /> And so they all ate raw meat,<br /> To this very day,<br /> So have a bite of something raw<br /> It’s the Pry-Ilithic way!<br /> <br /> So says Pry d’Ann the Bard,<br /> So just you listen close<br /> Pick some raw food off the floor<br /> Then pop it down your throat!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== The Therengian Wedding Duel ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> The nobl’st of customs.<br /> The woman not allowed to speak,<br /> just watch the men and trust ‘em.<br /> <br /> The Therengian view on girls,<br /> Is quite traditional.<br /> A Therengian girl’s rights you see,<br /> are quite conditional.<br /> <br /> The man he does not ask the lass,<br /> He goes straight to the pops<br /> And if he kisses something crass<br /> The pops lets him set up shop<br /> <br /> Because the Therengian man believes<br /> That it’s somewhat fatherly.<br /> And that a romantic thing to see<br /> Is women sold like property!<br /> <br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> A Theren man selects a Theren bride.<br /> The woman cannot run or flee,<br /> There’s nowhere she can hide.<br /> <br /> And if a Theren dad says no;<br /> And he makes a fuss;<br /> They can have a violent row,<br /> The winner considered just!<br /> <br /> Because in Theren might is right;<br /> The strong they crush the weak!<br /> And thus the Therengian wedding duel,<br /> is the tradition that they keep.<br /> <br /> So if you are a Therengian girl,<br /> And your mind is free.<br /> Pack your bags, escape at night<br /> And run away to sea!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Scholarship ====<br /> <br /> (This might be based on Juicy J's &quot;Scholarship&quot;)<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> You need some extra plat to pay the Academy with<br /> It just so happens, I've got a lot of it<br /> Spin around the Empath pole, do the splits<br /> Then come and teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Heal that cat - prepare a spell<br /> Dead body, didn't go too well<br /> Disarmed a box and lost a hand<br /> Killed a squirrel, shock again<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Coins and gems<br /> Tips and plats<br /> Stay trippy<br /> Eat georin grass<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Touched a tamarisk tree<br /> I'm doin' al-chem-y<br /> Shiftin' in the city<br /> Now they arrestin' me<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== A Prydaen Freestyle ====<br /> [[File:PRYDAENSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Got a cleft lip, but I rap<br /> Better call me a kit, not a cat<br /> Eating live birds and some rats<br /> Prydaen - I'm a kit, not a cat<br /> <br /> Sharpen up my claws<br /> Pointy teeth in my jaws<br /> If bein' Prydaen was a crime<br /> I'd be breakin' all the laws<br /> <br /> Tail floppin' like a monkey<br /> You know I never bathe<br /> So I smell like somethin' funky<br /> And you know I never shave<br /> Raw meat junkie<br /> Yes - I said I never bathe<br /> <br /> How I wear a shoe?<br /> Got pads on my foot<br /> How do -you- do?<br /> Prydaen soul dark, soot<br /> Evil to the root<br /> <br /> Town guards they call me kitty<br /> Hesitate to let me in the city<br /> Prydaen life really gritty<br /> Insert some cat profan-ity<br /> <br /> Feelin' safe in the bank<br /> Showing off my hub rank<br /> City rough<br /> like a shark tank<br /> Birthin' tough<br /> Havin' kits in the bank<br /> Yes, havin' kits in the bank<br /> Don't make a stank<br /> I'm havin' my kits in the bank<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Reverend Rafaeli's Prayer ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little potpies<br /> You’ve got Glythtide’s body<br /> And Dergati’s eyes<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little tadpole tails<br /> Everild eating sausage<br /> Eluned eating whales<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little love blankets<br /> If baby Be'ort is bad<br /> Then you must spank it<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little cups of curds<br /> A full third of the Immortals’<br /> Animals are birds<br /> <br /> I hope you liked my prayer<br /> Try not to be jelly<br /> Two friendly kisses<br /> From Brother Rafaeli!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Fratvarit Rap ====<br /> [[File:RAKASHSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right|That time we got to like number six on the vote website]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Alchemy is confusin'<br /> But alcohol's a solution<br /> It's a technical truth<br /> Not a lyrical illusion<br /> <br /> First you mash the apple<br /> Like a spousal battle<br /> Let the jug sit<br /> Then give it a rattle<br /> <br /> When it starts to brew<br /> Increase the heat to two<br /> At this point it's bitter<br /> And an explosive mixture<br /> <br /> So you better be careful<br /> Know the fumes ain't healthful<br /> Eyes on the prize<br /> The final product make you wealthful<br /> <br /> Then you crush the peppercorn<br /> With an elder deer horn<br /> Shake it in the bottle<br /> A drop'll sleep a newborn<br /> <br /> So that's how you star it<br /> In the game of fratvarit<br /> Now keep a crossbow loaded<br /> 'Cause Rakash keep the bar lit<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Short Song for Saphryna ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Who heals you when you're sick and stuff?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who hugs you when you're feelin' rough?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who fixes you when a box goes blast?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who picks you up off of your, er...<br /> Behind, behind!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=473561 2017-08-01T15:24:54Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>[[File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png|thumb|right|Dejacque Heraldry: In Ore Mingentem]]<br /> <br /> == Description ==<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> == Family and Stuff ==<br /> Maxwelinski has a horse named Horsewelinski and a babirusa.<br /> <br /> He also has a wife named [[Caidie]] and a pupinski named [[Laroux]]<br /> <br /> == The Story ==<br /> [[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.<br /> <br /> == Maxwelinski, starring in MAXWELINSKI, P.I. ==<br /> [[File:SaltCrabsAreDangerous.jpg|thumb|450px|right]]<br /> <br /> A light rain had just begun to patter down from above in the loose city known as the Crossing. I inhaled deeply on my stump cigar, wincing at the telltale odor of corpse. Three long years and they still haunted me. I looked up at the crude sketches on the wall. Likenesses of the missing Prydaens. All young. The trend of dressing little Prydaens as baby dolls had never fully disappeared, but this was something new.<br /> <br /> All of a sudden I heard a knock at my faux flamewood door. The faux sungold plaque engraved “MAXWELINSKI, P.I.” tumbled to the door, faux mistglass shattering everywhere. I put down nine iron ashtrays I had been juggling, snuff my cigar into one of them and call out, “IT’S OPEN DAMNIT!”<br /> <br /> This Cleric with an angular face walks into the room. He’s about the tallest drink of holy water I’ve ver seen this side of the Selgotha. He hangs his floating orb thing on my faux copperwood coat rack. His nose wrinkles up.<br /> <br /> “It smells like smoke.”<br /> <br /> I pull out a sky-blue imnera runestone and cast Zephyr. The smoke disperses.<br /> <br /> He sits down in front of me and crosses his legs suggestively, adjusting his cassock. I can feel the blood rush to my ears, but I manage to keep a straight face. I see his anloral shrew pin. Kerenhappuch, typical.<br /> <br /> “I have a job for you, Max,” he says. I bet you do, I think.<br /> <br /> “And I have some information.”<br /> <br /> This gets my attention. I can tell from his look that it’s about the missing Prydaens.<br /> <br /> “But first,” he says curtly, “you must do something for me.” There’s the rub.<br /> <br /> He slips a piece of parchment from his pouch and pushes it across my faux expensivewood desk. It looks like a child’s drawing of a blob man.<br /> <br /> “Do you recognize it? This construct killed thirteen people at the Rangers’ Guild. Me, and my associates, want it. When you find it, call me.”<br /> <br /> It looks like every single glass construct ever, but I nod assent. I look up at him, “How do I find you?”<br /> <br /> “You’re a Rakash, aren’t you? Just howl.”<br /> <br /> He stands up and goes for the door. He moves to jiggle the handle, turns and looks at me. We exchange glances. “You remember how to howl, don’t you?,” he asks, “You just put your lips together and go AAWWOOOO.”<br /> <br /> == Eyewitness testimony of the umbral moth invasion of Boar Clan, as told to Maxwelinski by an umbral moth ==<br /> [[File:Welcome_to_merkresh.jpg|thumb|650px|right]]<br /> As early as I can remember, when I was but a pupa, my mother told me to watch out for the lights. No matter how pretty they look, just stay away from them. If someone offers you a light just say no. For most of my life I heeded this advice.<br /> <br /> During the day I slept in the shade beneath large leaves or nestled in the camouflaging bark of a large dryad’s tree. At night I came out to drink the nectar of flowering plants with my freakishly long proboscis. Many times I looked up at the stars and felt a pull, an attraction. Those were lights. But they were too far away. I flirted with them, but I was safe.<br /> <br /> During the twilight hours I awoke to find columns of people, caravans, headed toward a city. The road was lit with torches. I put this out of my mind and went about my job in the local ecosystem. As the night grew longer the light grew brighter. Light had all become concentrated in one area, visible toward the horizon. The pure dark of the night, the dark that lets you see stars unblemished, had become marred by a reddish-yellow haze.