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About Flapjack

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  • Birthday 05/03/1989

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  1. Zan Minazuki, by nature, follows the path of the Touten. A wild, unkempt brute of a man, he aims to do whatever he pleases in Edo, and anyone that stands in his way risks being cleaved in twain by his zanbato. With Mansu's clan of enforcers being the only ones willing to put up with his eccentricities and bloodlust, he's lending his strength towards advancing the Touten's goals. For the time being, at least. There may have been a more sensible man behind those dull, broken eyes once, but that man has clearly long since passed.
  2. I'm sure we'll make things even worse before all is said and done.
  3. Ian would want nothing to do with the Lesh. Whatever power they could give isn't worth what he saw was done to the Caith by Queklain. The transformation given to those that stayed clearly did a great deal, but what stuck out to him was the death of any ambition or drive in those changed. Self-interest and the incessant want of most sentient life can lead to some awful things, as shown in the Kran city scarred by war, but a chaotic, dangerous world is better than a stagnant, placated one. If knowledge is what the party wants above all else, I believe it would be better to seek the Tuet'ta that has knowledge as their domain over looking to parley with the Lesh. Also, fuck you Remn, you don't have to worry about having a damn ego staple jammed into your brain.
  4. Marching straight through an enemy infested jungle into the heart of darkness for answers? I can imagine how well that'll go.
  5. Three days. That's all that ever mattered. Three days to select, plan, execute. Everything else was ancillary, an aid in sating the curse. There was no point in planning further ahead than three days unless something went terribly wrong, or something awful loomed on the horizon. Similarly, there was no point to looking beyond the immediate past. That just made things worse, tearing open old wounds and casting doubt over the present. Living and seeing the world through such a short timeframe is part of what made living as the Fledgling Crow tenable. Seeing my whole life laid before me all at once, to borrow from the Sigil Cant, was like being a golem's bed; downright crushing. So much death... I've killed more men than most warriors and soldiers would dare to boast about. Seeing it all in such clarity without the manic thrill given by Raze's gift, even with all the justification I had for each, was overwhelming. To say nothing of those slain out of desperation, accident, or apathy; those were like shoots of razorvine in my mind. But it was more than just a review of my mistakes and transgressions; it also filled in a gnawing void, showing the life I had lived and lost before being changed into what I am now. Admittedly, it was a promising start. Doting, eccentric parents; an adventurous father and a scholarly mother; Edgar and Catherine. It wasn't a dull life, given their lines of work, but it was comparatively peaceful and cheerful. I likely would've followed in my mother's footsteps as an arcane scientist, were it not for the sudden weakness. Something was wrong with me, an affliction beyond illness or injury; a weakening of the muscles that got bad enough to make the most basic tasks increasingly more difficult and painful to carry out without aid. Clerics were of little help; they healed injury and disease to restore the body to normal function, but this weakness was a part of that normal function. Magical artifacts crafted to bestow strength were a functional workaround for a time, but eventually even those weren't enough. It was a hollow, wretched existence, much like Lear had said. At some point, my father had just up and vanished; what I saw wasn't clear on if it was by choice or the result of an accident, but it was this that likely drove my mother to desperate measures. Lear Dunham, he who would become the Man of Eyes, preyed upon her desperation and seized control of the facility she oversaw and all that worked there: Minerva Excelsius. Under the guise of a radical process to circumvent my affliction, I would be the prototype for a process to create demonically empowered servants, for Raze's army against the Far Plane if anything Lear says is to be trusted. It was a grueling process, and it was almost too late in coming; the weakness had gotten so bad it had affected my heart and lungs, halting their beat and breath. Priorities shifted from enforcing servitude to bestowing demonic strength and vitality, as being pulled from beyond death over and over had disastrous effects on my mind. It's likely why I lost all those memories in the first place. I would've become his servant, his agent of slaughter and discord, if it weren't for some desperate sabotage. Many symbols of Raze, those damnable eyes that drive men to murderous rage, were activated across the facility. While I can't take credit for the deaths of everyone there, that my first clear memory was of snapping into lucidity above a slew of corpses shows just how well Lear had succeeded in his project. Everything else I already remember quite well. Escaping to Sigil. Striking against the Tramontane with Lynne. The Pink Lily Massacre. Meeting the Acquisitors and scouring the Abattoir. The Sensate Banquet. The Far Plane Incursion at Borealis. I lived on, my life sustained by my bindings to the demon lord Raze, and in turn every life I took helped him rebuild his strength. And now I'm shifting back through time to try and kill him. It's effectively suicide. There's no way out of this, is there? With Raze free from his prison, it's too late. Win or lose, I'm going to die. My "reward" for making it through all this. It's just as well, I suppose. Even if my life didn't depend on his, all the power and abilities I have come from the bond as well. I don't think I could stand losing all that. I certainly wouldn't be able to help with the Far Plane at all. Will the others be able to handle that without me? Hells, was there ever any chance at all of holding them off regardless? ...maybe I'm missing something. Maybe there's a way out of this alive, but I'm just not seeing it. If there is, it's likely out of my hands. Wouldn't be the first time. No, all I need to worry about is making sure these bastards die along with me. They think they know what I am? Consider me a failure? I will show them the inexorable fury of a damned, vengeful man. And this time I won't have a bloody hole in my gut getting in the way.
