---* The RPG Christmas Tree *---

[Weasel Overlord]

---* The RPG Christmas Tree *---
// Created by Weasel Overlord, approved of by Chris 2.0 \\

It’s Christmas! Yay! I figured that it’d be nice for us in RPG to do something Christmassy, but a lack of ideas is why this thread is so late in coming. (oops!)

Apologies for it being up so late anyway, I know there’s only six days until Christmas, but I’ll keep this up and open until some time after New Years for extra celebratory goodness!

Anyway, to business! On this tree, you can give things to your RPG’ing friends. Whether it’s a drawing of their character, a poem, a banner, avatar or a piece of writing, anything you can think of.

Also, if anyone wants a banner especially for their RPG to use as an advertisement, I’m willing to make them for anyone. So just post in here with pictures and colour schemes, fonts and lettering and I’ll get to work! ^_^

-----*-----

Now, I have some gifts which are currently in progress, so at the moment, they aren’t available. However, as soon as they’re finished, I’ll post them up here! Enjoy the Christmas Spirit people!

Weasel over and out! xx

[Plantae]

This is a silly piece, honestly. I guess this gift goes to the whole forum. I must say, it is distinctly like that hideously forlorn, mustard yellow, woolen sweater you know you will have to make an appearance in, despite the itching, since grandma-ma made it some late night with her bare hands and poured into it her blood, sweat, and love. Alright, so I might exaggerate a little...

The HOLO (the Hollow)
Most have heard of Arizona’s deserts, of grand canyons and saguaros as large as trees, but few are as familiar with its pine forests. It stands to reason that an out-of-the-way whippet-racing track here, then, would be even more curious. No one would question its small attendance, as absurd as its placement seemed, and with the closest town- almost hamlet- being the sparsely populated Selena. In fact, if you stood at the right point outside it and let your eyes pass gently over the scenery in rapture, Selena Whippets would practically vanish from the horizon. That was how they liked it; it was proof, perhaps, that mirages existed outside the boundaries of cacti-speckled, sandy plains. The only thing that betrayed the track’s location was the heat.

The audience was congregating together and placing bets. A few of them- three to be exact- were assembling. Now, they were assembling, per se, because of how they arrived. One from the North, another of the East, and the third of West: all of them trudged towards one point high in the bleachers and had appeared in just the opposite manner that Selena Whippets occasionally disappeared.

Decidedly tired of striding forth, as it were, the only woman stood and waited for her compatriots. She looked immediately Eastern European, a gargantuan woman of height and muscle; her fur coat tattletaled upon her cruelty- unmistakably tailored of real, dead animal pelts- and she took long draws from longer cigarettes. They were in that style not made anymore: elegant, one hundred sixty millimeter things from which smoke escaped in feminine curls. Her face was harsh and marginally pretty and perhaps belying a woman of about forty. “Hallo my comrade,” she barked, her inflection tinted with a slight but overpowering Russian accent, as the man of the west came forth.

He, in contrast, was middle-aged, short, and balding. His face was stark, almost a little ugly, and he wore more casual dress. A horrendous yellow sweater, baggy khakis and dull tan daywear shoes; he carried an umbrella in putrid dandelion and was seemingly unaware of his own profuse sweating. As for the umbrella, well, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. “Hello yourself.” She was unabashed by his impoliteness. He spat, “Well, get the record started then. You’re not secretary for nothing.” The woman ignored him for the most part and withdrew a slim black notebook from the folds of her coat. A number of other objects, most of them dangerous, momentarily flashed before the eyes of her companion. It was at that moment that their third finished his strutting ascent.

“Magnum?” He muttered in a distinct British accent of indiscernible origin. She nodded and he reciprocated, sitting with his custom-fitted monocle firmly attached and his top hat tipped slightly to the side. He was a quiet man, with the air of a philosopher, and wore garb in the standard of a black tie 19th-century capitalist. His tux, though scrupulously clean, was a little too large and his clothes haphazardly wrinkled. He looked like the man rejected as the mascot of Monopoly. Despite the dryness of the air and the scalding temperature, neither he nor the woman had a drop of perspiration upon their brows. As the woman donned reading glasses and withdrew a flask of what was presumably alcohol, drinking it daintily but in a forthright manner and holding the notebook and her cigarette in one enormous hand, the Britisher pick-pocketed a passerby’s wallet without so much as a glance. He was of indiscernible age, as his presentation almost distracted from his cropped black hair- maybe with or maybe without a little gray- and the monocle from slate-colored, lifeless eyes. He mumbled in confident monotone, “Refreshments, anyone?” The others shook their heads distractedly and he rose and made his way, his gait full of steady poise, towards the concession stand.

In his absence, and with her eyes entirely on the notebook before her, the Russian bellowed, “How iz buzinezz my American comrade? You zeem quite exzazperated. Vat iz troubling you?” The American responded with a glare and an infuriated banging of his umbrella against the metal stands.

In response, he yelled, “What is troubling me? Trouble is a word for small events, my Russian widow. What I am handling now is a catastrophe.” He gathered his breath, seemingly preparing a tirade

She declared, amused, “Ze heizt vent badly, then?”

“Oh-ho-ho! I see I underestimated your powers of understatement. Badly is a word for stubbing your toe, maybe, but not this! ‘Ze heizt’ went like… well, like hell! I’ve got three of my best thugs dead, by a sword no less! Killed them with a go’damned katana, that bastard. I wonder if they didn’t deserve it, just standin’ there like idiots, holding their pistols, all a-quiver. I tell you- I tell you- did I train a bunch of morons? A bunch of flat-footed, second-rate, imbeciles!?”

Without missing a beat, the Russian woman retaliated with, “Well, yez.” The American glowered and said nothing. “But then again, I need not deal vith… vith zuch annoyanzes az your vandering zamurai rival.”