<br /> <br /> Light pollution. That was it. It drew me to it like a reaver to samatak. Up to this point in my life I stayed out of trouble. I was a model moth. I had a beneficial symbiotic relationship with night-blooming flowers. I was the fauna, the flora was itself. I pollinated while I drank. My proboscis is also generously endowed by moth standards. You could say I was an exceptional moth.<br /> <br /> I don’t remember the journey, only that I was in a city. Trees had been cut into logs, logs stacked to the height of at least three wingspans. All had been lit to produce massive, intoxicating, light-producing fires. Bipeds, Humans and Prydaens, their young, all gathered around.<br /> <br /> When I flew closer to the fire, closer to the action, people began to panic. There was screaming. Swords were drawn. I felt hard metal slap against my delicate, powdery wings. I tried to extend my feelers, my furred little legs, even my proboscis. This was a sign of peace. I’d witnessed bipeds do with their own upper appendages.<br /> <br /> The people had become hysterical. They were no longer in their right minds. Marty, the moth who lives in the closet of an abandoned farmhouse close to the tree I sleep in during the late spring, flew by just in time to see. I was trying to shake a flailing biped I had managed to secure in my six legs. I was pheromoning, “Biped, calm down! I’m not going to hurt you.” The biped was responding with loud auditory signals and chops from a hand axe.<br /> <br /> Almost immediately the word got around to the other moths. The whole forest came to see the spectacle. And the rest is history.<br /> <br /> == Healing ==<br /> &quot;Is anybody 'ealin',&quot; says some guy. I glance down into my duffel bag. It's heavy with the weight of multiple eel skins and a weapon called a snake cleaver. My shoulder tenses and I shrug, pain all down one side of my back, up into my neck, face and eye. Eeling. I pull out a skin and wrap it around my neck and face. Then I lay down on the floor. It's thick with thumb tacks and sawdust. There's a distinct odor of dried blood. I crawl on my stomach out of the infirmary like an eel would. I glance back at my wife. She follows me, covering her face with her hands and shaking her head.<br /> <br /> I reel in another fish. It's a monstrous little creature with two faces and three small fish parts. A creppo. I pull out a small knife and think about opening it up, but can't bring myself to do it. I drop it on the ground. There's a small pile of disgusting fish. I'm reminded of Pyrdaen delicacies. Finally, a sturgeon. A normal fish with two eyes. That's a fish I can relate to. I slice it open and carefully remove a few choice innards.<br /> <br /> Still no eel. I'm staring off at a cloud and my lips are moving as I think to myself. I've got a giblet in my hand, squeezing it absently. I look over at my wife. She's exploring an iron grill propped up on a stone bench. I toss the squished giblet down onto the grill in front of her. She looks up at me with a start and then shoots me a blank expression. It might be tolerance. When I walk back over to the shore I reach down and touch the sand, grabbing a handful. It's gritty and the sand sticks. I dip both of my hands into the water and scrub them.<br /> <br /> &quot;Use the soap,&quot; she says. She tosses me a small bar. I do. When I bring my hands up to my face they smell like lavender. I leave the bar sitting on the bench. She hooks her arm in mine. We're about to leave, but I remember the fishing pole. I stop, run back and grab it. Then I hurl it as far as I can into the sea. We walk off, arm in arm.<br /> <br /> It looks like a costume party. A dozen or so people stand about. A few are collecting small piles of debris, the ever-present tacks and nails, then kicking them. Tacks and nails are flying everywhere. It's complete chaos. I recall someone having requested an eel. My stomach tightens up. I couldn't catch an eel. I reach into my pocket and feel something squish. It's a loose fish giblet. I wince and drop it on the ground.<br /> <br /> &quot;Why are you dropping your giblets on the ground!&quot; A thin woman with crazy eyes shrieks at me. My face turns red. She is dressed in a formal attire and is completely terrifying. Her lips are moving. There are sounds coming out of her mouth, but now I'm transfixed on white blotches of spittle forming at the corners.<br /> <br /> &quot;I said, why are you dropping your giblets on the ground!&quot; She seems to be on the verge of hysteria. I don't think it is even a question.<br /> <br /> &quot;They're not mine. They came from a fish.&quot;<br /> <br /> Her eyes widen. She opens her mouth to say something, then closes it. Then she hollers out, &quot;There's a bucket right there!&quot; I'm not sure what she wants. Someone kicks a pile and a rusty nail bounces off the side of my face. A man is laying in the corner, trying to tend a gaping wound in his abdomen. A small Empath, a Gnome, is crying out with the pain of healing him. This woman continues to stare at me, then down at the giblets, then back at my face. The noise in the room is overwhelming. I think she is telling me to put them in the bucket.<br /> <br /> I feel a soft hand grab mine, squeezing. I can smell her and the muscles in my neck relax. My wife tugs me while she reaches down fast, picks up the giblets and throws them in the bucket. My arm gets pulled along and I take a step forward to keep my balance. There she is, her body suddenly between mine and this woman. My wife is stepping on the hem of her gown. I don't know if it is deliberate. People are still screaming and crying in the background. In an instant we are out the door.<br /> <br /> We don't go far. We're in a small alley and I tug her up into a recessed doorway. I put both of my arms around her waist and she leans back against the door. I squeeze her tightly and rest my head on her chest. She puts her chin on the top of my head. I can feel her hands stroking my back.<br /> <br /> &quot;That woman was crazy.&quot;<br /> <br /> &quot;Yeah, she's a lunatic.&quot;<br /> <br /> The door opens and we almost fall inside. An old man shouts at us to get out of his doorway. We hold hands and skip off, laughing.<br /> <br /> == Assorted songskis for your enjoyment ==<br /> <br /> ==== Prydaens of Ilithi ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> Meow, meow, meow!<br /> Ilithian Prydaens,<br /> Raw food chow!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard,<br /> They pattered right on in.<br /> On itty-bitty Prydaen paws,<br /> These teachers-of-the-kin.<br /> <br /> It’s a song about Prydaens,<br /> It’s so sickeningly sweet!<br /> Shard-dwelling Prydaens<br /> I say, eating up raw meat!<br /> <br /> When the Elotheans saw the Prydaens,<br /> They were jealous of their hair,<br /> And Prydaens lived in fear a time<br /> They couldn’t go nowhere.<br /> <br /> And then they passed a law,<br /> Prydaen hunting banned!<br /> No more Prydaen fur toupees,<br /> And no more Prydaen ashtray hands!<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens came to Shard;<br /> The lands became humane,<br /> Elotheans were no longer seen,<br /> As thieves of Prydaen mane<br /> <br /> When the Prydaens met the Elves,<br /> They got along real sweet!<br /> The Elves got the choicest parts<br /> The Prydaens ate raw meat!<br /> <br /> And the tradition,<br /> It continued to this day,<br /> The Elves at their tables,<br /> Prydaens below at play!<br /> <br /> And Prydaens they did mingle,<br /> With every Ilithic race!<br /> And had the kin that they pleased,<br /> In each and every place!<br /> <br /> And so they all ate raw meat,<br /> To this very day,<br /> So have a bite of something raw<br /> It’s the Pry-Ilithic way!<br /> <br /> So says Pry d’Ann the Bard,<br /> So just you listen close<br /> Pick some raw food off the floor<br /> Then pop it down your throat!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== The Therengian Wedding Duel ====<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> The nobl’st of customs.<br /> The woman not allowed to speak,<br /> just watch the men and trust ‘em.<br /> <br /> The Therengian view on girls,<br /> Is quite traditional.<br /> A Therengian girl’s rights you see,<br /> are quite conditional.<br /> <br /> The man he does not ask the lass,<br /> He goes straight to the pops<br /> And if he kisses something crass<br /> The pops lets him set up shop<br /> <br /> Because the Therengian man believes<br /> That it’s somewhat fatherly.<br /> And that a romantic thing to see<br /> Is women sold like property!<br /> <br /> The Therengian wedding duel!<br /> A Theren man selects a Theren bride.<br /> The woman cannot run or flee,<br /> There’s nowhere she can hide.<br /> <br /> And if a Theren dad says no;<br /> And he makes a fuss;<br /> They can have a violent row,<br /> The winner considered just!<br /> <br /> Because in Theren might is right;<br /> The strong they crush the weak!<br /> And thus the Therengian wedding duel,<br /> is the tradition that they keep.<br /> <br /> So if you are a Therengian girl,<br /> And your mind is free.<br /> Pack your bags, escape at night<br /> And run away to sea!