The Infinite Fool's page

The Fool waits until the others are most of the way across, then takes a half-dozen prepatory steps before almost skipping into the air; before he descends to the water, there is a burst of tawny-golden light beneath the leading foot, a third of a square meter's worth of honeycomb of solid light flaring into momentary existence for him to push off from and bound higher into the air. Each spring is both precise and playful, like a mix of a child pretending the floor is lava and a martial practitioner running across the top of a pattern of pillars as he's done ten thousand times before. He comes down close behind the Prince, the three-ring staff planted firmly as if in triumph as he pauses.

Hearing the Prince's voice calling to the others, hearing the others' reply, he tilts his head thoughtfully. "Hm. What'd they say?"

The Infinite Fool, having remained in thoughtful silence as the group of -- well, 'heroes' seems a bit self-aggrandizing -- the group of unusual individuals withdrew from Kyoonsha'rah; he is very careful to make sure that the place is sealed up once more, because both types of possessing entities within were a danger to the ordinary individual hereabouts -- not to mention the Spinner of Songs herself.

That space-cold inhalation that only he was privy to had been hint enough of the fury he'd -- admittedly deliberately -- provoked.

Lost in thought, he trails along after the others as they venture into the forest; Syad, apparently 'used to' this sort of introspection, simply rides along on his shoulder, looking around and keeping watch. The entire idea of wandering into the mists in pursuit of a vague call of 'help!' seems more than a little ludicrous to him, but he'll watch with interest as the others start to leave the path to do just that; he'll be the last to do so, and that with a shrug.

Aerik Sult wrote:

Taendael Caliean wrote:

Clearly, I went about this character all wrong. I am bowing out gracefully of this campaign.

Sorry to see you go. In many ways it's a bit more difficult for amnesiac characters without known backstories, as it's not necessarily easy to come up with a sensible (or perhaps not so sensible) reason to involve them with a random group of people who're huddled together discussing whether they're going to embark on a perilous expedition to retrieve the consciousness of a rather large, imprisoned entity.

I don't know about that. Curiosity would be the easiest play.

To be fair, he was kind of trying to do the 'interested/curious' thing. However ...

@Taendael Caliean: I'm not sure why your character didn't seek out the building which other characters kept entering.

... this is also what he did -- briefly, he either didn't read or perhaps just didn't comprehend what was going on, translate other people's posts to writing. This, despite at least my own attempt to indicate that 'no, by what you've put in your post you really aren't where the rest of us are'. For example, the townspeople nearby are all looking and pointing at what was (as I recall) a pretty good-sized structure with a wide door which was always closed, but which is now for the first time in years at least open. At least two people were always standing in the actual opening, talking with others inside; /I/ specifically posted that I'd gone to the open entrance, and looked across the street at the naked elf.

He, however, despite clearly (IMO) talking to townspeople (because of course, all of us were inside, and he'd gone to the crowd) in front of a building, then posted this:

The naked elf obvious hears considerable movement from with the domicile. The unknown being will try to open the door.

Not being in a domicile, the door being open, it was clear to all the /rest/ of us that he wasn't where we were. And I tried to tell him that OOCly, but ... he believed otherwise, didn't believe the advice given, and didn't act at all to rectify the situation. So ... *shrugs*

The Fool's lips tighten into a thin line, contempt and irritation blended together.

That line -- or perhaps it's a faint smile -- still on his face, the Fool turns and gestures the others to move out of the still-open door to the street. "Let's take this outside, shall we?" he says, but his words are less 'suggestion' than they are 'politely worded direction'. Like a security guard making sure all the guests leave the party, he waves everyone on, helping to carry the chest if it's necessary for him to do so.

You’re not. Otherwise you would have crossed the street, or gone to where all the people were watching. Just saying.

You could go to where all the people are watching instead of trying to break into someone’s house.

"Oh, I don't know," the Fool says, skimming quickly through the book. "It's missing a few subtleties. 'Factual' ... might be one of them." He hands the book over to the next to peruse its contents, and steps back over to the Spinner of Songs.