  6. Let's make it official; count me in on this magical forest adventure.
  7. Wherever I go, I leave a trail of blood in my wake. At first it was merely for survival. Not just because the Outer Planes are a dangerous place, but because the archfiend Rayse demanded tribute. One life every three days, or I would suffer his wrath. Pain beyond pain, along with a glimpse of what the world could've been like. Once, everything was wreathed with twisting flames, all life lost in an angry orange haze. Another time, the walls screamed sweet nothings into my ears as the floor begged me not to listen. I've seen all the beauty and form in this world melt away, shattering on the broken ground until it made a sea of jagged glass to drown in. I've had all the victims and failures of the past drag me under the dark waters beyond reality's veil to tear me to shreds. Perhaps if I were a stronger willed man, I could've resisted, or just let the fiend take my life. Instead, I found purpose. The effects of just a single life taken or saved is as exhilarating as it is terrifying. One dead creditor led to a roof to sleep under and someone that saw potential in my curse. She encouraged me to follow in the footsteps of heroes. Seek out and smite evil. Save the innocent. Just like the legends and tales. It shouldn't have worked even once, confronting what evaded the gaze of the Harmonium. But our strikes were quick, lethal, and completely unexpected. We should've stopped, but the curse was ever present, and Lynne and I aimed higher and higher as greater threats were made manifest in the Hive. It was terribly naive, but the thrill of successful assaults was intoxicating, and nothing had stopped us yet. So hand in hand we fell into it, this making of our own myth. Like a dream. Or a fever. And when the Tramontane struck back, it was like a powder keg went off. No one came out unscathed. By the end, everyone involved was dead, broken, or imprisoned. I don't know what the Harmonium saw in me. Something to be pitied. A useful tool with which to peer into the underworld. Or perhaps a wake up call concerning their role in Sigil society. Either way, their mandate of being a hidden eye into criminal activity set me on my current path. Tearing apart gangs. Uncovering dark plots. Sundering a god. Joining the Acquisitor's Guild. Killing the past. Being thrust into the public eye, falling even more out of depth than I had ever been. I tried to play the part of paragon, either out of guilt or because of old habits. Seeking out the weak and pursued and shielding them from harm, goading their tormentors into trying to stop me. It made for easy fodder for the curse. But the past wasn't done with us yet, and in trying to subvert the plans of our rivals we unleashed chaos upon Sigil, drawing the ire of nearly every other faction. Faced with such a dire situation, we made a deal with the devil and fled the city, leaving our personal projects to the wolves. If that weren't noble and heroic enough, now we might stoop to inciting planewide civil war just to keep our heads above water. I've seen what Rayse wishes to make of all creation. An endless wasteland of blood, ash, and ruin, where people kill and be killed, only to rise again. Conflict for conflict's sake. At this rate he won't need to even lift a finger to see that rat's nest arise. My name is, presumably, Nathan Renardine. The Young Crow. The Dark Saint. The Blazing Blade of the Hive. Child of Discord. I've tried to be a good person, or at least appear as such. Hide the trail of blood and ruin. Mask the past with saintly deeds. So far, it hasn't really stuck. And seeing it all so easily undone is... exhausting and painful. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep doing this.