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Scholarship ====<br /> <br /> (This might be based on Juicy J's &quot;Scholarship&quot;)<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> You need some extra plat to pay the Academy with<br /> It just so happens, I've got a lot of it<br /> Spin around the Empath pole, do the splits<br /> Then come and teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Heal that cat - prepare a spell<br /> Dead body, didn't go too well<br /> Disarmed a box and lost a hand<br /> Killed a squirrel, shock again<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Coins and gems<br /> Tips and plats<br /> Stay trippy<br /> Eat georin grass<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> <br /> Touched a tamarisk tree<br /> I'm doin' al-chem-y<br /> Shiftin' in the city<br /> Now they arrestin' me<br /> <br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> You an Empath chick, you an Empath chick<br /> Keep healin', then teach me scholarship<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== A Prydaen Freestyle ====<br /> [[File:PRYDAENSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Got a cleft lip, but I rap<br /> Better call me a kit, not a cat<br /> Eating live birds and some rats<br /> Prydaen - I'm a kit, not a cat<br /> <br /> Sharpen up my claws<br /> Pointy teeth in my jaws<br /> If bein' Prydaen was a crime<br /> I'd be breakin' all the laws<br /> <br /> Tail floppin' like a monkey<br /> You know I never bathe<br /> So I smell like somethin' funky<br /> And you know I never shave<br /> Raw meat junkie<br /> Yes - I said I never bathe<br /> <br /> How I wear a shoe?<br /> Got pads on my foot<br /> How do -you- do?<br /> Prydaen soul dark, soot<br /> Evil to the root<br /> <br /> Town guards they call me kitty<br /> Hesitate to let me in the city<br /> Prydaen life really gritty<br /> Insert some cat profan-ity<br /> <br /> Feelin' safe in the bank<br /> Showing off my hub rank<br /> City rough<br /> like a shark tank<br /> Birthin' tough<br /> Havin' kits in the bank<br /> Yes, havin' kits in the bank<br /> Don't make a stank<br /> I'm havin' my kits in the bank<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Reverend Rafaeli's Prayer ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little potpies<br /> You’ve got Glythtide’s body<br /> And Dergati’s eyes<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little tadpole tails<br /> Everild eating sausage<br /> Eluned eating whales<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little love blankets<br /> If baby Be'ort is bad<br /> Then you must spank it<br /> <br /> Blessings, my children!<br /> My little cups of curds<br /> A full third of the Immortals’<br /> Animals are birds<br /> <br /> I hope you liked my prayer<br /> Try not to be jelly<br /> Two friendly kisses<br /> From Brother Rafaeli!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Fratvarit Rap ====<br /> [[File:RAKASHSISYPHUS.png|thumb|450px|right|That time we got to like number six on the vote website]]<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Alchemy is confusin'<br /> But alcohol's a solution<br /> It's a technical truth<br /> Not a lyrical illusion<br /> <br /> First you mash the apple<br /> Like a spousal battle<br /> Let the jug sit<br /> Then give it a rattle<br /> <br /> When it starts to brew<br /> Increase the heat to two<br /> At this point it's bitter<br /> And an explosive mixture<br /> <br /> So you better be careful<br /> Know the fumes ain't healthful<br /> Eyes on the prize<br /> The final product make you wealthful<br /> <br /> Then you crush the peppercorn<br /> With an elder deer horn<br /> Shake it in the bottle<br /> A drop'll sleep a newborn<br /> <br /> So that's how you star it<br /> In the game of fratvarit<br /> Now keep a crossbow loaded<br /> 'Cause Rakash keep the bar lit<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> ==== Short Song for Saphryna ====<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> Who heals you when you're sick and stuff?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who hugs you when you're feelin' rough?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who fixes you when a box goes blast?<br /> Saph, Saph!<br /> Who picks you up off of your, er...<br /> Behind, behind!<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=473554 2017-08-01T13:34:42Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>[[File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png|thumb|right|Dejacque Heraldry: In Ore Mingentem]]<br /> <br /> == Description ==<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is tall for a Rakash.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is a pack hunter.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is tall for a Rakash.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is a pack hunter.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> <br /> == The Story ==<br /> [[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.<br /> <br /> == Maxwelinski, starring in MAXWELINSKI, P.I. ==<br /> <br /> A light rain had just begun to patter down from above in the loose city known as the Crossing. I inhaled deeply on my stump cigar, wincing at the telltale odor of corpse. Three long years and they still haunted me. I looked up at the crude sketches on the wall. Likenesses of the missing Prydaens. All young. The trend of dressing little Prydaens as baby dolls had never fully disappeared, but this was something new.<br /> <br /> All of a sudden I heard a knock at my faux flamewood door. The faux sungold plaque engraved “MAXWELINSKI, P.I.” tumbled to the door, faux mistglass shattering everywhere. I put down nine iron ashtrays I had been juggling, snuff my cigar into one of them and call out, “IT’S OPEN DAMNIT!”<br /> <br /> This Cleric with an angular face walks into the room. He’s about the tallest drink of holy water I’ve ver seen this side of the Selgotha. He hangs his floating orb thing on my faux copperwood coat rack. His nose wrinkles up.<br /> <br /> “It smells like smoke.”<br /> <br /> I pull out a sky-blue imnera runestone and cast Zephyr. The smoke disperses.<br /> <br /> He sits down in front of me and crosses his legs suggestively, adjusting his cassock. I can feel the blood rush to my ears, but I manage to keep a straight face. I see his anloral shrew pin. Kerenhappuch, typical.<br /> <br /> “I have a job for you, Max,” he says. I bet you do, I think.<br /> <br /> “And I have some information.”<br /> <br /> This gets my attention. I can tell from his look that it’s about the missing Prydaens.<br /> <br /> “But first,” he says curtly, “you must do something for me.” There’s the rub.<br /> <br /> He slips a piece of parchment from his pouch and pushes it across my faux expensivewood desk. It looks like a child’s drawing of a blob man.<br /> <br /> “Do you recognize it? This construct killed thirteen people at the Rangers’ Guild. Me, and my associates, want it. When you find it, call me.”<br /> <br /> It looks like every single glass construct ever, but I nod assent. I look up at him, “How do I find you?”<br /> <br /> “You’re a Rakash, aren’t you? Just howl.”<br /> <br /> He stands up and goes for the door. He moves to jiggle the handle, turns and looks at me. We exchange glances. “You remember how to howl, don’t you?,” he asks, “You just put your lips together and go AAWWOOOO.”<br /> <br /> == Eyewitness testimony of the umbral moth invasion of Boar Clan, as told to Maxwelinski by an umbral moth ==<br /> <br /> As early as I can remember, when I was but a pupa, my mother told me to watch out for the lights. No matter how pretty they look, just stay away from them. If someone offers you a light just say no. For most of my life I heeded this advice.<br /> <br /> During the day I slept in the shade beneath large leaves or nestled in the camouflaging bark of a large dryad’s tree. At night I came out to drink the nectar of flowering plants with my freakishly long proboscis. Many times I looked up at the stars and felt a pull, an attraction. Those were lights. But they were too far away. I flirted with them, but I was safe.<br /> <br /> During the twilight hours I awoke to find columns of people, caravans, headed toward a city. The road was lit with torches. I put this out of my mind and went about my job in the local ecosystem. As the night grew longer the light grew brighter. Light had all become concentrated in one area, visible toward the horizon. The pure dark of the night, the dark that lets you see stars unblemished, had become marred by a reddish-yellow haze.<br /> <br /> Light pollution. That was it. It drew me to it like a reaver to samatak. Up to this point in my life I stayed out of trouble. I was a model moth. I had a beneficial symbiotic relationship with night-blooming flowers. I was the fauna, the flora was itself. I pollinated while I drank. My proboscis is also generously endowed by moth standards. You could say I was an exceptional moth.<br /> <br /> I don’t remember the journey, only that I was in a city. Trees had been cut into logs, logs stacked to the height of at least three wingspans. All had been lit to produce massive, intoxicating, light-producing fires. Bipeds, Humans and Prydaens, their young, all gathered around.<br /> <br /> When I flew closer to the fire, closer to the action, people began to panic. There was screaming. Swords were drawn. I felt hard metal slap against my delicate, powdery wings. I tried to extend my feelers, my furred little legs, even my proboscis. This was a sign of peace. I’d witnessed bipeds do with their own upper appendages.<br /> <br /> The people had become hysterical. They were no longer in their right minds. Marty, the moth who lives in the closet of an abandoned farmhouse close to the tree I sleep in during the late spring, flew by just in time to see. I was trying to shake a flailing biped I had managed to secure in my six legs. I was pheromoning, “Biped, calm down! I’m not going to hurt you.” The biped was responding with loud auditory signals and chops from a hand axe.<br /> <br /> Almost immediately the word got around to the other moths. The whole forest came to see the spectacle. And the rest is history.</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=473553 2017-08-01T13:27:35Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>[[File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png|thumb|right|Dejacque Heraldry: In Ore Mingentem]]<br /> <br /> == Description ==<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is tall for a Rakash.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is a pack hunter.