"So much for the consideration. You will, undoubtedly, be pleased to find my companions an adventurous lot; they are willing to venture after your consciousness code. What gifts do you have for us, to ... enhance the possibility of our success?"

The Infinite Fool considers the others’ opinions for a long moment, a thoughtful grimace on his face, but then he looks up at the brash and bold Unfettered Prince, and gives a firm nod to his urging. “All right,” he agrees, then turns and heads back towards the Spinner of Songs, gesturing for them — presumably all of them, even the caretaker/priest. “Come — bring the book with you.”

Returning to the position at which he previously stood, the Fool strikes his staff on the floor, then again, then a third time once more, as if to call the attention of the spirit of the great insect. “Spinner,” he intones, “I have brought your request to the others. Now, as you promised, reveal to us the information of Cigar Thane’s life, so that we may open his tome.”

The Infinite Fool will act as ‘telephone’ between the two, getting what the book seems to require from the other PCs, and relating the answers the Spinner gives back to them, so if you want to just give us the tale, and then have the opening of the book, that’d be cool and save time. ;)

Sorry — had a procedure yesterday. Will post in a couple hours.

Hearing the Unfettered Prince's thought, the Infinite Fool tilts his head, then says-sings to the Spinner of Songs, "I shall return anon, with an answer from ... my companions." Which is a stretch of the truth to the point of transparency, but what can you do.

Turning, the Fool walks away from the Spinner's quasi-corpse, staff clicking on the floor and his face thoughtfully grim as he considers the offer on the table. "The Spinner of Songs," he tells the others via both verbal and mental forms, "has offered exactly that for which you ask -- details of Hadrama'aldramaan's life in exchange for us seriously considering entering the datasphere on her behalf, via a portal not too far distant. Doing so would be with the goal of retrieving her psyche from, using her words, a 'forsaken' part of the datasphere where it is 'sequestered'. Considering her body is there," and he gestures back towards the central expanse of Kyoonsha'rah, "and considering her evasiveness when I asked about her intentions should we reunite her mind and body and, in so doing, release her ..."

The Fool sighs, walking further to stand in the doorway, to look out at those watching them. "That man's naked," he observes with an abstracted tone, which sends Sy'ad into a fit of giggling. Giving a rueful smile, he shakes his head -- doesn't matter where or when you are, people are people, and thus just downright weird at times -- and turns back to the Unfettered Prince, Cal, and Arc. "Sorry. Honestly, I'm not sure if we can trust her. Is her psyche held in a data-prison, and if so, is it for a damn good reason? Or is she held far beyond the time of her sentence, forced into bondage and slavery as host and translator for both factions of the tehorumathalluamassamassa? I just don't know.

"She said she would seek to re-establish her people, and promises no ill upon my kith and kin -- which, strictly speaking, I have none of, making the promise an empty one -- but that's a lawyer's argument, and I'm not certain it's valid." He looks at the others, even Brother Ismin, the youth Giralt, and the newcomer Aerik. "Thoughts?"

No no, the current situation is fine. It’s when we go into a new place or situation that we’d need more extensive description and the like.

And hey, considering the skill and the save bonuses that some of us have, it’s expected that we run into opposition that’s at our level.

... Lolth. Ha! Clearly she can’t give a straight answer to save her life. ;)

"Twice I have asked, and twice you have avoided speaking plainly," speak/sings the dark-skinned man with the staff, lifting it, then striking the floor by his foot with the heel, once, then twice, then a third time. "Thrice I ask, and done, for your purposes beyond mere freedom and happiness. Are you one or many? Would your happiness be as an affliction upon others, a swarm that devours, or would you be peaceful, cooperative, or departing to vast distances?"

The Fool looks long at Sy'ad, then down at the form on the floor, the fluid gestures of his hand and arm becoming more angular, sharp, direct; the tones of his song, gone from inquiring to judging, are now iron and grim. "Understand that it is in my hand, not that of Cigar Thane Hadrama'aldramaan, that the future of your freedom now lies. You may continue to dissimulate if you wish; that may lead to more years of darkness and silence. But think on this -- you have also spoken of the atoll, the doorway to the forsaken corner of the Datasphere in which your consciousness is imprisoned ...