The man laughed a little bit to himself, saying, “Samurai, eh? I think you mince words. He’s a cold-blooded killer, a definite merc, not some honor-obsessed wuss.” Then he added, perhaps actually concerned, “And I assume business for you is just booming?”

The corners of her lips curled in a cold-blooded and effortlessly dodgy grin. With utmost honesty, she stated, “Yez, yez, it iz. Of courze. Alvayz.”

“Right, right, you little minx. Modern succubus you are, and I tell you, I never liked them in the old days. The one kiss I got tasted like ash. And I suppose smooching with you would be about the same, what with you,” he gestured at her cigarette, ”sucking on those blasted things. None of it sounded at all affectionate.

“You hurt my feelingz, really. You do. I must zay I am almozt in tearz,” she gushed, faking tears and smiling to herself.

“I am confident you have none, my dear,” he countered with verity.

“True,” she agreed, but exclaimed, “But ‘little minx.’ Even jokingly iz thiz vrong. I am big voman.”

He muttered, “And that is why it still perplexes me to this day. All these centuries and no answer to how you manage it. So where did you get the coat? Not your usual style, now.”

“Ah, thiz vas from a man in Phoenix. Very vealthy induztrializt. He left down the river.” The way she said it made it painfully obvious that “left” did not mean, necessarily, on a boat. In all honesty, it probably didn’t even mean in one piece. The Americna didn't need to inquire further. Conveniently, it was at that time that the British gentleman returned with a rare burger and a bottled water. When he had devoured the sandwich, which took a frenzied, incredibly short amount of time, there was not so much as a crumb upon his clothes.

He uttered singularly, "Commence." The woman ceased drinking spirits, the American sat down upon the bleachers, and she began to recite the opening. "I hereby declare the zeven-hundreth meeting of the Hexation Occupation Liquidation Organization now in zession. All bodiez prezent pleaze rize." They did so, obligingly, and then hurriedly took their seats. IT would only be a matter of time before the dog race began. They aimed to be gone by then. "Now, vat haz 'appened zince our lazt meeting?" The American man was first to interject.

"My subject is as witless as ever. She isn't even perturbed by my lack of emotion. I guess that is how humans perceive later married life. I can tell that my refusing to have children is hurting her, but I don't understand why. This will have to be examined further. However, I did note an interesting development; see, lately I have been having an affair with this other mortal as a test. Her responses are telling me something about the human tendency, well the inability, to face up to their fears. I know she knows, but she's not saying a word. Just staring at me blankly across the dinner table. It makes me curious as to whether or not she can figure out the whole thing. The impalement and all to come..." He licked his lips and leaned forward slightly; as he did so, his skin caught the light for the briefest of moments and shone deathly pale in the dying light. It regained its tan color within moments.

The woman queried, "Iz thiz all?"

The man affirmed, "That is all."

The woman scribbled down the new information in the notebook, her handwritng neat and with a blocky flair that made it seem as if it should be in any other language than English. There was a large, earthy-colored spider crawling up her pants leg. Unlike most women, she didn't seem bothered by it at all. She did not stand up and scream, even the Britisher near-silently declared, "Spider, yer leg." She noticed it and opened her palm wide, a number of minute black hairs revealing themselves. It nestled into the gigantic berth of that palm and she curled her hand slightly. She pushed some of her luxurious black-brown locks from her face, and for a moment not just a third but a fourth eye was visible amongst the hair atop her scalp. She ceased writing and bowed slightly to the British gentleman, cowing him in to speaking.

As he began, he sighed absent-mindedly, and a minute tongue of fire escaped from the side of his mouth, followed by a wisp of smoke. "Developments non-existent. I shall roast 'er. Oh, there is that small curiosity... 'as an utter devotion to t' Buddha." He simpered at this. "Faith is useless. If only the humans knew."

The Russian reiterated, "And thiz endz yourz?"

"For now," he stammered.

"Then it iz my turn. Mine haz pazzed on, az zaid. I did learn, though, about human charity. It makez no zence to me, but he donated much to hozpitalz and placez zuch az thiz. Thiz iz the mozt of my learning."

The British man noted, "They think it good, generosity. I thought so too at one time. but now I see that philanthropy breeds weakness in people. It makes them dependent."

The American man gestured at the spectators below, still lost in betting their wages on the dogs. He said, matter-of-factly, "This is worse. Gambling what they cannot afford to lose."

The Russian woman spoke, thinking herself quite wise, "My charge zaid that true generozity iz giving vat you cannot afford to."

The Britisher smirked, announcing confidently, "Then gambling is true generosity, assuming you lose everything?" They all found this marvelously funny.

"We will never fully understand such creatures," the American man noted, disgustedly, "but we will try. We have all the time in the world, and we will bet any human life that we can-"

He was interrupted by the aristocrat, who asserted in complete deadpan, "And they do make such lovely meals."

The abomination in the yellow sweater finished, observing this comment with a smirk, "And my Russian dear, please find another subject. You've taught much to us this day. Is everything well-recorded?"

"Az it iz every time." This response satisfactory, the meeting was adjourned in silence. Those present went their separate ways.

The other attendees watched the race with fascination; most, in truth, played to lose. It was the rush of the game, not the satisfaction of victory. Unbeknownst to them, the most monstrous of all gamblers had already left. They were such for one reason. Their mortal counterparts gambled only with money in pursuit of wealth; they, seeking an understanding of human nature, gambled with lives. And they were willing to lose... again, and again...

[Mew Master]

Allright. You ppl have had to put up with me for the last five years. And despite my many disappearances and sudden flash-backs you guys won't be rid of me yet.

So, here is a short story that I did for a project for my Concepts of the mind. The setting, is the World of Darkness's own Werewolf: The Forsaken, about my own character Vincent Nelson.

Enjoy!

