Asgeir

*Odin tramps over to the noticeboard. After reading it, he scribbles a note, then pins it to the empty portion of the poster. The vagrant wizard then wanders off.* "Odin Hrafnblodt. Arcane and Electrical Evocation. Send me a raven and we'll have a drink." ((Need to have my MA re-accepted, then put in a TA. You can teach me first.))

((REDACTED UNTIL MY MAGIC APP IS ACCEPTED))

((REDACTED UNTIL MY MAGIC APP IS ACCEPTED))

Odin's solitary jade green eye widens as he strokes his silky, alabaster beard for a moment, rereading the poster just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating again. "Hrmmmm... extraordinary. An institution that is focused on actual magical study, instead of collecting students like a swarm of dung beetles collects faeces. I must inquire further into this..." Odin chuckles as he lopes away, leaving an odor of cheap alcohol and mustard that lingers for many minutes after he has left.

"Oropher… do you remember me?"

I was the Dungeon Master for my very first D&D game, for which I wrote a campaign set in Forgotten Realms. The Church of Cyric was taking control of a small city, and it was the main objective for the characters to take down the church, free everyone from religious slavery and make sure that power was given back to the people. Obviously, we didn't have a paladin in our group, but we had a sorcerer, a rogue, a ranger and a barbarian. Fun times ensued. ~~~ My first LOTC encounter was… less than savory to say the least. I was wandering around during the beginning of Kalos, when suddenly I stumbled upon a wayward orc. I began to RP with him, but he PGed me and then PVPed me. I thought that this was how the server generally ran, so I decided not to play for the next few weeks. It's also the reason that I don't RP with orcs, as I have never had a good experience playing with them.

I have nothing more to say.

Tythus… fix the server. It is your destiny...

*Odin walks over to the podium, the corner of his eye crinkling as he grins from ear to ear. He takes one ring from the box, then pats Ramza on the shoulder.* "A fine speech headmaster. I will do what I can to teach others the meaning of knowledge." *He saunters off to a secluded area of the gardens to smoke his pipe.*

*Nathaniel stumbles down the street, smelling of alcohol and covered in the latest batch of bruises from a fistfight. He glances at a poster on the wall advertising the Gentlemen's Society.* "Hmmm… perhaps it is time to return to my old life…" *He looks down at his scarred, calloused hands. They were his weapons, his tools, his life. Could he leave behind the pain and sorrow of his past? He did not know, but he was damn well going to try! Nathaniel proceeds to steal some high-quality ink and parchment from an unguarded stall, then sits at a public bench to write a poem in surprisingly good handwriting.* The Letter *Nathaniel wipes some stray tears from his eyes as he finishes the poem, a few dropping onto the bottom of the page.* "Urgh… I'm going to need some new clothes…" *He mutters, looking down at his open leather jacket and tight-fitting stained pants, the only items of clothing he owns.* *He pins the letter to the poster, then saunters off to find appropriate clothing.*