Holmishire

For celestia's sake these band wagons.

It's just us passing through a transformative phase. Bandwagons are demonstrative of the coherence of the community, and allow us to further understand what tone the next stage of our coexistence shall take. Fear not, they will fade in time, though not for long.

Tell me I'm

Doivid said
this thread is awful

Only if you wish it so.

I don't need you twats to validate me.

It's not about what you need, my friend. There is very little any of actually need.

Validation is what you want. It's what keeps you fighting, pushes you through the day. It's the light that pulls you from the deep, the sound that leads you from the shadow, the feeling that tears from the despair that grips us all. Without it, you are nothing. You exist, you survive, but for naught.

Validation is not what you need. It's what you are.

Tell me I'm me

Awson said
I don't know who I am anymore

You're you, but not for long, I'm afraid.

Americhronism [Medieval Post Apocalypse]

Rémix

Rémix, Gaulish Barber-Surgeon.
Surgery, first aid, barber, cooking, sentry, scouting, manual labour, literacy, brawling, polearms.

---

Do I guard myself? Am I truly blinded by my own past? Rémix thought back to his earlier years, under the service of his brothers. Both trained and natural-born leaders. Fighters, too. They were the kind of men young boys would look up to and envy. They were the models that left so many volunteers dead on the fields of a tribe's tribulation. War comes from warmongerers.

And as far as Rémix could tell, Vercingetorix was a warmongerer.

But Lugurix's word did carry within them a ring of truth. As a healer who'd seen many battles, a son who'd seen many dead, he had reason to be particularly antagonistic to the tradition of war. And yet, it had its uses. Perhaps war could bring food to the masses and cure the Gaulish people of their suffering?

I highly doubt that.

"I guard myself for it is necessary. Too many follow, with neither care nor caution, the words of others." Rémix looked towards the opening of their healing-place, thinking of the king. "I know not that I am fit to judge him. But nevertheless, he must be judged."

In this time of new turmoil, he considered once more his loyalties. Born and raised by the Gaulish tribes, he felt some connection to their people and their ways. And yet, he had been betrayed by his brothers, both of blood and of heart. Were these people really worth sacrificing himself for? Was he destined to be ever their servant?

Looking down at the dirt beneath his feet, Rémix allowed a hint of a smile to touch his face. "If this man is as good a leader as you say—" he turns to face his partner "—do you think that I might be better swayed, were I to meet him myself?"

Tell me I'm ugly

You're about as ugly as the Earth is a sphere.

It looks kinda spherical from afar, but as you get closer and closer, seeing the mountains and the valleys and the rolling hills, each and every fine detail, you realize it is indeed not a sphere at all, but a chaotic, unique form.

I am going to sleep now.

I didn't know you slept. I imagined you always there, watching Spam.

Our eternal guardian.

The last of us.

Americhronism [Medieval Post Apocalypse]

I plan on posting when I get back from work tonight.

State Your Gender.

I'm pretty much mail.

Words to the wind.

I feel like I remember you, but I can't seem to place what your old set was.