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is tall for a Rakash.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is a pack hunter.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> <br /> == The Story ==<br /> [[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.<br /> <br /> == Maxwelinski, starring in MAXWELINSKI, P.I. ==<br /> <br /> A light rain had just begun to patter down from above in the loose city known as the Crossing. I inhaled deeply on my stump cigar, wincing at the telltale odor of corpse. Three long years and they still haunted me. I looked up at the crude sketches on the wall. Likenesses of the missing Prydaens. All young. The trend of dressing little Prydaens as baby dolls had never fully disappeared, but this was something new.<br /> <br /> All of a sudden I heard a knock at my faux flamewood door. The faux sungold plaque engraved “MAXWELINSKI, P.I.” tumbled to the door, faux mistglass shattering everywhere. I put down nine iron ashtrays I had been juggling, snuff my cigar into one of them and call out, “IT’S OPEN DAMNIT!”<br /> <br /> This Cleric with an angular face walks into the room. He’s about the tallest drink of holy water I’ve ver seen this side of the Selgotha. He hangs his floating orb thing on my faux copperwood coat rack. His nose wrinkles up.<br /> <br /> “It smells like smoke.”<br /> <br /> I pull out a sky-blue imnera runestone and cast Zephyr. The smoke disperses.<br /> <br /> He sits down in front of me and crosses his legs suggestively, adjusting his cassock. I can feel the blood rush to my ears, but I manage to keep a straight face. I see his anloral shrew pin. Kerenhappuch, typical.<br /> <br /> “I have a job for you, Max,” he says. I bet you do, I think.<br /> <br /> “And I have some information.”<br /> <br /> This gets my attention. I can tell from his look that it’s about the missing Prydaens.<br /> <br /> “But first,” he says curtly, “you must do something for me.” There’s the rub.<br /> <br /> He slips a piece of parchment from his pouch and pushes it across my faux expensivewood desk. It looks like a child’s drawing of a blob man.<br /> <br /> “Do you recognize it? This construct killed thirteen people at the Rangers’ Guild. Me, and my associates, want it. When you find it, call me.”<br /> <br /> It looks like every single glass construct ever, but I nod assent. I look up at him, “How do I find you?”<br /> <br /> “You’re a Rakash, aren’t you? Just howl.”<br /> <br /> He stands up and goes for the door. He moves to jiggle the handle, turns and looks at me. We exchange glances. “You remember how to howl, don’t you?,” he asks, “You just put your lips together and go AAWWOOOO.”</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Template_talk:PC&diff=452333 2016-09-03T23:54:59Z

<p>FOUCAULT: Created page with &quot;How about a PC template rewrite so that not all of the categories are mandatory? The categories can&#039;t be removed for individual pages. If you wish to exclude a label such as &#039;...&quot;</p> <hr /> <div>How about a PC template rewrite so that not all of the categories are mandatory? The categories can't be removed for individual pages. If you wish to exclude a label such as 'status' or 'instance' by leaving it blank or using a '-' as per the instructions, you get a placeholder tag of 'unknown' or a blank row. The undesired row isn't actually omitted however. --[[User:FOUCAULT|FOUCAULT]] ([[User talk:FOUCAULT|talk]]) 18:54, 3 September 2016 (CDT)</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Caidie&diff=452325 2016-09-03T23:00:49Z

<p>FOUCAULT: removed ugly info box per player request, restored text, shifted picture placement</p> <hr /> <div>[[File:caidiemay2.jpg|right|250px]]<br /> &lt;blockquote&gt;<br /> &lt;blockquote&gt;<br /> &lt;blockquote&gt;<br /> &lt;blockquote&gt;<br /> &lt;blockquote&gt;<br /> <br /> &lt;font color=#0099FF style=&quot;font-size: 20pt&quot;&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;font style=&quot;color: #000000; font-family: Century Gothic, sans-serif; font-size: 24pt; font-variant: small-caps;&quot;&gt;''&quot;I'm not a girl, I'm a storm with skin.&quot;''&lt;/font&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> &lt;/blockquote&gt;<br /> &lt;/blockquote&gt;<br /> &lt;/blockquote&gt;<br /> &lt;/blockquote&gt;<br /> &lt;/blockquote&gt;<br /> <br /> &lt;font color=#0099FF style=&quot;font-size: 16pt&quot;&gt;&lt;/font&gt; &lt;font style=&quot;color: #000000; font-family: Century Gothic, serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant: small-lower;&quot;&gt;<br /> == '''''Description''''' ==<br /> <br /> You see Caidie Mad'uuwl, Shar'Elur of Elanthia, an Elven Barbarian.<br /> <br /> She has pointed ears, stormy grey eyes and a lightly freckled nose. Her ink black hair is hip-length and a mass of misbehaving curls, and is worn untamed.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> She has a thick pink scar deliberately carved into the shape of the Elven symbol for eternity on the left wrist, marring fair skin.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> She is surprisingly short for an Elf.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> She is wearing a chubby dragon earcuff with glitter-covered wings, a chakrel Elven tear amulet hung from an antiqued steel chain, a pink and white striped togball jersey with three glittery slashes on the front, a dark e'erdream parry stick covered in sparkling crystals, an aged whimsy ring engraved with two chubby cheeked Elven lasses holding hands, a lifesculpted bonding band of intertwined e'erdream and apple wood, some glitter-dotted knickers beautifully embroidered with a bathing Gor'Tog pattern in bright green thread and some white galoshes delicately painted with puddles of pink glitter.<br /> <br /> == '''''You Lost?''''' ==<br /> <br /> [[File:littlecay.jpg|right|250px]]Finding her way to the sidelines of a Tog-Ball field, <br /> a look of wonder filling her stormy grey eyes, a color so chaotic it felt as though she had a storm alive inside her, the young girl watched as enormous men crashed into each other. She could hear the sound of muscle against muscle, the pounding of flesh upon flesh. Captivated by the sight, she allowed herself to stare. Images began to swirl around inside her mind of herself, clad in a jersey and combat boots, unruly raven colored curls flowing behind her as she ran full force down the field. Lost in a daydream, she didn’t hear as he approached, brought back to the present by a large finger flicking her pointed ears,<br /> ''“You lost, Elf?”'' The voice boomed.<br /> Wrinkling her freckled nose she lifted her head to gaze up at the enormous olive-green Barbarian in front of her. She squinted at him as he towered before her, after a pause she said, ''“Maybe...”'' Sooty cheeks flushing with a lovely rose color, was she embarrassed or was it merely cold? She then averted her eyes, gazing off into the distance, although saying nothing the storm inside her eyes began to roll, almost giving away the thoughts stirring inside her mind. Then the storm calmed and decisively she turned on her heels and was off in search of a man named [[Agonar]] Dokona<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> == '''''Whispers''''' ==<br /> <br /> <br /> [[File:littlesecret.jpg|right|250px]][[File:bigsecret.jpg|left|250px]]Whirling in a hurricane, they clung to each other. <br /> Physically fragile, delicate in appearance, but their strength was insurmountable. <br /> There was an energy that hummed between them, something secret, something hiding behind their eyes.<br /> It was their eyes, wasn't it? <br /> Causing the very hurricane to which they clung to each other from, or was it for?<br /> That's what happens when a raging storm meets the troubled sea. What fear does the other have of getting wet?<br /> They are able to bend and fold and form to the other's will, all the while remaining exactly themselves.<br /> Sisters by heart.<br /> Two little girls making a home in the shelter of their laughter, their dreams, and unknowingly their fears. <br /> In a world of black and white, they stood beside each other in screaming color, wild hair and sparkling eyes, things would come alive. <br /> Fingers intertwined, inhaling a deep breath they move forward into everything, into nothing, into the unknown.<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> == '''''Going Green''''' ==<br /> <br /> <br /> [[File:cayandbuuwl.jpg|right|250px]] He was the color of happy things; spring grass, sweet apples, toads that turn into princes. <br /> He arrived in the mist of festivities, a huge man but a happy and free man.<br /> He was almost something from her dream-<br /> barbarian, chaotic, kind to those she loves. <br /> His sparkling blue eyes, like a secluded lake on a hot summer's day, met hers and they were bound to each other, she may not have known it at the moment,<br /> but they were. <br /> She'd given up on silly little fairy tales and he'd never kissed a rose. <br /> The words he spoke so casually left her thinking it was a joke, <br /> ''&quot;Let's get bonded.&quot;'' he said in such a tone lacking all inflection of a question.<br /> Laughing freely with her head thrown back, raven curls awaken from their slumber, she nodded emphatically,<br /> ''&quot;Okay!!&quot;'' she responded, throwing away what little caution she had. <br /> The sister of her heart produced a dusty rose still sheathed in vivid holy light from inside a cluttered vault, (That may have been bonded to a Rakash Cleric) <br /> He took the leap and kissed the rose and almost as a dare, she kissed it back. The donkey god smiled. <br /> Two wild Barbarians bonded but never more free.<br /> <br /> <br /> &lt;3<br /> <br /> <br /> == '''''The way -I- see it..''''' ==<br /> <br /> No matter how you see her:: Insane, Mean, Loving, a Bully, Buuwl's wife, River's friend, Kind, Hateful, Generous or Selfish, someone will always see her slightly different. Some even put it on paper, express it in words or even just give her a handsign or a hi5. