Barbog

Wonkium

A drunken halfling, having lost their way in the time that the new village was constructed, stumbles into town... And through booze-hazed eyes, reads the notice board (somewhat). His stomach rumbles at the idea of fresh-baked bread. Time will tell to see if he's awake and sober enough to make an appearance.

21 minutes ago, Borin said:

barbog is so back

for a few silly antics perhaps

Just now, lemonke said:

Based

i made a promise to zacho months ago...
feels good to finally follow through on it

RP post because oooogh im witnessing:

 

MC Name:

         Barbog

Character's Name:

         Moss Grisshom

Character's Age:

         like, old-ish, dude

What feat(s) will you be learning?

         Seer

Teacher's MC Name:

         Vaasek

Teacher's RP Name:

         Vaasek (spooky starfish fella)

Do you agree to keep Story updated on the status of your feat app?:

         Yeah

Have you applied for this feat on this character before, and had it denied? If so, link the app:

         Nah

Are you aware that if this feat is shelved, it will be unavailable to use?

         Eeyup

He was a man that encapsulated the word ‘simple’ in its most derogatory form, slow of wit and brutish by many measures, but with a nigh-impossible ability to speak of the soul. A man attuned to the crossroads of spirituality and the mortal realm, reaching out into the soulstream for some semblance of understanding. Despite his nature and appearance, he always felt saner, more intelligent, when grasping at the threads of his reality- called an ‘idiot savant’ when others thought he couldn’t hear, a man who would speak in stuttered and clipped sentences, suddenly able to read aloud your future as a bard spins a tale, just by flipping a set of cards. 
 

Even blindness did not sever this connection. His painted cards switched for an embossed and brailled deck, measuring sands purely through his experience weighing them by hand, calloused hands drifting over the slightest flaw in a palm as if reading with his eyes.

Finding a patient elf to work under who valued the muscle of the slower man and spoke for him was a blessing, but it still limited him. With every interaction, every draw on his tenuous connection with the ‘other side’, he felt frustration and despair fill him- for all his efforts to continue his practice, his one ability that allowed him to value himself above beasts, it was always a struggle, a fight against his impairment. He could no longer work with tools, to use new techniques, losing his skill with practices he had not committed to muscle memory, and it strained his connection with every passing day.
 

One night as the blind man dreamt and yearned, the innate ‘otherness’ that he reached out to so many times, reached back. It was a foreign sensation, shocking and cold and inherently filled him with a sense of wrongness- but he gripped it as tightly as he could, like one grips an offered hand when sliding down a cliff-face. He pulled on it out of pure desperation, a need to reaffirm his connection, his desire for oneness with the ‘other side’... His desperation to be free of the burdens of his blindness.
 

A voice whispered into his ears that so many others bothered not to speak into, and for a few moments he thought it a figment of the dream. The words were indistinct, muddled and meaningless, but he could feel the promises being made, the mutual sense of desperation they shared. It would strengthen his connection, give it form and purpose, to restore his sight and allow him to use his tools to communicate with the world once more- endless gift, for endless service, but a service spent in his natural inclinations, knowing his limits better than he himself did. 
 

A hand of shadow lifted his chin, and he could feel in his palm two knucklebones carved with runes. As he ran his fingers over them, he felt their familiarity to those he often used for soothsaying, though the runes were foreign- it was enough to confirm that this was genuine, that it would reinforce his bond with the ‘other side’, that it would play by his methods and rules. With this, he pushes the knucklebones deep into the sockets, ruining his eyes but restoring his sight, joy filling him despite the blood running through his fingers… And an impending sense of dread for ever losing this gift.

4 hours ago, Panashea said:

are you ok

define ok
 

16 hours ago, Borin said:

:( praise barbog

will miss u boring....

 

23 hours ago, Terry said:

I remember being on the Mod Team with you man. Didn't interact too much, but good luck with life!

 

Happy to see one of us manage to get out of here in one (relative) piece! 

You too! Only way to leave this place and hold your head high is to take yourself out before making any mistakes :*)



bye all

13 minutes ago, rukio said:

My anxiety peaking and falling every sentence be like

and thats how you know it's good writing

glad i got one last epic prank in on this website (causing mental distress)

goodbye yugioh

3 minutes ago, argonian said:

lmao wtf did I just read

 

probably the most philosophical and profound shitpost I've ever read

naw man i think bick turning "Industrial Society and Its Future" into an lotc shitpost tops me here

So I stopped at a Jack in the Box before posting this, and the girl behind the counter said, “Hiya! Are you having an awesome day?” Not, “How are you doing today?” No. “Are you having an awesome day?” Which is pretty… shitty, because it puts the onus on me to disagree with her, like if I’m not having an “awesome day,” suddenly I’m the negative one.
 

