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naniculus · 5 years
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DnD Character backstory
Who is he and where did he come from? Details such as these have been long forgotten. All he remembers now is the abyssmal darkness of the cavern that became his prison.
Decades ago, a young monk stood at the foot of a long set of stairs, staring longingly at the monastery he formerly regarded as his home. The surrounding trees and wildlife colored the entire mountain side in a radiant aesthetic of greens, blues, purples, and yellows. A small group began to gather at the top of the steps. He stared up at them and smiled, revealing only a sliver of the emotion he was feeling. These were the men he used to call brothers; the men he grew up with, the men he fought with, the family he cherished.
Although he knew nothing about the world outside the monastery, something beyond it's walls called to him from the surrounding mountain ranges, a voice. Other monks disregarded his claims, telling him to focus on his training and meditation rather than be distracted by such foolishness.
One day, the voice started to grow louder. Eventually, the young monk could hear it as if the being was nearby, yet he could never make out anything that was said. It began to consume his mind. He decided then, despite his fear and ignorance of the outside world and the disbelief of his fellow monks, to go on a journey in search of the voice.
It had been months since he left. Tired and lonely, the voice remained both his only companion and his only source of inspiration. The mountain range was vast and held many dangerous intricacies. His journey had led him to the treacherous cliffs on a unfamiliar mountain. Thick fog loomed below him and with every step he took, new uncertainties arose. He was halfway across the narrow path when he felt the rocks below him slip and fall away. He quickly caught himself and tried to reestablish his footing, but it was too late. Hanging on by the tips of his fingers, in a panicked frenzy, he looked down. The falling rocks cleared a small section of the fog, only to reveal a dark, empty void. He listened eagerly for what seemed like hours for the rocks to hit the ground, revealing the depth of the cavern, but nothing. He heard nothing. The grip on his left hand began to slip. With eyes closed and teeth clenched, he let go.
The monk awoke to the sound of dripping. He opened his eyes but was only met with darkness. His initial confusion and anxiety was only superseded by his intense thirst. His mouth felt dry and his cracked lips stung with pain with every breath. Water. The sound of dripping echoed around him. He drug his fingertips along the cave floor, searching in the direction of the dripping. When he finally found a puddle, the monk cupped his hands and partook of whatever liquid accumulated there.
Once his thirst was satiated, he tried to stand up. Nothing on his body seemed to be broken but he was unfamiliarly weak and stiff. The monk knew that he had to find a way out of the cave, but without the ability to see, he quickly became fearful of the unknown dangers hidden in the void that engulfed him. Panic. His heart began to race and he felt the pit of his stomach begin to twist and turn. Suddenly, he heard a faint echo in the distance. "This way," the voice whispered.
Even in the dark cave, he recognized it. It was that ominous voice that called to him from the mountains years ago. But now, it sounded only a few meters away. He held his hand in front of him and took a small step in the direction from which the voice called. He crept forward cautiously until his hand met the cold, smooth stone in front of him. "This way," the voice echoed to his right.
An indeterminable amount of time passed since the monk began to follow the voice and exhaustion began to settle in. His legs were shaking with hunger and he no longer had the strength to even hold his hand in front of him. The monk continued to follow the voice for what seemed like hours and despite his lack of viable options, he was becoming increasingly impatient. "This way," the voiced said again. This time, the monk yelled back. "Who are you!? Where am I?! WHERE ARE YOU TAKING ME?!" His rage was met with dissapating echoes, until it was completely silent. He stood there and waiting for a response. After his anger settled, the lingering hopelessness overwhelmed him. His aching legs finally gave out. The monk leaned against the wall of the cave and slid down until he was laying pronate on the ground. Accepting his fate, he laid there in silence, waiting for his inevitable death.
"Here." The voice whispered.
Startled, the monk stood up quickly. He leaned against the wall to his right to support his frail and tired body. He could hear his own heavy, rapid breathing very clearly, but something was different. There wasnt an echo. He reached out his left hand and felt a wall no more than a few feet away. "Here." the voice called out again, this time from what seemed to be from right above him. He reached up and felt a something that wasnt stone a foot from the top of his head.
"Wood? Here?" He eagerly pushed on the wooden planks. It gave way to falling dirt, letting a tiny sliver of light in.
With a renew vat of strength, The monk pushed using every bit of life he had left. Rock and dirt fell onto him, giving way to more light. He reached up gripped a root and hoisted himself up through the wooden door, up to the surface of what seemed to be a field of trees. He could hear a nearby river flowing peacefully alongside a small formation of boulders.
Blinded by the sun sitting high in the afternoon sky, he stood there, chest heaving, hands and arms bloodied and dirty. Tears of joy rolled down his cheeks and turned the dirt on his face to mud. The monk sat down down to catch his breath and wiped his eyes.