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> [[File:Caidiefinal (1).jpg|thumb|350px|right|Caidie by [[Finnbar]] ]]<br /> <br /> &gt; read paper <br /> <br /> The paper is painted with: A rainbow of vibrant glitter liberally coats the paper, transforming an elegant ink and paint portrait into a violent explosion of sparkle and shine. Striking a defiant pose, a slender Elven maiden stands tall upon a mountain of defeated stuffed animals and broken tin soldiers. Clasped in her hand is a giant two-handed sword, its hilt shaped like a pair of slumbering rabbits. Garbed in a shimmering togball jersey of glitter and sunshine, a myriad of dainty flowers are strewn across the fabric. Her midnight black hair coils around her body in a wild disarray, liberal highlights of deep blue glitter shimmering in every inky coil. Surrounding the Elven woman is a border of Elven tears blossoms and slender green leaves. Scrawled beneath the portrait is the title: Caidie, as Fierce as she is Lovely. Signed at the bottom is the name [[Sesi]] Hart dotted with a tiny heart.<br /> <br /> [[File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png|thumb|left|Dejacque Heraldry: In Ore Mingentem]]<br /> <br /> &lt;br /&gt;&amp;nbsp;&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> &gt;read other paper <br /> <br /> The paper reads: A large crowd stands in a broken circle right in the middle of the infirmary, looking on at two women in the middle. A beautiful Elf, wild and savage-eyed, has just slapped an old, matronly Empath across the face. A Rakash man nearby is ducking his head, trying to avoid a spray of spittle flying from the gaping mouth of the Empath. What appear to be dead songbirds litter the ground.<br /> <br /> Along the bottom of the paper, you notice, Author: [[Maxwelinski]]</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=452324 2016-09-03T22:36:28Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>[[File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png|thumb|right|Dejacque Heraldry: In Ore Mingentem]]<br /> <br /> == Description ==<br /> <br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is tall for a Rakash.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is a pack hunter.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is tall for a Rakash.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is a pack hunter.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> <br /> == The Story ==<br /> [[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=File:Dejacque_Heraldry_Alternate_Resized.png&diff=452319 2016-09-03T22:28:49Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div></div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Finnbar&diff=440180 2016-04-05T18:54:24Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>{{PC<br /> |name=Finnbar<br /> |status=a<br /> |race=Elf<br /> |gender=Male<br /> |guild=Bard<br /> |instance=prime<br /> }}<br /> <br /> [[Image:Finn.png|left|250px|border]]<br /> <br /> Finnbar has a triangular face, slightly pointed ears, blue-grey eyes and a crooked nose. His silver hair is short and thick, and is worn in a tousled, finger-combed style. He has tanned skin and a lean build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is slightly under average height for an Elf.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He appears to be young.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He has some light stubble on his face.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is in good shape.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> He is wearing a pale grey Elven wool cloak secured with an opal brooch, an ironwood quarterstaff with platinum bands, a sky blue velvet instrument case clasped with matte silver buckles, a sleeveless white silk tunic belted with a steely grey sash, an albredine crystal ring, a carved silver pick, a pair of pressed steel-grey pants laced with neat platinum cording and a pair of gleaming grey calf boots with platinum side buckles.<br /> <br /> [[File:finnbar_2.jpg|thumb|250px|right|What Finnbar might look like, by Maxwelinski ]]<br /> [[File:finnbar_3.png|thumb|250px|left|Finnbar, by Caidie ]]</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Finnbar&diff=440179 2016-04-05T18:53:21Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>{{PC<br /> |name=Finnbar<br /> |status=a<br /> |race=Elf<br /> |gender=Male<br /> |guild=Bard<br /> |instance=prime<br /> }}<br /> <br /> [[Image:Finn.png|left|250px|border]]<br /> <br /> Finnbar has a triangular face, slightly pointed ears, blue-grey eyes and a crooked nose. His silver hair is short and thick, and is worn in a tousled, finger-combed style. He has tanned skin and a lean build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is slightly under average height for an Elf.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He appears to be young.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He has some light stubble on his face.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is in good shape.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> He is wearing a pale grey Elven wool cloak secured with an opal brooch, an ironwood quarterstaff with platinum bands, a sky blue velvet instrument case clasped with matte silver buckles, a sleeveless white silk tunic belted with a steely grey sash, an albredine crystal ring, a carved silver pick, a pair of pressed steel-grey pants laced with neat platinum cording and a pair of gleaming grey calf boots with platinum side buckles.<br /> <br /> [[File:finnbar_2.jpg|thumb|250px|right|What Finnbar might look like, to Max ]]<br /> [[File:finnbar_3.png|thumb|250px|left|Finnbar, by Caidie ]]</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Finnbar&diff=440178 2016-04-05T18:52:06Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>{{PC<br /> |name=Finnbar<br /> |status=a<br /> |race=Elf<br /> |gender=Male<br /> |guild=Bard<br /> |instance=prime<br /> }}<br /> <br /> [[Image:Finn.png|left|250px|border]]<br /> <br /> Finnbar has a triangular face, slightly pointed ears, blue-grey eyes and a crooked nose. His silver hair is short and thick, and is worn in a tousled, finger-combed style. He has tanned skin and a lean build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is slightly under average height for an Elf.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He appears to be young.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He has some light stubble on his face.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is in good shape.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> He is wearing a pale grey Elven wool cloak secured with an opal brooch, an ironwood quarterstaff with platinum bands, a sky blue velvet instrument case clasped with matte silver buckles, a sleeveless white silk tunic belted with a steely grey sash, an albredine crystal ring, a carved silver pick, a pair of pressed steel-grey pants laced with neat platinum cording and a pair of gleaming grey calf boots with platinum side buckles.<br /> <br /> [[File:finnbar_2.jpg|thumb|250px|right|What Finnbar might look like. ]]<br /> [[File:finnbar_3.png|thumb|250px|left|Finnbar, by Caidie ]]</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=File:Finnbar_3.png&diff=440177 2016-04-05T18:49:19Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div></div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Finnbar&diff=440176 2016-04-05T18:46:02Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>{{PC<br /> |name=Finnbar<br /> |status=a<br /> |race=Elf<br /> |gender=Male<br /> |guild=Bard<br /> |instance=prime<br /> }}<br /> <br /> [[Image:Finn.png|left|250px|border]]<br /> <br /> Finnbar has a triangular face, slightly pointed ears, blue-grey eyes and a crooked nose. His silver hair is short and thick, and is worn in a tousled, finger-combed style. He has tanned skin and a lean build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is slightly under average height for an Elf.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He appears to be young.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He has some light stubble on his face.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is in good shape.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> He is wearing a pale grey Elven wool cloak secured with an opal brooch, an ironwood quarterstaff with platinum bands, a sky blue velvet instrument case clasped with matte silver buckles, a sleeveless white silk tunic belted with a steely grey sash, an albredine crystal ring, a carved silver pick, a pair of pressed steel-grey pants laced with neat platinum cording and a pair of gleaming grey calf boots with platinum side buckles.<br /> <br /> [[File:finnbar_2.jpg|thumb|250px|right|What Finnbar might look like. ]]</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=File:Finnbar_2.jpg&diff=440175 2016-04-05T18:40:49Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div></div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=File:Maxwelinski.png&diff=440021 2016-04-01T22:43:14Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div></div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=440014 2016-04-01T18:41:25Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>== Description ==<br /> {{PC<br /> |name=Maxwelinski Dejacque<br /> |status=a<br /> |race=Rakash<br /> |gender=Male<br /> |guild=Bard<br /> |instance=The one with all the people in it.<br /> |relat=Prinie<br /> }}<br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is tall for a Rakash.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is a pack hunter.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is tall for a Rakash.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is a pack hunter.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> == The Story ==<br /> [[File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by [[Finnbar]] ]]<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=File:Max_by_finnbar_tan.jpg&diff=440013 2016-04-01T18:40:22Z