Contemplating One's Self
--------------------------

The claws pierced his skin, causing blood to run down his clothes. They could be considered claws, but they were miss-matched patches of metal and glass. Pain roared up his arm where the creature had attacked, and the man gritted his fang-like teeth.

The beast, if it could even be an animal, appeared to be a mass of bits of metal, glass, and concrete. A head-like structure was lined with jagged pieces of glass and rebar rods made empty eye sockets. It was a monster, an abomination, a combination of two spirits that shouldn’t be together.

The opponent was human, mostly. He wore a tan trench coat with black pants. Long black hair was tied back into a tail, and green eyes stared in pain and defiance. There were differences that made him seem inhuman. Fur grew from the sides of his jaw, his nose was angular and elongated, and his fingernails were more like claws.

Vincent Nelson stepped back after the Magath’s last attack. He looked at the gash in his trench coat and the blood that trickled down his arm. He glared at the Magath that towered over him, and he could hear it laughing.

“Uratha not as strong as say,” it muttered in the First Tongue, the language of spirits. “Kill you make me feared by others.”

Vincent flexed his arm. “You’ve caused too much trouble for me to leave you, abomination.” he replied in the First Tongue as well. Essence flowed from inside his body and repaired the damage the twisted spirit had caused, his arm no longer injured. Reaching inside his coat he took two octagonal sai from their holders and rushed the Magath.

Tan clothes molded into white fur, muscles bulged and grew, the sai turned into giant swords, and Vincent’s eyes turned from green to golden yellow. Where a human once stood was now a nine-foot tall snarling death beast, a Werewolf.

In an instant it was over. The spirit lay on the ground dead and its body beginning to discorporate. Vincent sheathed his sai after using the Fetish he created out of them to slice the Magath in half. He turned to make sure the spirit was discorporated and then turned to walk away.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Stopping he sat down on a protrusion of twisted concrete and inhaled the smoke. Vincent watched the spirit world of Denver, Colorado. The world has always had two sides. First the Physical world, where reality existed, and changed the Shadow Realm. Then the Spiritual, the Hisil, where spirits were born from the physical, and influenced change in it as well.

It never ceased to amaze him how much influence the physical has over the spirit. He stared across the horizon, and watching how the skyscrapers of Denver resembled towers of depression and torture. The road snaked its way as car spirits hunted along those tracks. The world seemed almost post-apocalyptic, and yet Vincent knew it was whole. Spirits and humans were very much alike. Both wanted power and strength, and both had the few that would make trouble fulfilling their own desires. Vincent knew both were necessary for balance, and both tried to influence the other.

He inhaled the last drag of his cigarette and stood up. His trench coat would need to be repaired again, along with all the other tears and rips he acquired on this excursion. How long had he been in the Shadow Realm: 2 days, 2 weeks, 2 months? He wasn’t sure any more. He didn’t forget the reason he was here however.

Vincent took another look at the spiritual horizon before he started walking again.

“So Urafarah is taking a stroll through the Shadow. How quaint.” said a squawking voice. Vincent stopped and scowled, a groan escaped his mouth.

“Stop referring to me as Father Wolf. I am not the Wolf God no more than you are a real crow,” slowly, Vincent turned to face the crow standing where he was sitting.

“Come now Truthstalker. You surely don’t deny the dreams and visions of your brethren?” The crow cocked its head as it looked at him. Bits of flesh hung from its form, patches of feathers were in clumps, and bones could be seen under areas of missing muscle.

“Dreams aside, sharatha,” Vincent replied. “Father Wolf has been dead for eons. And even if he did reform, he would reform as a spirit, not as one of his own children.”

“Ahh, and there is where you miss the power of the Shadow,” the crow mocked at him.

“Really? Then let’s go over what the relationship is between the world and its shadow then.” Vincent said lighting another cigarette.

“The world has two sides, the physical world, and the Shadow World. Both have and hold influence over the other, a connection that is difficult to grasp by others. Spirits are brought about by the objects that gave them meaning, as well as the emotions tied to those objects. All animals besides humans have spirits, and humans created a different breed of spirit, conceptual.”

“What you say is true.” The crow stated while it cleaned itself under a wing. “And what of the Spiritual on the Physical?”

“The same type of relationship exists. If a spirit wishes change in the physical, it creates its resonance in an area until humans are compelled to alter it, strengthening the spirit and its purpose.”

“Yes yes,” the crow squawked again. “However you Uratha take a simple fact for granted. You are half flesh as well as half spirit. The changes that happen in the physical world affect you as well, although your kind thinks itself immune.” It hopped down along the ground, using the beak to scratch at the ground.

Vincent shook his head. “We are not immune. We are the only thing that seems to stop the spirits from taking both sides of the Gauntlet. And they fight us every step of the way.”

“Do you know why there is a spirit and a physical side to the world?” the crow asked while it started to clean under its right wing.

“Why?” Vincent held his chin and thought. “Why is a good question. If you look at nature, everything has an opposite. Males and Females, good and evil, the mind and the body, and logic and emotion. The Hisil is just the second half of the earth and those that exsist in the physical world. It obeys the same physical laws and predation that the physical world is subscribed to.”

“So then, why would there be need for your kind if the two are halves of the same thing?” Dancing along the Crow cocked its head in anticipation of the answer.

Vincent took out and lit another cigarette. “There are those who wish for that which they don’t have. Greed, pride, Envy, the vices that are the evils of the world that brought the Maeijin into being drive everyone to some small degree cause people and spirits to seek power and riches. In such cases it is never enough. Father Wolf protected the Boarder Marshes so that either side would not wish for the power of the other.”

“Then where did Father Wolf come from, if he was to watch over both worlds?”

Vincent thought for a moment before answering. “I don’t know.”

“What?” the crow looked shocked and taken aback. “You mean Truthstalker doesn’t know something?”

“I don’t’ know everything. You should know that.”

“What do you know then?”