That is when he saw his hands. They were shockingly unfamiliar. They were thin and bony. He looked at his arms and his legs. They too looked frail and his elbows and knees junted out, lacking significant visible musculature. His skin seemed to no longer be taut against his body. Confused, the monk crawled to the nearby river and washed his face and eyes.
As the water settled, he looked down to see his reflection. What he saw was a head of dirty grey hair and a his beard had lost its color. How long had he been there?
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naniculus · 8 years
Audio
https://soundcloud.com/naniculus/everything-and-nothing-lessinstrumentalremixcover-naniculus
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naniculus · 8 years
Audio
https://soundcloud.com/naniculus/twinkleroads
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naniculus · 8 years
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https://soundcloud.com/naniculus/prettyflowers-longroads
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naniculus · 8 years
Audio
https://soundcloud.com/naniculus/aliens-are-coming-for-your-children
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naniculus · 8 years
Audio
https://soundcloud.com/naniculus/fiery-latin-nonsense
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naniculus · 8 years
Audio
https://soundcloud.com/naniculus/williams-bend
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naniculus · 9 years
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Half Hearted Recording at My room, My phone, 5 A.M.
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naniculus · 9 years
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had to be finals week...
Depression is frustrating as heck...
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naniculus · 9 years
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I enjoy...
...sunsets, garage rooftops, big windows, people watching, simple melodies, complicated harmonies, campfires, good food, close friends, secrets, laughing, imagining insane impossibilities, creating new ways to play old games, air drumming, tight hugs, good books, play fighting with kids and letting them win, old movies, pretending that i know tai chi, going downhill on a bicycle, getting lost, listening to people, thinking about life, flashlights and cool pens. Id like to think that im a simple man...
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naniculus · 9 years
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My professor didnt believe i was waiting until marriage until i had sex and called me out in class. I guess i shouldnt assume that the fact that i dont drink or party or have ever tried any recreational drugs is enough to justify the existence of sociable, "straight-edge" virgin to anyone in our present culture... ...dunno if i should take it as a compliment or not.
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naniculus · 9 years
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Truthfully
It hurt a little to see you happy, because in that moment, i knew i had lost you.
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naniculus · 10 years
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Its funny.
I'm 24 and i feel like i havent lived a single day in my life... ...its not that funny. #4AM
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naniculus · 10 years
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1:35 am
Cant shake the feeling that is only a matter of time before i become insignificant to you...
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naniculus · 10 years
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A few months ago, I challenged a friend of mine to write something that she could look back at in a decade and be proud of. No real intent other than to help her express her feelings through writing. I decided that it wouldnt hurt to try the dare out for myself. If any of you are reading this, take this as my invitation to you to join in on it. Write something. This was what I came up with: She sat in a silent stupor, staring into the street with a deep gaze as if searching for something... maybe someone, in particular. I sat down slowly, pretending to not be caught in intrigue at what she was so intensely focused on. However, as the pseudo-tension between the two of us grew, I found myself staring at the same spot of concrete that locked her view. An entire minute passed and she remained statue-esque in my perphery. A cool breeze chilled the back my neck, causing an unconscious shiver to radiate down my spine. The ground flooded with shade from clouds overhead and the yellowing grass seemed to relax as though to reminisce about past green-ness before their inevitable passing. The prominent "tick" of my watch seemed to be growing louder and more ominous with each passing second we spent sitting there and I couldn't help but wonder if it had been annoying her the entire time. I nonchalantly cover it with my other hand. Two more minutes go by. There I sat, convinced that we both were intensely and cogniscently invested in profound revelation, she moreso than I, and by now, strangely, I felt close to this girl. In the distance, the hiss and drag of the bus broke my meditation. "Finally..." I thought to myself as it struggled laboriously to gain speed. I glance back over to my new, profound friend, and what I saw startled my confidence. She still waxily maintained her same position and her eyes were still fixated on the spot of concrete. Nothing had really changed at all... but i notice something in particular. The dull orange glow from a nearby streetlamp illuminated her softly-featured face and there I saw it. A glisten that lead from the corner of her eye, followed the curvature of her cheek and nose and disappeared at the edge of her almost colorless lip. The brakes screeched as the rustic yellow bus came to a halt in front of the neighborhoods guard station. The tick of my watch instantly disappeared as I frantically tried to come up with words to spit up. "Th...the bus... is here.." So smooth. She got up and in a precise blur, scurried into our awaiting transportation and disappeared into the of the back of the bus. "So smooth..." I thought.
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naniculus · 10 years
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Dear you.
We need to feel. Its the only way we differentiate between whats real and imaginary.
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naniculus · 10 years
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Our hist'ry is something of grandeur. We competed to test the sting of our wit. Tho our names forgotten forever, our laughter never knew how to quit.
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