<p>FOUCAULT: Maxwelinski Dejacque, by Finnbar</p> <hr /> <div>Maxwelinski Dejacque, by Finnbar</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=440006 2016-04-01T15:34:03Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>== Description ==<br /> {{PC<br /> |name=Maxwelinski Dejacque<br /> |status=a<br /> |race=Rakash<br /> |gender=Male<br /> |guild=Bard<br /> |instance=The one with all the people in it.<br /> |relat=Prinie<br /> }}<br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is tall for a Rakash.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is a pack hunter.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is tall for a Rakash.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is a pack hunter.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> == The Story ==<br /> [[File:Max_by_finnbar_darkhair.jpg|thumb|350px|right|Maxwelinski Dejacque, by Finnbar]]<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=439923 2016-03-31T21:22:25Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>{{PC<br /> |name=Maxwelinski Dejacque<br /> |status=a<br /> |race=Rakash<br /> |gender=Male<br /> |guild=Bard<br /> |instance=The one with all the people in it.<br /> |relat=Prinie<br /> }}<br /> <br /> == Description ==<br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a classically chiseled face, reflective sage-green eyes and a fine straight nose. His dark golden brown hair is short and perpetually disheveled, and is worn untamed. He has lightly bronzed skin and a lean, well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is tall for a Rakash.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is a pack hunter.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> Maxwelinski Dejacque, a Rakash.<br /> He has a compact and copiously wrinkled square face, reflective sage-green eyes and a pair of raised and rounded ears offset by a short and blunted muzzle. He has a fawn and white-chested coat with black masking, a stubby tail and a lean and well-defined build.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is tall for a Rakash.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> He is a pack hunter.&lt;br /&gt;<br /> <br /> == The Story ==<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=User_talk:POCKY&diff=439922 2016-03-31T21:17:51Z

<p>FOUCAULT: Created page with &quot;&lt;3 --~~~~&quot;</p> <hr /> <div>&lt;3 --[[User:FOUCAULT|FOUCAULT]] ([[User talk:FOUCAULT|talk]]) 16:17, 31 March 2016 (CDT)</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=439921 2016-03-31T21:08:31Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>{{PC<br /> |name=Maxwelinski Dejacque<br /> |status=a<br /> |race=Rakash<br /> |gender=Male<br /> |guild=Bard<br /> |instance=The one with all the people in it.<br /> |relat=Prinie<br /> }}<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=439919 2016-03-31T21:02:14Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>{{PC<br /> |name=Maxwelinski Dejacque<br /> |status=a<br /> |race=Rakash<br /> |gender=Male<br /> |guild=Bard<br /> |instance=The one with all the people in it.<br /> |relat=Prinie<br /> }}<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.<br /> {{PCSkills}}</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Template:PC&diff=439918 2016-03-31T20:59:04Z

<p>FOUCAULT: Undo revision 439916 by FOUCAULT (talk)</p> <hr /> <div>&lt;includeonly&gt;{| cellpadding=&quot;2&quot; style=&quot;float:right; width:300px; background:#e3e3e3; border-spacing:1px;&quot;<br /> |-<br /> ! colspan=&quot;2&quot; | {{#if:{{{name|}}}|'''{{{name}}}'''|{{PAGENAME}}}}{{#if:{{{rev|}}}|[[review::{{{rev}}}| ]]|[[review::0| ]]}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Race || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{race|}}} | {{#switch:{{{race}}}|-=|S'kra Mur=S'Kra Mur{{cat|Player S'Kra Mur}}| {{{race}}}{{cat|Player {{{race}}}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Gender || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{gender|}}} | {{#switch:{{{gender}}}|-=| {{{gender}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Guild || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{guild|}}} | {{#switch:{{{guild}}}|-=|{{{guild}}}{{Cat|Player {{{guild}}}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Instance || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{instance|}}} | {{#switch:{{{instance}}}|-=|{{ucfirst:{{lc:{{{instance}}}}}}}{{#arraymap:{{ucfirst:{{lc:{{{instance}}}}}}}|,|@@@@|[[Category:Player @@@@]]}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> {{#if: {{{relat|}}} | {{!}} valign=&quot;top&quot; {{!}} Relatives {{!}}{{!}} align=&quot;center&quot; {{!}} {{#arraymap:{{{relat}}}|,|@@@@|[[@@@@]]}}}}<br /> |}{{cat|Player Characters}}<br /> &lt;/includeonly&gt;&lt;noinclude&gt;<br /> ==To Use==<br /> <br /> Use the [[Form:Player_Characters|Player Character Form]] to easily fill out both the Player_character template and the optional PCSKills template below.<br /> <br /> For manual creation:<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> {{PC<br /> |name = <br /> |race =<br /> |gender = <br /> |guild =<br /> |instance = (use &quot;,&quot; to list multiple instances)<br /> |relat = (use &quot;,&quot; to separate each)<br /> }}<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> If you do not know one of the above, leave it blank, or use &quot;-&quot; to disable.<br /> <br /> '''Optional''':<br /> You can include your stats and skills by adding the template below to the bottom of your page.<br /> <br /> Include a parameter for each stat and skill you want to display. For stats and non-guild specific skills use the full stat/skill name as the parameter, removing any spaces if there are any. For your guild skill use the GuildSkill and GuildSkill2 paramaeters.<br /> <br /> Note: The infobox will not appear if you do not include any parameters.<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Circle =<br /> |&lt;StatName&gt; = <br /> |&lt;SkillName&gt; =<br /> |GuildSkill = Astrology/Backstab/Bardic Lore/Empathy/Endurance/Expertise/Scouting/Summoning/Thanatology/Theurgy/Trading<br /> |GuildSkill2 = (the number of ranks you have in your guild specific skill)<br /> }}<br /> <br /> Example:<br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Circle=75<br /> |Stamina=55<br /> |PrimaryMagic=200<br /> |GuildSkill=Bardic Lore<br /> |GuildSkill2=250<br /> }}<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;{{cat|Templates}}&lt;/noinclude&gt;</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Template:PC&diff=439916 2016-03-31T20:53:04Z

<p>FOUCAULT: Undo revision 439915 by FOUCAULT (talk)</p> <hr /> <div>&lt;includeonly&gt;{| cellpadding=&quot;2&quot; style=&quot;float:right; width:300px; background:#e3e3e3; border-spacing:1px;&quot;<br /> |-<br /> ! colspan=&quot;2&quot; | {{#if:{{{name|}}}|'''{{{name}}}'''|{{PAGENAME}}}}{{#if:{{{rev|}}}|[[review::{{{rev}}}| ]]|[[review::0| ]]}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Race || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{race|}}} | {{#switch:{{{race}}}|-=|S'kra Mur=S'Kra Mur{{cat|Player S'Kra Mur}}| {{{race}}}{{cat|Player {{{race}}}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Gender || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{gender|}}} | {{#switch:{{{gender}}}|-=| {{{gender}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Guild || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{guild|}}} | {{#switch:{{{guild}}}|-=|{{{guild}}}{{Cat|Player {{{guild}}}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> {{#if: {{{relat|}}} | {{!}} valign=&quot;top&quot; {{!}} Relatives {{!}}{{!}} align=&quot;center&quot; {{!}} {{#arraymap:{{{relat}}}|,|Prinie|[[@@@@]]}}}}<br /> |}{{cat|Player Characters}}<br /> &lt;/includeonly&gt;&lt;noinclude&gt;<br /> ==To Use==<br /> <br /> Use the [[Form:Player_Characters|Player Character Form]] to easily fill out both the Player_character template and the optional PCSKills template below.<br /> <br /> For manual creation:<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> {{PC<br /> |name = <br /> |status = a/d/r (active/dead/retired)<br /> |race =<br /> |gender = <br /> |guild =<br /> |instance = (use &quot;,&quot; to list multiple instances)<br /> |relat = (use &quot;,&quot; to separate each)<br /> }}<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> If you do not know one of the above, leave it blank, or use &quot;-&quot; to disable.<br /> <br /> '''Optional''':<br /> You can include your stats and skills by adding the template below to the bottom of your page.<br /> <br /> Include a parameter for each stat and skill you want to display. For stats and non-guild specific skills use the full stat/skill name as the parameter, removing any spaces if there are any. For your guild skill use the GuildSkill and GuildSkill2 paramaeters.<br /> <br /> Note: The infobox will not appear if you do not include any parameters.<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Circle =<br /> |&lt;StatName&gt; = <br /> |&lt;SkillName&gt; =<br /> |GuildSkill = Astrology/Backstab/Bardic Lore/Empathy/Endurance/Expertise/Scouting/Summoning/Thanatology/Theurgy/Trading<br /> |GuildSkill2 = (the number of ranks you have in your guild specific skill)<br /> }}<br /> <br /> Example:<br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Circle=75<br /> |Stamina=55<br /> |PrimaryMagic=200<br /> |GuildSkill=Bardic Lore<br /> |GuildSkill2=250<br /> }}<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;{{cat|Templates}}&lt;/noinclude&gt;</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Template:PC&diff=439915 2016-03-31T20:50:25Z