“I’ve heard too many blasphemies to the contrary. I know that however the world was created, the spirit and the physical, which we are here now. There are things out there that I don’t know about. The world isn’t cut and dry as everyone thinks. My eyes are alert and my mind is open. I won’t deny that the connection that the spirits share with the physical and werewolves are the key to the connection.”

“Ahh, but what a connection? Is there one?”

“Possibly, but that’s not my priority right now.” Vincent exhaled a large cloud of smoke. “We are here, and whether we be spirit, flesh or a combination of the two doesn’t change that fact. And despite what the spirits and the prophets keep seeing or saying. I am not Father Wolf Reborn, I am no stronger than any other Werewolf.”

“Yes. You don’t give yourself enough credit. When a Spirit loses all essence or its form is torn asunder you know that it does not die. It will reform at the place that generates its own resonance. Urafarah’s resonance is that of the wolf, of the guardian, of the warrior, of the dreamer, of the shaman, and of the stalker. The Uratha are the resonance of Father Wolf and you are what was chosen to be his spirits keeper. Do you think that you’ve managed to live this long and become this powerful in such a short amount of time based on luck and sheer will?” The crow laughed. “Your success comes from Urafarah’s power coursing through you. Your soul is his soul, and the same for it. You ARE the one and the same, whether you choose to believe it or not, Truthstalker.” A breeze started to pick up and soon turned into a gale wind that made Vincent force himself to keep on his feet. He raised his arm to protect his eyes from wandering projectiles. “You may deny to yourself what you are even though you accept yourself from what you think you are.” The crow’s voice began to become distant and yet close, as if the wind itself was carrying the words and magnifying them. “A paradox that you might find your end at, whatever path you choose.”

The wind died down and Vincent looked around him. The zombie crow was gone, yet the words still echoed in his mind.

“Damn Host doesn’t know when to shut up.” He snarled as he inhaled on the cigarette in his mouth. Smoke flew out as he sighed. “Still,” he said. “As much as I may deny it, I know Urafarah has returned. And I also know that my death will bring him back to power.”

He turned around to continue on his way and found himself surrounded by a pack of spirit dogs. Mongrels whose heads seemed to split into three different set of jaws with jagged canines and carnassial teeth. They were four feet tall at the shoulder, multiple tongues and drool dripped from their disfigured mouths.

“Forgive my intrusion Iurhir,” he said in the First Tongue. “I mean no danger to you or your territory.”

The largest spirit of the pack stepped forward and spoke from its grotesque mouth. “Uratha is an intruder. Uratha disrupts our order. Uratha will die for betrayal.”

As one the spirit dogs began to circle Vincent. He stood there knowing that they would attack and try to kill him.

A smirk split his face. “Heh, the sharatha may think that Urafarah is giving me his own power. But I’ve gained my power on my own, through my own blood and effort.” Rearing his head back, Vincent sent a piercing howl to the sky and to the full moon above him. His half-finished cigarette went flying. The Iurhir stopped their advance for a second, thinking that this werewolf was calling his pack. Vincent’s howl didn’t sound like one of requesting aide; it sounded more of one of challenge and preparedness for battle.

Vincent’s torso twisted down and he placed both hands on the ground as he sprawled out on all fours. Blue spiritual energy surrounded him, flowing through and around his body. His eyes met those of the spirit dog leader and already they began to change color from green to gold. Teeth began to change form, his canines elongated and shifted position. Molars and incisors gained sharpened image. The swirling spiritual energy rose from his skin like steam and another thing happened. His skin began to tear from his hands, pulled off by the spiritual energy emanating from his own body. Under the skin were fur and long claws. More of his skin seemed ripped off, revealing bulging bulky muscle covered in long shaggy white fur. The hair on his head turned stark white and the hair tie that usually kept it tight snapped off from the influx of power and energy. The skin ripping off his form flowed along from his hands, up his arms, causing even his trench coat to seemingly blast off of his body.

Skin continued to rip off of his body and revealing the inner wolf, the primal force that once roamed the earth while the moon was young. He was now more than the Urshal form, he was a creature of half wolf and half nightmare. The Dog spirits stepped back in fear.

He spoke, only now it was pure First Tongue with a snarl and growl around every syllable. “May you feel the sting of Mother Luna as I have had to as I gained my strength!” More spiritual energy surrounded his claws and teeth. They developed into silver, the most dangerous substance to a werewolf, and the glowing aura around them ensured that his teeth and claws would scar the spirits for life.

Roaring, Vincent lunged at the alpha spirit, teeth bared and claws spread.

------------------

Later!

[Blademaster]

Well, I don't know who to get what for, so... here's the next best thing!

(nails up a big, crudely-painted sign)



BLADEMASTER'S RPG SPRITE SHOP


Simply come here and post an adequate description (or a picture, if you feel like making my life really easy, heh heh) of the character you want, and I'll do my best to make you a sprite. :)

Please include the following:

Name: (the name of your character, obviously)
RPG: (what RPG he/she/it appears in)
Physical appearance: (physical features, clothing, weapons, etc. of your character)
Background: (If you'd like there to be a background for your sprite, aside from a blank white screen, please let me know. A description is fine, but pictures are always appreciated, too. :D)
Sprite type: (I can make it 8-bit [Super Mario Bros. style], 16-bit [Super Mario World style], or 32-bit [Mario & Luigi: Superstar Saga style] - your choice)

The Shop'll be open for as long as the Tree, so... Don't wait too long to make a request.

And with that...

(holds up a torn piece of ribbon and a pair of scissors)

The Sprite Shop is officially...

(cuts ribbon)

Open!

[Mew Master]

OOOOOOO!

Name: Denisu "Saké" Wamiyazen
RPG: Chains of Dragons
Description: http://geekway.comicgen.com/sake.html
Thought I'd make your life easy.
Background: Hmm... how about a waterfall.
Type: 32 bit.

