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Chronicling the Wanderer


Hello, blogs, my old friend...

Posted by EmperoressWhenua , Apr 24 2014 · 181 views

I've been visiting the blogs occasionally lately and always remembered that I have my own but never really had much of anything to say on it. That's more or less my issue, really; Tumblr has more or less satisfied my [micro]blogging desires and the BZPRPG/school drains me of much of my motivation to type, so that leaves me with... not much to say, admittedly.
However, that doesn't mean I don't have things I wish to express. Quite often I find myself approaching an issue i have particularly high opinions about, and several years back I eagerly participated in debates as though I had a hunger (I did; still do, to an extent). Nowadays, however, I've become more lethargic, partly because I know that once I begin talking on an issue there's no stopping me—I become engrossed in it, obsessive even, and do not stop typing until the zeal is sated and justice served or truth uncovered—and that exhausts me beyond compare.
Perhaps that's not the right way to go about doing myself any favours, though. After all, debating keeps the mind witty and alive much like books hone it to be sharp and aware. I don't read as much, either; I have a stack of about a dozen books, from both fiction and nonfiction genres, I haven't devoured as was my MO once before. For better or worse, though, that's what it's like now and probably will change sometime soon once I regain my footing in life.
I think maybe I'll use this blog sporadically again. It used to be a popular platform, I think—the 49 subscribers can't all have shown up merely to keep close eyes on my words, anyway, and this blog did get a Blog of the Week award many years back... so it at least deserves some second life, right? So with that in mind there will at least few a few entries coming up to catch up on issues important to me or just anecdotes on my adventures (and there are quite a lot). In the meantime, I've updated the sidebar and not much else.
So, uh, toodles?


Kirby the Vacuum is my hero

Posted by EmperoressWhenua , Nov 14 2012 · 281 views

I found The Brave Little Toaster on a video site last night and just finished watching it. Oh my gosh, so many memories, so many ups and downs, so many emotions. And that one scene where all the other appliances fall down the waterfall and Kirby is so sad and just slinks away from view...

and... and...

everything is so sad... :( :( :(


Oh my god I was crying so hard and smiling so sad!! And then he saves everybody! "Climb on you cool dude[sic]."

It had been long enough that I remembered a few parts but not many huge chunks or the ending, so it was just like watching it anew all over again. And now that I've seen it again I think I have to say: It's one of my favourite movies ever. And speaking from a more educational standpoint, that movie has many lessons about teamwork and leadership in it, which makes it all the more awesome. Heck, I might even make a presentation about it.

Oh my word, I'm so happy right now! Kirby FTW!


Shirt Contest: A Plea

Posted by EmperoressWhenua , May 26 2012 · 287 views

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Okay guys, here's the deal: The deadline is 6 days overdue, and we only had TWO entries for the contest. Previous years we had upwards of 20. Honestly, this is pathetic. That is not a contest, that is a sham.

I have not closed the entry and will accept entries here until Tuesday the 29th, so if you had an idea at the back of your head for a shirt design, enter it. If you said you were going to enter and did not, enter it. Do it. Now. If not, chances are this will be cancelled this year and few people really want that to happen, at least publicly.

And if you don't enter like you said you would, I will buy MLP merchandise and kick it into a wood chipper. :mad:



Posted by EmperoressWhenua , May 14 2012 · 111 views

The King’s Keep was the last remaining bastion of the tyrannical regime which ruled the land from the Galloping Sea in the west to the Sawtooth Peaks in the east, the sole defiant finger which positioned itself to be most offensive to all who dared rebel against the vain royal who still demanded fealty. It was a simple castle, a tower three hundred feet tall with little more than a curtain wall for protection. It once jutted out over the green landscape with the grandeur of marble, glimmering in the sun like a jewel, but after the war, the smoke and tar had worn on the alabaster skin, turning it black and yellow with age and despair.

Despite the seemingly temping solution of knocking the thin finger down with a hammer, as it looked frail from afar, hiding its remarkably strong face under a facade of fragile balconies and fluttering tapestries, the sole method of toppling the imperial redoubt was far more complex. Beneath the simple protection the tower had was a vast network of caverns, and it was within these catacombs that the rebels had decided to place explosives. The end would be the same: The tower would be toppled, but in this case they would simply be robbing it of its support. “Fitting, aye?” the rebel captain asked his attaché.

“Indeed, sir,” he replied. The situation was suiting. Just as the rebels had stolen the support from the crown, they were about to rob the king’s last castle of its foundation.

The rebels toiled through the night, assembling in droves as they tunneled through the earth to a subterranean tube the had discerned the location of. After finding it, they wheeled in the carts of dynamite and gunpowder and followed the tube towards the area of the castle’s foundation.

There were few resistants. A few guards were stationed below as a precaution, though the vanguard had disabled them and cleared the way. The rebels worked through the night and into the day, and it was not until late the next night that they reached their goal: The basement chambers under the tower. They laid their stuffs there and left a few of their number behind as the suicidal guards of the load in case it was discovered. They then left and emerged from their entrance.

The men left behind lit the fuses and let it go, not bothering to flee; they knew what the fireworks would look like. For the majority who left, though, the sight was heavenly. In a fantastic blow, the entire bottom fourth of the tower disintegrated, sending the rest of the bastion to crumble down in a massive heap. The earth shuddered, but the people rejoiced as the last bricks shattered. The king’s tower had been destroyed, and with it, his influence. They were free at last.



Posted by EmperoressWhenua , May 12 2012 · 121 views

“By jove, I’ve found it!” the archeologist exclaimed as he stepped into the tomb he had searched for all his life. He was an old man now, wrinkled face worn from years in the sandy wastes searching for something in what many called a fool’s errand. But now, as he entered the thing he had sought out for almost his entire time on earth, there was no pride, no “I-told-you-so” emotions, no enmity towards his ridiculers, instead he was overcome with the simplest sort of joy that rendered him speechless. His happiness was unrestrained and contagious.

He said nothing save for his eureka exclamation from the moment he went in to the moment he came out, and when he did, he was bet by a barrage of equally astounded students and assistants. He was happy as was his companions, content that they had all shrugged off the curse the ridiculers cast on their dear leader and his mission. So overcome with pleasure of their mind-boggling discovery they were that they seemed lost in the moment.


Two weeks later, after further investigation and excavation of the tomb, he was hosting a press conference in a circus tent erected near the dig site. With him were his friends and colleagues, but most importantly there was a mural, an elaborate fresco painted eons past. It was exhibited behind them for all the reporters and critics to view in full glory. The archeologist stood at the podium, euphoric and content that his life’s mission was not for naught. He gave his lecture and answered the questions fielded, but the joy in the moment was lost when one of the reporters, on behalf of one of the old man’s enemies, a lord named Ethelred, gave a fatal question that caused the old man to look behind the mural.

All eyes were on him as he stepped from the podium and disappeared behind stone mural. The next thing everybody knew, he thudded to the ground, dead from fright. They all scattered while the reporters gathered around his body, taking pictures of the old man, dead with one hand clutching his heart and the other pointing at the inscription on the back of the mural.

It said one word that was signed, written in paint that dried in time, obviously placed there previously.


The old man who lived for naught died for not. My friends, remember this cautionary tale, and above all, remember that words do kill.


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Senior OTC RPG Judge &


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Real Name: René
Place of Residence: Oregon

Sexual Orientation: Bi-romantic asexual
Favourite Color: Green
Favourite Music: Music
Height: 5' 10" ish

Genealogical Heritage: Spanish, German
Occupation: College student

(Majors: Sociology & English; Minor: German)



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