<p>FOUCAULT: Undo revision 439913 by FOUCAULT (talk)</p> <hr /> <div>&lt;includeonly&gt;{| cellpadding=&quot;2&quot; style=&quot;float:right; width:300px; background:#e3e3e3; border-spacing:1px;&quot;<br /> |-<br /> ! colspan=&quot;2&quot; | {{#if:{{{name|}}}|'''{{{name}}}'''|{{PAGENAME}}}}{{#if:{{{rev|}}}|[[review::{{{rev}}}| ]]|[[review::0| ]]}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Status || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{status|}}} | {{#switch:{{{status}}}|-=|a=Active|d=Dead|r=Retired}}}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Race || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{race|}}} | {{#switch:{{{race}}}|-=|S'kra Mur=S'Kra Mur{{cat|Player S'Kra Mur}}| {{{race}}}{{cat|Player {{{race}}}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Gender || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{gender|}}} | {{#switch:{{{gender}}}|-=| {{{gender}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Guild || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{guild|}}} | {{#switch:{{{guild}}}|-=|{{{guild}}}{{Cat|Player {{{guild}}}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Instance || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{instance|}}} | {{#switch:{{{instance}}}|-=|{{ucfirst:{{lc:{{{instance}}}}}}}{{#arraymap:{{ucfirst:{{lc:{{{instance}}}}}}}|,|@@@@|[[Category:Player @@@@]]}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> {{#if: {{{relat|}}} | {{!}} valign=&quot;top&quot; {{!}} Relatives {{!}}{{!}} align=&quot;center&quot; {{!}} {{#arraymap:{{{relat}}}|,|@@@@|[[@@@@]]}}}}<br /> |}{{cat|Player Characters}}<br /> &lt;/includeonly&gt;&lt;noinclude&gt;<br /> ==To Use==<br /> <br /> Use the [[Form:Player_Characters|Player Character Form]] to easily fill out both the Player_character template and the optional PCSKills template below.<br /> <br /> For manual creation:<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> {{PC<br /> |name = <br /> |status = a/d/r (active/dead/retired)<br /> |race =<br /> |gender = <br /> |guild =<br /> |instance = (use &quot;,&quot; to list multiple instances)<br /> |relat = (use &quot;,&quot; to separate each)<br /> }}<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> If you do not know one of the above, leave it blank, or use &quot;-&quot; to disable.<br /> <br /> '''Optional''':<br /> You can include your stats and skills by adding the template below to the bottom of your page.<br /> <br /> Include a parameter for each stat and skill you want to display. For stats and non-guild specific skills use the full stat/skill name as the parameter, removing any spaces if there are any. For your guild skill use the GuildSkill and GuildSkill2 paramaeters.<br /> <br /> Note: The infobox will not appear if you do not include any parameters.<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Circle =<br /> |&lt;StatName&gt; = <br /> |&lt;SkillName&gt; =<br /> |GuildSkill = Astrology/Backstab/Bardic Lore/Empathy/Endurance/Expertise/Scouting/Summoning/Thanatology/Theurgy/Trading<br /> |GuildSkill2 = (the number of ranks you have in your guild specific skill)<br /> }}<br /> <br /> Example:<br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Circle=75<br /> |Stamina=55<br /> |PrimaryMagic=200<br /> |GuildSkill=Bardic Lore<br /> |GuildSkill2=250<br /> }}<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;{{cat|Templates}}&lt;/noinclude&gt;</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Template:PC&diff=439914 2016-03-31T20:38:57Z

<p>FOUCAULT: Undo revision 439912 by FOUCAULT (talk)</p> <hr /> <div>&lt;includeonly&gt;{| cellpadding=&quot;2&quot; style=&quot;float:right; width:300px; background:#e3e3e3; border-spacing:1px;&quot;<br /> |-<br /> ! colspan=&quot;2&quot; | {{#if:{{{name|}}}|'''{{{name}}}'''|{{PAGENAME}}}}{{#if:{{{rev|}}}|[[review::{{{rev}}}| ]]|[[review::0| ]]}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Race || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{race|}}} | {{#switch:{{{race}}}|-=|S'kra Mur=S'Kra Mur{{cat|Player S'Kra Mur}}| {{{race}}}{{cat|Player {{{race}}}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Gender || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{gender|}}} | {{#switch:{{{gender}}}|-=| {{{gender}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Guild || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{guild|}}} | {{#switch:{{{guild}}}|-=|{{{guild}}}{{Cat|Player {{{guild}}}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> {{#if: {{{relat|}}} | {{!}} valign=&quot;top&quot; {{!}} Relatives {{!}}{{!}} align=&quot;center&quot; {{!}} {{#arraymap:{{{relat}}}|,|Prinie|[[@@@@]]}}}}<br /> |}{{cat|Player Characters}}<br /> &lt;/includeonly&gt;&lt;noinclude&gt;<br /> ==To Use==<br /> <br /> Use the [[Form:Player_Characters|Player Character Form]] to easily fill out both the Player_character template and the optional PCSKills template below.<br /> <br /> For manual creation:<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> {{PC<br /> |name = <br /> |status = a/d/r (active/dead/retired)<br /> |race =<br /> |gender = <br /> |guild =<br /> |instance = (use &quot;,&quot; to list multiple instances)<br /> |relat = (use &quot;,&quot; to separate each)<br /> }}<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> If you do not know one of the above, leave it blank, or use &quot;-&quot; to disable.<br /> <br /> '''Optional''':<br /> You can include your stats and skills by adding the template below to the bottom of your page.<br /> <br /> Include a parameter for each stat and skill you want to display. For stats and non-guild specific skills use the full stat/skill name as the parameter, removing any spaces if there are any. For your guild skill use the GuildSkill and GuildSkill2 paramaeters.<br /> <br /> Note: The infobox will not appear if you do not include any parameters.<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Circle =<br /> |&lt;StatName&gt; = <br /> |&lt;SkillName&gt; =<br /> |GuildSkill = Astrology/Backstab/Bardic Lore/Empathy/Endurance/Expertise/Scouting/Summoning/Thanatology/Theurgy/Trading<br /> |GuildSkill2 = (the number of ranks you have in your guild specific skill)<br /> }}<br /> <br /> Example:<br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Circle=75<br /> |Stamina=55<br /> |PrimaryMagic=200<br /> |GuildSkill=Bardic Lore<br /> |GuildSkill2=250<br /> }}<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;{{cat|Templates}}&lt;/noinclude&gt;</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Template:PC&diff=439913 2016-03-31T20:37:55Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>&lt;includeonly&gt;{| cellpadding=&quot;2&quot; style=&quot;float:right; width:300px; background:#e3e3e3; border-spacing:1px;&quot;<br /> |-<br /> ! colspan=&quot;2&quot; | {{#if:{{{name|}}}|'''{{{name}}}'''|{{PAGENAME}}}}{{#if:{{{rev|}}}|[[review::{{{rev}}}| ]]|[[review::0| ]]}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Race || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{race|}}} | {{#switch:{{{race}}}|-=|S'kra Mur=S'Kra Mur{{cat|Player S'Kra Mur}}| {{{race}}}{{cat|Player {{{race}}}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Gender || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{gender|}}} | {{#switch:{{{gender}}}|-=| {{{gender}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Guild || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{guild|}}} | {{#switch:{{{guild}}}|-=|{{{guild}}}{{Cat|Player {{{guild}}}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> {{#if: {{{relat|}}} | {{!}} valign=&quot;top&quot; {{!}} Relatives {{!}}{{!}} align=&quot;center&quot; {{!}} {{#arraymap:{{{relat}}}|,|Prinie|[[@@@@]]}}}}<br /> |}{{cat|Player Characters}}<br /> &lt;/includeonly&gt;&lt;noinclude&gt;<br /> ==To Use==<br /> <br /> Use the [[Form:Player_Characters|Player Character Form]] to easily fill out both the Player_character template and the optional PCSKills template below.<br /> <br /> For manual creation:<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> {{PC<br /> |name = Maxwelinski Dejacque<br /> |status = -<br /> |race = Rakash<br /> |gender = -<br /> |guild = -<br /> |instance = The one with all the people in it<br /> |relat = Prinie Dejacque<br /> }}<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> If you do not know one of the above, leave it blank, or use &quot;-&quot; to disable.<br /> <br /> '''Optional''':<br /> You can include your stats and skills by adding the template below to the bottom of your page.<br /> <br /> Include a parameter for each stat and skill you want to display. For stats and non-guild specific skills use the full stat/skill name as the parameter, removing any spaces if there are any. For your guild skill use the GuildSkill and GuildSkill2 paramaeters.<br /> <br /> Note: The infobox will not appear if you do not include any parameters.<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Circle =<br /> |&lt;StatName&gt; = <br /> |&lt;SkillName&gt; =<br /> |GuildSkill = Astrology/Backstab/Bardic Lore/Empathy/Endurance/Expertise/Scouting/Summoning/Thanatology/Theurgy/Trading<br /> |GuildSkill2 = (the number of ranks you have in your guild specific skill)<br /> }}<br /> <br /> Example:<br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Circle=75<br /> |Stamina=55<br /> |PrimaryMagic=200<br /> |GuildSkill=Bardic Lore<br /> |GuildSkill2=250<br /> }}<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;{{cat|Templates}}&lt;/noinclude&gt;</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Template:PC&diff=439912 2016-03-31T20:27:41Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>&lt;includeonly&gt;{| cellpadding=&quot;2&quot; style=&quot;float:right; width:300px; background:#e3e3e3; border-spacing:1px;&quot;<br /> |-<br /> ! colspan=&quot;2&quot; | {{#if:{{{name|}}}|'''{{{name}}}'''|{{PAGENAME}}}}{{#if:{{{rev|}}}|[[review::{{{rev}}}| ]]|[[review::0| ]]}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Status || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{status|}}} | {{#switch:{{{status}}}|-=|a=Active|d=Dead|r=Retired}}}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Race || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{race|}}} | {{#switch:{{{race}}}|-=|S'kra Mur=S'Kra Mur{{cat|Player S'Kra Mur}}| {{{race}}}{{cat|Player {{{race}}}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Gender || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{gender|}}} | {{#switch:{{{gender}}}|-=| {{{gender}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Guild || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{guild|}}} | {{#switch:{{{guild}}}|-=|{{{guild}}}{{Cat|Player {{{guild}}}}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> | valign=&quot;top&quot;| Instance || align=&quot;center&quot; | {{#if: {{{instance|}}} | {{#switch:{{{instance}}}|-=|{{ucfirst:{{lc:{{{instance}}}}}}}{{#arraymap:{{ucfirst:{{lc:{{{instance}}}}}}}|,|@@@@|[[Category:Player @@@@]]}}}} | ''Unknown''}}<br /> |- bgcolor=&quot;#FFFFFF&quot;<br /> {{#if: {{{relat|}}} | {{!