[Blademaster]

My first customer! W00t!

OK, Denny, one sprite coming up...


http://i78.photobucket.com/albums/j89/Soul_of_the_Phoenix/Denny.jpg


Voila! How's he look?

[Mew Master]

Sweet! Saké's been spritafied! ^^

[Mew Trainer Rose]

Hmmm, is it just me, or does that sprite make Saké look a bit like Chrono from Chrono Trigger?

In any case, it looks cool. :)

[Mew Master]

Hmmm, is it just me, or does that sprite make Saké look a bit like Chrono from Chrono Trigger?

In any case, it looks cool. :)

Yeah... just a little... at least Saké is cooler. ^^

[Blademaster]

That's actually very odd, considering the base for that sprite was Luigi from Mario and Luigi: Superstar Saga. :eek:

But I agree, Sake is cooler.

Because I made him. :cool:

[Mew Master]

But I agree, Sake is cooler.

Because I made him. :cool:

LIES! I made Saké. And MTR Knows it!

[Blademaster]

Yeah, well...

I made Sprite Sake! And my 200-foot imaginary robot friend Mr. Deathy knows it! :p

[Mystic_clown]

Name: Jack Scarecrow
RPG: It Sucks to be Us!
Physical appearance: http://www.pokemasters.net/forums/showthread.php?t=14915
Check the sign up for him. if you can include his cross as well, I'd appreciate it.
Background: a graveyard of some kind.
Sprite type: 32-bit

[Fai D. Flowright]

As my own entertaining way to share the spirit of the season (literally too!), here is my offer to the members of the RPG forum!


Fai-chan no TAROT Handan!
(Fai's Tarot Readings)

Basically, I'll be giving each person that is interested a 22-card spread regarding the new year. These positions will include a card for each month of 2007 as well as 10 more cards discussing personal aspects (like Health, Relationships, Struggles, etc.) as well as the stability and influx of energy!

Mainly this will be something for fun, but there's always the possiblility that anyone could take something valuable away from this too. But, while this is directed towards your entertainment, I would still prefer to have a sense of seriousness at the core so that there is a ground force to work with.

If you happen to be interested in this experience, post on here (or contact me through email [whiteeeveeangel@yahoo.com] or messenger) and let me know what days you'll be available from now until New Years Eve.

*For the purpose of higher interaction and depth, MSN is desired for it's superior webcam capablilities. You don't need one yourself, but I do have one that I like to use for things like this so you can actually SEE the cards, spread, and design instead of just trying to envision it.*

Presuming everything goes smoothly and efficiently with each reading, the entire process for each person should take anywhere from 30-45 minutes, which really isn't that bad!

Thanks bunches, everyone! And Happy Holidays to all!

[Blademaster]

MC: I'm on it. :cool:

Mew-dude: I'm sorry; I forgot the waterfall background you requested. :( Here:


http://i78.photobucket.com/albums/j89/Soul_of_the_Phoenix/Sake.jpg


I'll be back with Jack's sprite later.

[Emotional Faun Chiko-sai]

I am.. knackered. Absolutely knackered. Inundation of people and festive joy, blah blah, ekcetera. Apologies for being so late here. Poo.

@ Jobes: I may be stretching it a little here, but is it my usual stupid self or is that story an allegory of something....?

@ everyone else: Well I'm offering sketching services, good through the New Year x);; horribly inept though I may be. Sketches meaning drawings, subject to whatever little artistic merit I possess so they may not turn out exactly like what they seem in your head. Sample here: fanart from early this year (http://i92.photobucket.com/albums/l37/starstray/turks.jpg)
Note that that is what I'm capable of doing, but my style can be changed according to tastes eg. chibi, non-anime, realistic, animal, furries (though admittedly I dislike furries) blabla. Just poke me with a stick and tell me what you want.
Requests preferably thrown at me here initially and to be discussed further via AIM/PM/MSN.

[Toxicity]

Heh...I think I might as well attempt my own thing, as well.


Laura's Shop of Emo-tastic Fantasies!*
[depends on your definition of "emo," and this will be open until midnight EST on the fourth of January!]

I can imagine you're probably saying something along the lines of "Hoo-boy, this girl again," or "Why an 'emo-tastic' shop?" Well, it's all because I specialize particularly in angst writing, and I could have a shot at free-hand drawing, as well! Is there an emotion you wish to describe, and don't know how to put it into words? Well, look no further - with just a little bit of willingness to ask, some willingness to help, and maybe even the want to use, with credit, the finished product, you'll have yourself becoming more in-tune with your emotions with just a few simple words!

...of course, this is for the romantic, emotional aspect - there's not really going to be any razorblades, slitting wrists, pulled-out hearts, or "stabby rip stab stab." Unless, of course, you really want some of the humor aspects of being emo involved. Maybe because, like me, you like feeling deliciously evil about poking fun at stereotypes!

But, anyway, here's a form to make everybody's life much simpler.

Name:
Title: [what title do you want for the work? there's a generator here (http://rumandmonkey.com/widgets/toys/namegen/53/) that makes good suggestions for the more humorous works if you enter your first name; believe me, my first name of Laura is "burn my paranoia because you're so controversial" o_O]
Format: [one-shot, poem/song, or drawing? I'll take one drawing at first so I can have an example to show, and if it's liked, I'll do more]
Catagory: [serious, or humorous? do you really want an emotion expressed, or do you want phony song lyrics floating about everywhere?]
Description: [what should this be about? if a drawing, describe what you're looking for, as well]

But, anyways...

@Tony: May I request a handreading, myself? I'm availible practically every day up until the deadline, but mostly at night.

@Yi-Wenny: Your artwork is so smecksay. ;3 You do realize this, right?

