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Digital Facade

Members
  • Content Count

    4
  • Joined

  • Last visited

About Digital Facade

Year 04
  • Rank
    Inhabitant
  • Birthday 01/01/1917

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Male
  • Location
    Behind you.
  • Interests
    Do you actually care?

Recent Profile Visitors

94 profile views
  1. Almost forgot that I wanted to play this. What's going on with the group in Ko-Wahi? None of the players have posted for a while, apparently.
  2. Thinking inside the chimney is an important and underrated skill in life.

  3. Yeah I know what's going on in the game, for I've been lurking for a while now. Profile is done, you can find my post in the profile page. I might throw a link to it into my signature. Looking forward to playing this, forum RPGs are usually moderately fun.
  4. Hey you guys, I've been wanting to play this neat nostalgia-filled RPG for a while now, and I noticed your posts in the Ko-Wahi topic. The character I made would make a perfect guide for your characters so it would be easy for me to hop into the game. Would you mind if he joined your group soonish? Thought about sending three PMs but I instead decided to post this in the discussion topic. Hope nobody minds much.
  5. Sometimes, you just refuse to fully let go of the things you enjoyed as a child.

  6. Pergamon: The jewel of the ancient world.

  7. "Who am I? My parents gifted me the name Kaiwhakairo. Sculptor. For before I was even born, my parents knew what I would become. A carver of ice, just like my father, and his father before him, and so on. But they did not know. Only the Great Spirit can tell where the stream of life flows. And so one day I became a Toa instead. That day I also died. The old me was a regular Ko-Matoran. Somewhat reserved, interested in aesthetics and knowledge, cultured. He had some friends, my parents loved me. The new me was a monster. He did terrible things that I'd rather forget. Abused the gift given to him. Used the power of ice and concealment for selfish reasons. But if we could just forget our past mistakes, we would never learn. Therefore I bear my sins without complaint, so I will never repeat my deeds, so I will never harm someone else for my personal gain ever again. I was banished into the Drifts. At first I resisted, but now I am grateful. Alone, in meditation, I can discover who I am. For I do not know. My purpose in life is shrouded, only seen by the Great Spirit. But the light of contemplation can banish away the grey fog and reveal my path. I am a Toa, yes, but am I a hero, like the Toa of legend? No. When I look at the gleaming surface of a frozen pond as the cloudless sky looms above me, I see a Kanohi Huna worn by a freak. A criminal. A beast. A murderer. One day I will reconcile with my past and see someone else. One day the cracks on the pane of my mind will mend. One day the vision will finally be clear. That day I will finally know who I am." The white, thin Toa, wearing a cloak and seated on a snow-covered rock, stared at the page for a while after he had finished reading it. A pendant tangled below his sharp chin, attached to a chain he wore around his long neck. It was a silver medallion with the symbol of the Three Virtues carved into its shining yet scratched surface. Had his fingers been made out of bone, flesh and skin, the medallion would've been covered with greasy fingerprints. He closed the book on his lap, put it into his woolen satchel, raised his head and looked into the distance. His bright yellow eyes shimmered beneath his Kanohi Huna like weakling suns as he admired the view. He was alone in the boundless, mountainous wasteland. Wind howled and cold surrouned him as the sun slowly and gracefully walked down the stairs of clouds and descended below the horizon, painting the canvas of snow before him with a light coat of pink and orange. Night was coming, and he felt the air around him cool down. He let out a slow, peaceful sigh. He always did when he witnessed the beauty of dusk. He had done so hundreds of times, so many times that he had stopped keeping count a long time ago. The sky was rarely clear, and life in the Wastes had taught him to appreaciate the sparse moments of glee. He stood up, covered his light blue head with a hood and grasped the metal shaft of his spear. Using the weapon as a staff, he walked away from the rock, descending the snowy slopes, his feet refusing to break the frozen sheet covering the snow as if he was the weight of a bird-Rahi. The shadow of his tall and weak frame was still long and black. This day was not the one, but maybe the next one would be.
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