#one here

[hikarichino]

Fuck off gofundme bots I am an RP/Shitpost blog I don't give a fuck about your political bullshit

[stolenbythegods]

Breaking my rules and reblogging memes even tho I still have drafts.

Hit me with 'em uwu

[chronoflow]

I AM THE MESSENGER AT THE HARBOR I SEEK THE MEMORIES OF PINNY MUDBUG OH CHRONOFLOW, I BESEECH YOU DISPATCH THEIR LOST VESSEL TO ME

Arlo Broadbrush, Painter

No matter what they did, no matter where they went, at the end of every chapter of their story, there it was: The Painted Mountain. The object of their ultimate envy.

They moved across the world, opened a studio, made a new life... and then the World's Breath blew, and suddenly there it was in front of them.

They threw themselves into their work. Completed their "masterpiece." And the day they unveiled it, Smazoney unveiled a new color of paint on the rock wall.

It was the scourge of their existence, the source of their misery, always waiting until they were at their peak to flip them backwards and send them tumbling back to furious jealousy.

Where they went, it didn't matter. Eventually, if they waited, the Painted Mountain would appear, and they'd know. This chapter of their story was over. Soon jealousy would take over and they'd be reduced to nothing once more.

Unless, they forgot about the existence of the Painted Mountain altogether...

[chronoflow]

Tarkanian Miller, Miller

Had Tarkanian listened to his mentors, he would've known how dangerous grain silos can be. He would've kept his silo up to code. He would've kept the lanterns away from it. One stray ember, that's all it took. One single stray ember.

Everyone in Dough Valley would know the source of the fire. They'd know it was him in an instant. Unless he took desperate measures. Unless...

[chronoflow]

Tell me about a Queen

Spark Queensgrove, Glub-Glub Player

A great game of Glub-Glub is all about repetition. The way to truly learn about a player is to study every one of their games, identify the things they always come back to.

That was where great players emerged. You had to look past the coincidences, to the things the player came back to every single time. It was there you'd find the source of their strength, and their weaknesses. Then, once you crack the code, you use it to work with them--or to crush them.

Spark knew that. And yet, when they were assigned to play alongside Crush Hammerfall... they cut corners. They coasted. And it showed.

No one could be allowed to remember that disastrous championship game.

[chronoflow]

where did lumina dawnspear and nymphaea lacus go?

Aleister Chalk, Art Critic

"What do these pieces all have in common?"

"What unexpected patterns emerge when we view them together?"

"What do we suppose is the source of the artist's inspiration?"

It was as though Fillibuster Farnheim had cracked the code on how to deliver a mediocre art lecture without actually... saying anything. Aleister hated Fillibuster, the kind of burning hate you have for someone who once inspired you to greatness, only to settle into comfort and apathy.

Aleister wanted Fillibuster's spot so badly. To be leading the lecture, asking the questions to illuminate a piece, not just prattle on about it.

Aleister would do anything to claim that spot. Including, it seemed, drawing the circle and calling The Eye.

[chronoflow]

Who or what is this? Is someone behind this or is it simply automatic?

Adair Electrum, Assassin for Hire

Adair had spent months seeking the source of the leaks within her organization. Someone talked, and whether it was a power play, a case of loose lips, or the result of outside coercion, the code had been broken. And the first thing she was taught when she entered the profession was "how to handle someone who broke the code."

Those months of digging, of hunting, of searching brought her here. A body at her feet. A traitor sent back to the leylines. And though she knew she would have to summon the Eye, and make this moment go away... she hoped he would let her keep the feeling of satisfaction.