But, on a serious note, I feel like requesting something myself. In fact, if you like, we could possibly so much as exchange drawings, but my drawing ability isn't so pretty. D:

But really, here's the details: how hard would it be to draw a realistic pic of an Eevee and her trainer? If it is, then forget that I asked and go for a sort of anime-esque drawing style; like maybe Angel Sanctuary or something, but if that's too hard, go for another style. Either way, black and white is what I prefer for the coloring.

The trainer is basically what you've seen a lot of my characters - she's of a short-ish height, with shoulder-length dark hair brushed back out of her face and bright eyes, and has a rather curved build, but with with a slender face, and calves and forearms not as large as her average thighs and biceps. For clothing, she's adorned in a plain version of this (http://www.hottopic.com/hottopic/store/product.jsp?FOLDER%3C%3Efolder_id=2534374302024496&PRODUCT%3C%3Eprd_id=845524442144919&bmUID=1166811098166) for her shirt (basically, without the ickle skull and crossbones) and "bondage pants" (here (http://www.hottopic.com/hottopic/store/product.jsp?FOLDER%3C%3Efolder_id=2534374302024102&PRODUCT%3C%3Eprd_id=845524442133409&bmUID=1166811363974), much unlike those worn by Lulu in FFX). She also has a thin pair of glasses on her face, and a black "slave collar" similar to this (http://www.gypsymoon.com/vsa/paloma.shtml) around her neck. On either shoulder is her beloved Eevee, who is plain and generic, a contrast to her trainer; the only exception is the black collar about her neck, a less complex version of her trainer's, and a single, small hoop earring in her left ear. Between the two should be like a simple touch from the trainer, and a shared smile; take creativity where you want it to go for the pose.

Hehe...thanks in advance, if any of this is possible. If not, then feel free to simplify it in any as, as the clothing links are mainly reference pictures. I thought it'd be very pretty and all...

[Blademaster]

MC: And it is done!

And you know something? You were right... For a rotting scarecrow-corpse-monster, Jack IS pretty handsome - Hell, if I was a woman and a necrophiliac, I'd sleep with him. :rotfl:

Anyway, here he is:


http://i78.photobucket.com/albums/j89/Soul_of_the_Phoenix/JackScarecrow.jpg


Any other requests are welcome, as always...

[Mystic_clown]

I like, I like! You did him pretty well. I pictured him a little differently, but this is really good. You even got the cross just how I pictured it.

[Darkmaster Kagemusha]

Well, Chiko-Sai, I'd have to say that I'd love to see what you can do with a sketch of a character of mine. I don't have AIM anymore, and don't use MSN, so discussions will have to be held via PM, if you don't mind?

[Toxicity]

Well, because Fai-chan wanted me to, here's a bit of a summary on how my reading went!


Review :: Fai-chan no TAROT Handan

Mainly because of the fact this was, indeed, my first reading, I was really excited about what the twenty-two card spread had to offer; the main reason I'm posting this because I was the "guinea pig;" as in, I was the first person to have underwent a reading with the spread he used. While it took longer than expected, it was indeed very insightful. I have a lot of things to look forward to, and the ability to prepare, but it was a matter of how I interpreted the meaning of each of the cards drawn for the spread.

Here's a quick-ish list of what the cards for the months meant, to me. Note that yours may not be the exact same, and that you get to interpret your own meaning, basing from the description Fai-chan gives you:

January - The Lovers *emotional fulfillment/a meaningful relationship/choice*
February - Six of Stones (in reverse) *loss/caution*
March - Four of Wands *peace/end of "chaos"/new excitement*
April - Daughter of Stones *choices offered/new life*
May - Mother of Wands *self-confidence/creativity/rush for truth*
June - Two of Wands *pride/success through independence*
July - Nine of Wands *completeness/strength*
August - Justice (in reverse) *anger over judgement/abuse/problems*
September - Nine of Cups *happiness/hope*
October - Hierophant (in reverse) *betrayal/meeting a liar*
November - Eight of Cups *loss of love*
December - Two of Swords (in reverse) *end of peace/start of imbalance or conflicts*

After the months are looking at eight aspects that will go through the year in four pairs. At this point, you must interpret the combined meaning of two cards. Here's how mine went together:

Ambition and Creativity - Daughter of Cups *quiet, writing, earthen, emotions* + Seven of Swords *uncertainty, depressed, solitude* = "Through little writing, communication of true negative emotions from depression/solitude."
Health and Money - Father of Swords (in reverse) *cruelty, pain, conflict* + Ten of Wands *pressure, no way out, demise* = "Demise in financial security, pressure to keep money; physical pain."
Emotion and Relationships - Six of Wands *positivity, new happiness* + Empress (in reverse) *blocked emotions, problems for mother, fights at home, unwanted "pregnancy"* = "Emotions possibly closed off by mother, and fights ensue; happiness from elsewhere, for some time."
Mind and Struggles - Mother of Swords *complex thoughts, hidden emotions, counselor* + Mother of Cups (in reverse) *deceitful, forceful* = "Possible complex thoughts of emotional subjects; struggles with a deceitful counselor."

Now, as you can see, some of these matters tie in with the months, as well. But two more factors remain; the recurring energy from this past year, and the new energy of the upcoming year.

Recurring - Four of Swords (in reverse) *yearn to regain, going back to what needs to be done, growth*
New - Six of Swords *use of the mind, seeing all sides, start of a "journey"*

After that, the reading was complete. It was fun trying to guess at what each card meant, and what specifically will happen during each month, basing from each card. And although I received a message from somebody, regarding struggles, saying that the sender hoped the struggles were my mother hitting me over the head with a baseball hat over being a "failure child," and to get off of "their" planet, I just have the feeling it won't be that bad, and that this coming year will be a lot better than this past. I mean, I now know what will possibly happen thanks to this experience; it's just a matter of controlling the energy to make things possibly better, as well as how to prepare for the inevitable.