Usually when people ask how I’m doing, the real answer is I’m doing shitty, but I can’t say I’m doing shitty because I don’t even have a good reason to be doing shitty. So if I say, “I’m doing shitty,” then they say, “Why? What’s wrong?” And I have to be like, “I don’t know, all of it?” So instead, when people ask how I’m doing, I usually say, “I am doing so great.”
 

But when this girl at the Jack in the Box asked me if I was having an awesome day, I thought, “Well, today I’m actually allowed to feel shitty.” Today I have a good reason, so I said to her, “Well, Barbog died,” and she immediately burst into tears. So now I have to comfort her, which is annoying, and meanwhile, there’s a line of people forming behind me who are all giving me these real judgy looks because I made the Jack in the Box girl cry. And she’s bawling, and she’s saying, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” and I’m like, “It’s fine. It’s fine.” I mean, it’s not fine but, you know, it’s… fine. And I would like to order a Double Jack Meal, and I’ve kinda got somewhere to be, so maybe less with the crying and more with the frying, am I right? 
 

And the girl apologizes again and she offers me a free churro with my meal. And as I’m leaving, I think,

“I just got a free churro because Barbog died.”

No one ever tells you that when Barbog dies, you get a free churro.
 

Here’s a story. When I was a teenager, I performed a comedy routine for my high school talent show. There was this, uh, cool jacket that I wanted to wear because I thought it would make me look like Albert Brooks. For months, I saved up for this jacket. But when I finally had enough, I went to the store and it was gone. They had just sold it to someone else. So, I went home and I told Barbog, and he said, “Let that be a lesson. That’s the good that comes from wanting things.” He was really good at dispensing life lessons that always seemed to circle back to everything being my fault.
 

But then, on the day of the talent show, Barbog had a surprise for me. He had bought me the jacket. Even though he didn’t know how to say it, I know this meant that he loved me.
 

Now that’s a good story about Barbog. It’s not true, but it’s a good story, right? I stole it from an episode of Maude I saw when I was a kid, where she talks about her father. I remember when I saw it, thinking, “That’s the kind of story I want to tell about my Good Friend Barbog when he dies.” But I don’t have any stories like that. All I know about being good, I learned from TV. And in TV, flawed characters are constantly showing people they care with these surprising grand gestures. And I think that part of me still believes that’s what love is. But in real life, the big gesture isn’t enough. You need to be consistent, you need to be dependably good. You can’t just screw everything up and then take a boat out into the ocean to save your best friend, or solve a mystery, and fly to Kansas. You need to do it every day, which is so… hard.
 

When you’re a kid, you convince yourself that maybe the grand gesture could be enough, that even though Barbog isn’t what you need him to be over and over and over again, at any moment, he might surprise you with something… wonderful. I kept waiting for that, the proof that even though Barbog was a tough goblin, deep down, he loved me and cared about me and wanted me to know that I made his life a little bit brighter. 

 

Even now, I find myself... waiting.

4 hours ago, Turbo_Dog said:

How could we ever measure up to the great BarBog?

babrog

25 minutes ago, Xarkly said:

what do you get out of being a mod these days

an applebee's gift card
 

8 minutes ago, GMRO said:

Make the current ones work @itdontmatta

i dont wanna

I am always glad to see someone able to make the decision take care of themselves, and put their own comfort and peace of mind first. Never ever had an interaction with you that I don't remember fondly, and I can't say the same for just about anyone else.

You will be missed, but I'm glad to think you'll be moving on to a better future.

akaal propaganda (a good thing)

Barbog'Yar, aforementioned founder of the Theruz School, smiles proudly as he reads the latest edition of the Hay Herald. Truly, this is the only newspaper in all of Almaris worth reading - And he even got a mention in it! He sets it on a shelf with all eight other editions of the Hay Herald, and one that suspiciously looks like a first-edition print... Then, he gets back to work tunneling away to make the school a bit more presentable.

Application completed. You will be contacted by Staff on the application's status and next steps.

