Roen

Nature, nurture, heaven, and home Sum of all, and by them, driven To conquer every mountain shown But I've never crossed the river Braved the forests, braved the stone Braved the icy winds and fire Braved and beat them on my own Yet I'm helpless by the river Angel, angel, what have I done? I've faced the quakes, the wind, the fire I've conquered country, crown, and throne Why can't I cross this river?

Yessss, I am the happy, now.

I can make that happen.

Like Hogswatch?

No tears, only dreams.

I didn’t know desolate could write. Blowing my mind.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood. It was a love-letter to the era, and very comfy. Margot Robbie as Sharon Tate was excellent casting. The soundtrack was great and the scoring was excellent.

While the older sister sidled up to him, Roen turned his head and leveled the weight of his scrutiny on Raccoon. Arguably one of the more interesting members of the party, loud voice and antics notwithstanding, the man was doing something peculiar. He was sitting down and, for lack of a better word, glowing. It didn’t take much to hazard a guess that the man was performing an esoteric action, though to what remained largely unclear. It was the sheer candor of it, though. To ask for no minding before sitting down and glowing was, in of itself, something of a comedy. Roen might have laughed, were he not so concerned with the whyfores of Raccoon’s ministrations. Viewed through the lens of the Art, Raccoon was alight with psy-flame, and attracted denizens from beyond the veil. As a matter of precaution, Roen retreated deep within himself beneath the camouflage of the mundane. He was incognito, after all. His name was Jim. It wasn’t enough to appear human, he also had to feel like one, too. Laying a hand across the steel pommel of his sheathed sword, Roen watched with all due interest while Raccoon went about his task, and didn’t flinch, not a bit, when the man opened his eyes, glowing at first, and bolted upright. It had, to Roen’s perspective, been a right of sending that Raccoon had performed. It seemed, for all intents and purposes, that he had been communicating with the Beyond for insight. Fascinating, Roen thought, with not a little envy. That was talent, right proper. What was not fascinating was the lighting of a pipe and the comment concerning ointment, and even less so the feeling of the floor dropping out beneath them all. So preoccupied with Raccoon’s rite and conversation, Roen had lost focus on their immediate surroundings, and so was caught entirely off guard by their sudden descent. Without meaning to and on impulse alone, the fiend in disguised reached out, and with hands as hard and as rough as bark with labor-callouses, grabbed the elder sister beside him in a vice-like grip. Fortunately, Raccoon was not the only meta-human in their company. The elder sister, who Roen grabbed as a lifeline, was floating. What was more surprising was that Roen didn’t feel it happen. He didn't even feel it now. It felt, to his preternatural senses, completely natural that she floated, as if it were the action of a natural law and not the breaking of one. Gravity pulled at him, though. Voraciously, hungrily, it pulled at him, but he didn’t plummet as others had. Holding onto dearest life, Roen spared the elder sister one quick, furtive glance to make sure she would still float, and then swiveled his attention down, where the plummet was. He watched Agri and Josh fall, the latter striking walls violently as he did so, before being struck and knocked out. Argri, on the other hand, Roen didn’t quite see. Still, it was enough evidence to suggest the length of the drop, and once Roen had a measure of it, he waited until the elder sister floated down close enough for him to let go of her and fall safely. Landing hard and falling painfully to a knee, Roen rocked slightly where he knelt, shivered with the pain of bruising that would soon bloom, and huffed his way to his foot and full albeit modest stature. Without missing a beat, the pretend sellsword reached out, grabbed sheath and hilt both, and drew the old, battered weapon from his hip with a steely hiss of metal whispering against leather. He took the lead, but not before employing some esoteric ability himself: a sending. Casting thought and will behind him, Roen whispered words into the minds of Shishi, her elder sister, Argi and Raccoon. Get the mage up. Be alert. Acting the part - he had been hired as security - Roen juxtaposed himself between the party and the woman of class before them. He gave her a once over after briefly rolling his shoulder and pressing his cheek and eye against it, wiping blood from his sight. “We didn’t come to you,” Roen told the woman with the blue eye. He held his sword neutrally, its tip hovering near the ground at his feet. “We crashed.” Glancing briefly at their surroundings, alert for shifts in the environment, the man frowned severely. “Your floor broke beneath us, sorry about that. We’re just looking for a way off of this rock, so if you don’t mind..,” he trailed off, leaving the rest implicit. They didn’t want trouble, here. They just wanted to leave. It was a lie, of course. He was content to get the rest of the party off of the citadel, but as for him -- well, he had other ideas.

The monsters are all missing And the nightmares can't be found And in their place there seems to be Good feeling all around Instead of screams, I swear I can hear music in the air The smell of cakes and pies Are absolutely everywhere ~

The mandalorians, as I know them, are space hicks that spend most of their time at space bars drinking space booze and listening to space rock. The hit song ‘Sweet Home Alderaan’ is like crack to them. They’re loud, obnoxious and largely ineffectual, but dangerous in packs of three or more. May Shize strike me down if I’m lying. lol

There are two kinds of people: those that can extrapolate from incomplete data, and

I don't even need to be there to know that they're all higher than a tree-full of monkeys on bath salts, off of this series.

The Mandalorian Role-Players, who are already insufferable, are going to be straight intolerable.

Love and hate, how much more are we supposed to tolerate? Can't you see there's more to me than my mistakes? Sometimes I get this feeling - makes me hesitate I believe she won't take me somewhere I'm not supposed to be You can't steal the things that god has given me No more pain and no more shame and misery You can’t take me down, you can’t break me down, you can’t me down.

I’d like to call it the Fractal Continent. In my eyes, the name change isn’t a retcon so much as it is a line of progression, and progression feels more informal than not. A character will be more likely to call his homeland the fractured continent, alluding to the breakdown of government oversight, than he would call it Fracture, a thing that sounds a bit official. Mobile thoughts.