I highly recommend this for anybody, even those that are skeptical towards "magic." Believe me, tarot isn't a miracle worker that will work immediately; like "true religion," it requires faith, and the desire to put effort into something.

[Roy Karrde]

Well Yi and I decided to do a exchange! And after several attempts I finally finished a early concept of the Black Rabbit, which ended up being a Black Rabbit Toy, but that is only becuase I am still a bit of a Noob at creating non futuristic stuff at 3D Max.

http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y16/Roykarrde/Rabbit1.jpg

http://i2.photobucket.com/albums/y16/Roykarrde/Rabbittoy2.jpg

[Toxicity]

Well, a really quick "song" I wrote for Christmas. This was originally for Crystal Tears, but because it involves a lot of weirdness and pop culture references, but no yaoi or yuri, here's a quick poem. Beware of how emo I can get!


"RPG? What's That?"*
* = temporary title

Forget your silly Triforce shards
I want writing from all your hearts!
You're all crazy with your fiction
And your "Mary-Sues" are a contradiction!
I don't mind your dirt or key
But I want a writing all about me!

My life is more creative, a black abyss
And when I'm gone, it's me you'll miss
'cause all I've done is care
A lot more than a silly bear

You see, I love to <3 and hate to h8
'cause I know broken hearts on the first date
Not to mention all the "lawls"
Tearing me apart like little ragdolls

...oops, where was I again?
I mean, it's all about me in the end
'cause, you see, your writing's boring
when RPG games are easy to bend!

[Mewtwo-D2]

Well, I can't do much, but I'm pretty good at digital edits. If you can send me a picture (preferably an anime/cartoon character) and tell me the colors you want it, I can recolor it for you.

For samples of my work, check the links below.


Oh, and Fai? I'd love to take you up on your offer ^_^

[Prof. Jb Wolf]

Just because I thought it would be nice to have twenty-five posts in the Christmas Thread by December 25th!

MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYBODY!

[Weasel Overlord]

Merry Christmas my dearest RPG'ers! Hugs and sparkly tinsel for all!! *dances around tossing sparkles and glitter*

You're all my special little dudes! *grabs the RPG forum in a giant, huuuuge, special Weasie huggle*

[Blademaster]

(gets caught up in the hug)

That's the third cute girl from TPM to give me a Christmas hug... I feel loved. =^.^=

Merry Christmas, everyone! :wave:

[Mew Master]

Merry Christmas RPG World!

*hands out candy that his grandma made to everybody*

WHoo-HOOO!!!

[darktyranitar]

Merry X-mas, RPG! *check calendar* Okay, a belated one then...

My internet have been down in these last few days... here's a bit of writing I did during that time. This is for Weasel, but others: feel free to read it.

Note: To anyone who think that they know which Pak Lah (other than my ASB Mankey) that I'm refering to here... well, you might be right about it.

...Or maybe I'm just using that name for the sake of this story, I dunno.



Thom Yorke VS Pak Lah

Thom Yorke the Aipom had been looking forward to this match ever since he stepped into the ring; ever since he knew that he was also in the tournament.

Five opponents he had took out, and it was now just between the two of them: monkey VS monkey. Thom was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t fucked up his early match, and was more surprised that the monkey had actually made it through. Nevertheless, he was looking toward this match; he was going to end this.

One way or another.


*****

The cheering (and the booing) of the crowd, and the blinding bright light, and the seemingly out-of-place but humorous The Divine Comedy’s Generation Sex… it didn’t unnerve Thom one bit. He looked at his opponent’s side- the smug smile never fading from his face- already planning ahead, coming up with the best attack strategy that he could think off: If he uses physical attack, I’ll simply counter it. And if he…

“And from the Muslim Mankey Mosque,” the announcer cut Thom’s train of thought. “Paaaaak Lllllah!” Thom scoffed; he was never fond of watching wrestling, but he knew well that the announcer was influenced by those of the wrestling.

Stepping into the ring was a Mankey, who seem to be older than he really is- greying fur, droopy eyes, constant coughing- but Thom doesn’t give a shit about Pak Lah’s age, or if he suffered any illness or anything.

“Come on.” Thom taunted Pak Lah with his tail-paw, which was giving him the finger. Pak Lah scratched his head, and took a *small* step forward. Pak Lah never got close to Thom, but rather chose to prance around Thom, both his paws held out to block or counter any punch/kick/slap from Thom.

“He’s stalling,” Thom thought. “Heck, I guess I’ll just play along.”

Sadly, the opening didn’t come, much to the annoyance of Thom (and the crowd, which had grew restless by now. Fifteen minutes had passed, and there was still nothing)

Five minutes passed, and there was still nothing- only a few feint attacks from Pak Lah, but that was it. Thom decided that he had enough. His tail-paw swept under the Mankey’s legs, causing him to fall face-first on the ground. But before his face could even touch the ground, Thom’s tail-paw struck him on his stomach, and was followed by a furious storm of kick and punch, all the while keeping Pak Lah above the ground.

The attack finally ended, leaving an equally tired Thom Yorke and Pak Lah lying on the ground. Thom thought he had done it- that he had beat Pak Lah- and he slowly brought himself up…

How very wrong he was.

Barely making a sound, Pak Lah’s body began to glow with a strange orange glow. As his hand grabbed around Thom’s neck, Thom muttered “Oh, shit,” and they were down on the ground again.

“A Reversal… Of course…” Thom had wondered why Pak Lah didn’t retaliate during his initiate attack, and the answer was obvious now.

“Young man…” Pak Lah spoke in an equally old and craggy voice as his body is. “Why do you want to fight me so badly?”

“This is wartime.” Thom paused. “And you, sir, you are the supporter of war.”

“What?” Pak Lah half-shouted with a sudden change of tone. “What an accusation! Nonsense! I have never done anything to help the enemy; I’ve done nothing!”