  8. Here's the chunk of writing Munsa was talking about concerning the fancy abandoned science facility we're to be assaulting in the near future. Spoliers I guess? https://docs.google.com/document/d/1_yblTqVxuzz_j0twKfckh6j29pYko2r8h8BNF_xDWb4/edit?usp=sharing
  9. -1 on faith; while Crow doesn't have anything against the devout(ire is something to be earned, like by marching a near-riot onto grounds declared, promised, and enforced as sanctuary), he himself doesn't hold faith in anything as organized as a religion or faction philosophy.
  10. To elaborate on what Munsa alluded to; while a fair bit of Crow's activities in the passing year would involve things that concern only the immediate group, his plan for using his wealth is a bit more philanthropic than what the rest of the group has done. The plan is to establish a charitable foundation to provide shelter and security for those with no safe place to call home; extending refuge not just towards the homeless, but the pursued and entrapped. Most of this is out of genuine good will; after living in the seedier parts of Sigil for nearly four years, knowing what's it's like to have nowhere to go and no one to turn to for help, knowing how much an act of kindness can transform a person, and knowing that a lot of Sigil is just terrible, awful people(just like everywhere else), he'd like to help out those that lost control of their lives provide some modicum of stability to them. Some of it is out of guilt; he's killed an awful lot of people to keep his own life going, and not all of them did something to deserve the sting of his blade. Some of them were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. The success of this venture would go a long ways to assuring himself that yes, in spite of the curse he's overall been a boon to the world rather than a bane. (Sure, there's also preventing the unmaking of the multiverse and then subsequently preventing the breakdown of reality into a hellish rat's nest, but those were singular events, one of which was just maintaining the status quo.) Speaking of the curse, there is a more selfish side to all this. Drawing the pursued and entrapped would, in turn, bring a lot of pursuers and the like to his attention. Sure, different people have different circumstances, but with a big enough draw he could potentially end up with an ever-shifting list of dirtbags trying to do harm to those he's taken under his wing(heh). Why scout the kips and inns of Sigil for someone to sate the curse when you can have a ready list of candidates for disposal at your disposal? Yes, it's crazy, twisted, and audacious, but if you've come to expect anything less then you haven't been paying much attention.
  11. Look at this guy, thinkin' he's the fuckin' keymaster here.
  12. Find the right way down through the maze, to the food, then find the exit. Push the exit button. If the food tastes awful, don't eat it, go back and try another way. They want the same thing that you do, really, they want a path, just like you. You are in a maze in a maze, but which one counts? Your maze, their maze, my maze. Or are the mazes all the same, defined by the limits of their paths? Existence is simple: find the food, push the button, walk the path. But sometimes it gets much harder. Sometimes the food makes you sick, or you can hear nearby feet racing you, urging you on. Sometimes the button only gets you landed right back in the beginning of the maze again, and the food won't satisfy. There is only one path and that is the path that you take, but you can take more than one path. Cross over the cell bars, find a new maze, make the maze from it's path, find the cell bars, cross over the bars, find a maze, make the maze from its path, eat the food, eat the path. Do you see what I see?
  13. Things Crow gets up to after the silencing of the Abattoir: 1. Stopping at the Laughing Madman for a cup of tea and, if he sees her, talking to Ophelia and giving her the gold to get her curse removed (just 90!). No one should have to live with such a violent and ostracizing restraint on personal agency if they can avoid it. 2. Purchasing, or if the demon lord is feeling generous, simply acquiring a dozen assorted, non-experimental flowers from... the demon lord that's selling them. I forget his name. 3. Getting a well deserved rest at an upper-class kip in the Lady's Ward, or at least trying to. 4. The following day, visiting the Mortuary and subsequently one of the prime worlds they use as a graveyard for Sigil to pay respects. 5. Meeting with his case agent and her superior officer, both to fill in the blanks about what the hell just happened and how to proceed going forward. 6. Actually joining the Acquisitor's Guild (his application being more a formality than anything), after what's sure to be a strange discussion with Duncan and an awkward discussion with other members of the party. 7. When enough money from the dreamspheres rolls in, acquiring a Rod of the Pact Keeper +2 (16k gold). Everyone watch the fuck out, he's got another spell slot! In general: Trying to cope with fame and recognition he never sought out or desired in the first place. Also in general: Killing people. Scene to follow after proofreading; I've created a monstrosity. EDIT: oh god it's two and a half pages on google drive 2ND EDIT: Here it is, elucidating on point 5: https://drive.google.com/open?id=0B7ZN1802_dKrOEZ5WFl1OWdGenM