}} valign=&quot;top&quot; {{!}} Relatives {{!}}{{!}} align=&quot;center&quot; {{!}} {{#arraymap:{{{relat}}}|,|@@@@|[[@@@@]]}}}}<br /> |}{{cat|Player Characters}}<br /> &lt;/includeonly&gt;&lt;noinclude&gt;<br /> ==To Use==<br /> <br /> Use the [[Form:Player_Characters|Player Character Form]] to easily fill out both the Player_character template and the optional PCSKills template below.<br /> <br /> For manual creation:<br /> <br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> {{PC<br /> |name = Maxwelinski Dejacque<br /> |status = -<br /> |race = Rakash<br /> |gender = -<br /> |guild = -<br /> |instance = The one with all the people in it<br /> |relat = Prinie Dejacque<br /> }}<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;<br /> <br /> If you do not know one of the above, leave it blank, or use &quot;-&quot; to disable.<br /> <br /> '''Optional''':<br /> You can include your stats and skills by adding the template below to the bottom of your page.<br /> <br /> Include a parameter for each stat and skill you want to display. For stats and non-guild specific skills use the full stat/skill name as the parameter, removing any spaces if there are any. For your guild skill use the GuildSkill and GuildSkill2 paramaeters.<br /> <br /> Note: The infobox will not appear if you do not include any parameters.<br /> &lt;pre&gt;<br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Circle =<br /> |&lt;StatName&gt; = <br /> |&lt;SkillName&gt; =<br /> |GuildSkill = Astrology/Backstab/Bardic Lore/Empathy/Endurance/Expertise/Scouting/Summoning/Thanatology/Theurgy/Trading<br /> |GuildSkill2 = (the number of ranks you have in your guild specific skill)<br /> }}<br /> <br /> Example:<br /> {{PCSkills<br /> |Circle=75<br /> |Stamina=55<br /> |PrimaryMagic=200<br /> |GuildSkill=Bardic Lore<br /> |GuildSkill2=250<br /> }}<br /> &lt;/pre&gt;{{cat|Templates}}&lt;/noinclude&gt;</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=439911 2016-03-31T20:20:52Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>{{PC<br /> |name=Maxwelinski Dejacque<br /> |status=a<br /> |race=Rakash<br /> |gender=Male<br /> |guild=Bard<br /> |instance=The one with all the people in it.<br /> |relat=Prinie Dejacque<br /> }}<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.<br /> {{PCSkills}}</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=439910 2016-03-31T20:18:38Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>{{PC<br /> |name=Maxwelinski Dejacque<br /> |race=Rakash<br /> |guild=Bard<br /> |relat=Prinie Dejacque<br /> }}<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=439909 2016-03-31T20:15:22Z

<p>FOUCAULT: </p> <hr /> <div>{{PC<br /> |name=Maxwelinski<br /> |status=Active<br /> |race=Rakash<br /> |gender=Male<br /> |guild=Bard<br /> |instance=The one with all the people in it.<br /> |relat=Prinie Dejacque<br /> }}<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it ''was'' a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer.</div>

FOUCAULT https://elanthipedia.play.net/index.php?title=Maxwelinski&diff=439908 2016-03-31T20:14:18Z

<p>FOUCAULT: Created page with &quot;{{PC |name=Maxwelinski |status=Active |race=Rakash |gender=Male |guild=Bard |instance=The one with all the people in it. |relat=Prinie Dejacque }} When a Rakash in his prime a...&quot;</p> <hr /> <div>{{PC<br /> |name=Maxwelinski<br /> |status=Active<br /> |race=Rakash<br /> |gender=Male<br /> |guild=Bard<br /> |instance=The one with all the people in it.<br /> |relat=Prinie Dejacque<br /> }}<br /> When a Rakash in his prime arrived in the province of Zoluren one day, no one noticed. It's a big province with a big city, The Crossing. If you had asked him where he came from, he might tell you he was raised by wolves. Yes, literal wolves. He insists. It isn't self-depreciating Rakash humor. That's his story.<br /> <br /> Abandoned at the young age of 23, his cruel parents left him on a hill to die. Despite his cries - “Ma, Pa, No! I'll get a job!” - he was condemned to exposure. If not for a kindly pack of wolves, he may very well have died. For the next ten years his adopted family nourished him. He relied upon the teat of the wolf to survive. A mere babe.<br /> <br /> He survived, but the wolves did not. It had been ten years, you know. They died of old age. Wolves don't live that long. It was 419 when he stumbled out of the forest and found himself on the Northern Trade Route.<br /> <br /> Lacking education, skills and the ability to speak beyond rudimentary grunts he set out to make his fortune. He needed to make a living. Get that food. That wolf milk, if you will. He was hungry.<br /> <br /> The first guild he came across was that of the Warrior Mages. There he met the big guy, Gauthus. The boss. He was about to introduce himself when Gauthus blurted something out.<br /> <br /> “You like killin' things?!” <br /> <br /> “W-what things?” Max was rattled.<br /> <br /> “You know. Just anything. Killin' is fun.”<br /> <br /> Being a Warrior Mage was not for him. Gauthus clearly had something wrong with him. Max left. And as he reflected on the multitude of Warrior Mages outside of the guild, foraging and braiding wild grasses into intricate and useful tools, he wondered how different they were from Gauthus inside. They seemed to be dedicated artisans.<br /> <br /> He stumbled into the city of The Crossing, through it's famed Northeast Gate. It wasn't long before he was at the Paladins' Guild. There he met Verika Kennelworth, Paladin Representative. A Rakash, like himself.<br /> <br /> “This guild is not for the weak of heart, it is not for the weakl…”<br /> <br /> Katamba peaked over the horizon. They both fell to the ground, mid-speech, writhing. Max drooled a little. Moonskin. When he stood up, he and Verika gave each other that look. The morning look of a stranger in your bed. The look of a decision you immediately regret. Shame.<br /> <br /> He turned and he walked right out the door, without saying another word. The Paladins weren't for him, either.<br /> <br /> After a brief stroll up Magen Road he encountered the Empaths' Guild. He produced a delicate red bird from a small pocket. It wasn't moving. Prydaens lurked.<br /> <br /> “Can anyone heal my bird?”<br /> <br /> No one responded. He raised his bird high into the air for everyone to see. These Empaths didn't seem to care. He dropped the dead bird and went to leave. When he paused to look back he noticed a slim Prydaen snatch the dead bird up with a cat-like swipe, toss it into the air, and devour it in a few quick bites. All in a quick, practiced motion. Salvur Siksa pointed and laughed. This had happened before.<br /> <br /> This Empaths weren't the guild for him, either. But they seemed less awkward than the Paladins.<br /> <br /> Just as he stepped out the door, he saw a surprisingly short Elven girl head to the south. He moved to follow, seeing her enter the city's headquarters for the Barbarians' Guild. Then, a distraction.<br /> <br /> “Pssssst. Wanna try a dusssk berry?”<br /> <br /> A lizard-like creature hissed at him. It was a S'Kra Mur. The S'Kra had a black longcoat and was holding it open with one hand. Stitched into the lining were little pouches filled to the brim with assorted berries, fruits, stems, leaves, herbs and mushrooms. A few seemed to be in powdered form.<br /> <br /> “What's a dusk berry?”<br /> <br /> “Drop berriessss, not boltssss.”<br /> <br /> Max shrugged. This was unintelligible. He took one anyway.<br /> <br /> …<br /> <br /> “Congratulations, Maxwelinski! You're ready to train for your next rank!” An old Bard was howling shrilly into his face. He winced at the sound. His head hurt. Reflexively he reached into the inner pocket of his coat, produced a small berry and popped it into his mouth.<br /> <br /> “What rank is that?”<br /> <br /> “Just keep playing instruments.” She frowned.<br /> <br /> He stumbled out of the building, but immediately leaned up against the brick facade next to the door. His heart was beating fast. Panic. He rifled through his pockets. A passport to Velaka. Maxwelinski Dejacque. That sounded familiar. He relaxed. Now highly tolerant to the sedative effect of the dusk berry, he merely calmed the hell down. An Elf with the cutest freakin' nose came around the corner, walked up to him and held his hand. They stood silently, calmly. And he remembered.<br /> <br /> It was the day the shady S'Kra had pulled him to the side. He had taken something. He heard music coming from a nearby building. It sounded like a bar. He sat down and ordered a drink. The barmaid lectured on and on about what he thought were Elven beers and Toggish grogs. He nodded sleepily and stared at her with a blank expression. His mind wandered to the surprisingly short Elf.<br /> <br /> “Just sign here, here, and here if you want to JOIN.” The barmaid had a desperate, severe tone.<br /> <br /> He signed, or rather he drew a crude X on the paper. He was taken aside to swear an oath. And then he was taught how to cast a magical spell.<br /> <br /> In retrospect it was a lot of bureaucracy just to get a beer. <br /> {{PCSkills}}</div>

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