“Exactly. You’ve done nothing; nothing to stop the war.” Thom sighed. “I use to think that you’ll bring a difference, that you’d do the right thing. But now…” He sighed again.

“My boy,” Pak Lah radiated with a bright white glow. “Things are not that simple.” With that, his form started to morph- morphing into something bigger, and taller. The bright glow diminished, and Pak Lah was now a Primeape- he was a Mankey no more.

Thom shook his head. “I wish it was that simple…” His form glowed with the same glow as the one that was on Pak Lah when he evolved- much to the shock of Pak Lah and the crowd. As Thom Yorke’s body stopped growing and glowing, and something that bear a resemblance to an Aipom- except that it was leaner, taller, and it has two tail-paws instead of one- stood in front of Pak Lah. Thom Yorke had a big grin, going from ear to ear.

“It… it… it seems that Thom Yorke had evolved!” It was the announcer voice, and this was the second time that Thom had actually listened to the announcer (as he hears no other voice but his own mind). In front of him, Pak Lah stood in his calm and collected manner- he might seem old and haggard, but he was calm nonetheless.

“Tell you what,” Thom spoke in his smooth voice, never changing from the evolution. “You’re too injured that you’d probably go down after you take another hit, and I’ve fucking use almost all my energy that I don’t think I can barely for another swing.”

“I guess… it ends here.”

“Damn right, it is.”

Pak Lah’s eyes were downcast. “We shouldn’t be fighting; this isn’t right.”

Thom snorted. “Tell me about it.”

And both of them rushed forward, and it ends there.


Thom Yorke: 0
Pak Lah: 0

No winner, no tie, no draw. Just losers.

[Weasel Overlord]

Ooog, awesome story! Thanks Faizy! *huggles*

Now, Wenny, your crimble story is partially done, so if you want the first bit, let me know and I'll send it to you via pm. ^_^ But if ya wanna wait til it's all finished up, then I can print it and send it to your house! It's entirely up to you my dear!

And Laura, I'm made a start on your banner, but I'm gonna have to finish it up next week, is that ok? I'd do it earlier, but I'm off down to Cornwall to stay with Vulps on Friday, and I don't think there's gonna be internet access. Let me know! ^_^

[Toxicity]

Actually, that's completely fine with me. In fact, I may even have started work on the story by then. ^^;

Err....uh...

Merry Christmas, Happy (Almost) New Year, Kwanzaa...I dunno. <<;

[darktyranitar]

Okay... I've written this for Laura in about 30 minutes... Apparently, I was thinking of WWE Smackdown! VS RAW 2007 and a certain fan-made Super Mario Bros video when I wrote this...


Barbie

Halfway between the WWE and the Subcon… is Cactus Jack and Wart.

Cactus Jack (making a gun with his finger): Bang! Bang!

Wart (never letting go of his royal robe): I am the Great Wart!

They taunted, and they taunted, and they taunted… and their momentum bar slowly fills up… *yawn*

PRESS L1 AND L2 TO STORE FINISHER. The words came above them. They pressed.

Ting! Ting! The ‘W’ meter above them light up, and Wart was somehow very happy looking at that W, thinking that it represents ‘Wart’.

Wart hit Cactus Jack; twice. The word PRESS L1 FOR FINISHER came above him. He pressed.

(Cue to the oh-so-annoying Powerpuff Girls Tune, and Bubble suddenly came out from Wart’s mouth)

But wait! Cactus Jack managed to press the L2 and the R2 button just as Wart pressed the L1 button. Bang! Bang! Cactus Jack poked Bubble’s big eyes, and she was sent back into Wart’s mouth, causing him to choke and gag.

Cactus Jack then pushed the Triangle button. He ran towards Wart. He moved the Right Analog Stick up as he was approaching Wart. BAM! Wart went down.

Cactus Jack then moved close to Wart. He pressed the R3 button. Wart was propped up.

PRESS L1 FOR FINISHER. Cactus Jack pressed.

Suddenly, a very slutty looking Barbie doll appeared in his right hand. He then uses it to beat Wart in 5 rapid successful hit. Wart fell with his back on the floor.

Cactus Jack approached Wart, and pushed the Right Analog Stick down.

1…

2…

3.

Ding, ding, ding! Pin Fall.


“Here’s your winner… Cactus Jack!”

[Toxicity]

Wow...30 minutes did a lot. D:

But in a good way. It definitely made my day. Thanks, Faiz. ^^

[Mew Master]

Well... eveyone I hope you had a good Winter Break. We school kids go back to class, and college starts back up in 8 days. So much for working my ASS off the last two weeks so I can get me PS3 ^^U

*waits for paycheck*

[Emotional Faun Chiko-sai]

Yes. I am ... not dead. Apparently.

DONE (I think)
Laura (http://i92.photobucket.com/albums/l37/starstray/lauraxmas.jpg) - *sings* Black-and-white, black-and-white, black-and-white! ...I apologize if she appears to be a jailbird. Redo feature available!
Roy Kaarde (http://i92.photobucket.com/albums/l37/starstray/mizujuni.jpg) - Argh. Not exactly the picture in my head.. but bah, at least it *looks* like an almost-kiss.
Engi -
(1) Botched first attempt (http://i92.photobucket.com/albums/l37/starstray/thomas1.jpg)
(2) The version that looks like Jay Chou o_O (http://i92.photobucket.com/albums/l37/starstray/thomasvg.jpg)
Look in PM box for the reason why there are two completely different and equally awful pictures of Thomas *shifty eyes*

PENDING
Darkmaster Kagemusha - Check your PMs, I've a lot of nonsense to spew x)
Fai-chan - Thankee-sai for the tarot reading, and I'll get the pic done when you get your Link description done :33

[Toxicity]

Yay! *cling-hugs Yi* It actually turned out great! Thank you bunches. ^^