Dr. Strangelove or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying and Love Rewrites to my Magic
 

1 hour ago, SteppeNomad said:

-1 no shamanic fruit

 

no reason we cant have our fruit and eat it too, we already curse the land. Otherwise its a good rewrite, but removing fruit is unnecessary and detrimental actually!

oh wait i totally missed that part im sad now
-1 bring back shamanic farming

Helping to tutor this rascal

1 minute ago, Borin said:

  Hide contents

WOOOOOO GO BARBOG

 

The Theruz School of Spiritual Arts and Shamanic Magicks

 Opens Its Doors!

Today, on the 19th of Sun’s Smile, 100 SA, the Theruz School has officially begun open enrollment and the start of the year’s curriculum for the magically-inclined of Almaris! 

Formed out of an ambition to be the first central hub of spiritual education and proper, efficient teaching of shamans, the School has expanded its repertoire of magical knowledge to include lessons from our beloved Housmages and Bardmancers around the world, with current plans to invite Druii seeking apprentices, Alchemists willing to share their knowledge, and contacts within several lesser-known Paladin sects in an endeavor to better the world through the combined efforts of nonvoidal magicks.

Founded and currently headmastered by the Barbog’Yar, he holds the School’s ceremonial title of Shomo Superior, inspired by the acts of grand-teacher Murdok’Lak, slayer of Aenguls. Barbog’Yar “Lurker-Mover” has stated on record that he shall forbid any discrimination towards other sects of nonvoidal magick, in order to foster a collaborative community of well-intentioned and well-learned individuals.

Such was also his choice in location; for Barbog, long-time Honorary Halfling of Honeyhill, has set the School’s campus in the beloved Halfling village. Barbog believes that the hospitality and joyous nature of the locals will inspire similar feelings in his students, and will foster relations between descendent races who are marginalized in many existing fields of magic.

He wishes to make it clear that this will not solely be a place for shamans and spiritualists alone; while he and his lessons will be targeted for for those interested in Spiritualist beliefs and Shamanic culture, other teachers and visiting lecturers will be from a variety of backgrounds and disciplines.

Any who are interested in expanding their knowledge on multicultural studies, or learning more about the various proper magicks of the world, are encouraged to visit and attend at their leisure.

Current lesson plans include tutoring for Housemages and Culimancers, studies on spiritualism and shamanic culture through a Witch-Doctor's lens, general anti-void practices and philosophy, the foundations and modern interpretations of Haruspexy, and occasional guided trips to friendly nations and settlements aligned with the School's cause.

—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—

“Wisdom is born of a strong mind. It is more practical than philosophy, and goes beyond mere knowledge. It is the ability for right living, common sense, wit, resolution of life’s problems, and success beyond material gain. Think for yourself, but heed the words of those more experienced with the respect and consideration due them. Learn from life, and apply your learning in a way that means something.”

-The Contemplations of Malog, V1

—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—x—

OOC Information:

5 hours ago, argonian said:

Human RP and its oddness have been a disaster for the human race.

 The Human RP standard may survive or it may break down. If it survives, it MAY eventually achieve a low level of physical and psychological suffering, but only after passing through a long and very painful period of adjustment and only at the cost of permanently reducing players and many other living organisms to engineered products and mere cogs in the social machine. Furthermore, if the system survives, the consequences will be inevitable: There is no way of reforming or modifying the system so as to prevent it from depriving people of dignity and autonomy.

A half-crippled goblin hollowed away in an old fort-turned-school inspects the missive, having taken it from the noticeboard to look over. He makes a thoughtful noise, and takes a mental note to visit the hold of the mountainfolk at some point in the near future. His inspection of the  missive completed, he returns to tack it back up for the next weefolk to read.

A wiry, one-armed goblin drums his five remaining fingers on the desk, overlooking the village as he brings the note he read into mind. "Mi kan rekall da dizkuzziun wi had, on wub it ment tew bi latzelv rathur den bein' told hew tew bi- ur hew lat thinkz uthurz wunt lat tew bi. Lilee Peregryn frum Thayn Lilee."

Used to speaking at length to himself, and others who would not speak back, he pushes himself up from his seat and stares out the window.

"Whyle diz wuz nub wi mi wuz ekzpektyng avtur owr talk..." A grin parts his marked face, glad to have been proven wrong, to experience surprise for the first time in decades. "Mi zuppoze mi zhould have ekzpekted lat tew defy awl uv owr ekzpektaziunz."

On 9/26/2022 at 7:05 PM, ClassyBells said:

Who is sandy loam...