"... and where, entrapped, it might well be permanently destroyed. I have no need of the rewards you offer, of knowledge of previous worlds and this; should I wish such, I will find joy in the discovery, for more knowledge is gained during the journey than at the destination, and our fates and fires forged in thus. But the destruction of a horror and a torment is a journey worth traveling."

The others will see the Infinite Fool lift up the staff and roll it casually onto his shoulder, caught with absent competence right at the balance, seemingly at ease, but -- particularly to those with martial leanings -- primed to bring the staff into play with the slightest movement. "So. Going to answer the question?"

The Infinite Fool
The Fool has dark brown hair and a café au lait complexion that has the 'human standard' various blemishes and moles, no paragon of physical perfection by any stretch of the imagination. He has the build of a middle-aged endurance athlete, long-distance running and swimming; there is silver in his short-cut hair, particularly at the temples, as well as seeding the stubble of his beard; the only particularly unusual part of his appearance are his eyes, a calm and steady grey.

His clothing is simple and comfortable -- sandals, loose pants, a simple calf-length robe, a belt of soft rope -- but not remarkable, clothing very much that of a peasant or wanderer, though perhaps in this era a wanderer would have many more accoutrements about them. He bears a weapon, currently in the form of a staff with three seperate metal rings around its upper part.
---------
Buildwise, the Infinite Fool is what I consider a paragon of the control of mind and body, a psychic and monk. The 'post-human' race is a custom human/elven blend (effectively the same I'm using in the Mongol campaign); with the advanced, half-celestial, and mythic agile archetypes, he is above and beyond what he might normally be. With the mythic agile archetype's dual initiative giving him incredible quickness of response and functionally two full action sequences per turn, my interpretation of that -- not to mention the vastly heightened attributes and combat capabilities (on both offense and defense) -- in this genre is that he is enlightened, that thought and action are both one and many with him, that his body can take care of itself while his mind contemplates the ways things might occur, that he is at once aside from as well as informed by the nano-infused world about him. Likely intentions, vast instantaneous calculations of energy and motion physics, all are as one to him.

Well, somewhat.

The Fool is created to be able to survive in a very hostile world, to defend against and consequently defeat extremely dangerous and difficult foes, to discover information and expand upon knowledge -- not just for himself, but for those around him. Though he is not very good at buffing others, he is able to do a few small defensive things, but his psychic abilities are primarily for gaining knowledge.

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

Sy'ad
Sy'ad has the form of a tiny butterfly-winged woman, small even for her type; dressed in what might loosely be called a duelist's outfit, she bears a scorpion's-tail waveblade (a change from the original rapier) which she calls 'Wack' or some such thing. A great beauty (though not on the scale of Cal, per se), she is also very agile and intelligent and almost impossibly stealthy when she wants to be, a practical necessity when dealing with someone like the Fool. More often than not, she must call his attention to dangers and threats, and though she is even more impossibly fast than her master, there are many things she is reticent to alert him to -- and must be asked.
------------------
As a familiar, Sy'ad (from 'system adminstrator') is linked closely to the Fool, and serves him very much as a font of information and an aide to gaining more -- as well as some amount of buffing, protection and cures. Created off a base of lyrakien azata, again with the advanced, half-celestial, and mythic agile templates, Sy'ad also uses the 'discreet nuncio' blended familiar archetype as a final template. High Dex, Int, and Cha serve her very well, with her strength less important for most combat as she knows just exactly how and where to hit; mythic agile's dual initiative gives her incredible speed and multiple attack striking power. As a 'supernatural spell monster' for both her alchemical classes, her 'alchemical creations' (including the infusions she can give to others) would seem to be of dubious actual value -- akin to a placebo -- but they work, and work well. Her combination of classes (full investigator on one side, monk, alchemist, and bard on the other) keeps her in good stead in combat, but makes her an absolute monster when it comes to social and knowledge-based situations (because being able to double-dip a +21 Int bonus to your knowledge checks is The Bomb; just wait until she piles Skill God onto each of them.).

Her tiny blade, it should be noted, is not 'Wack', but 'UAK' -- the Universal Access Key, made of adamantium and able to transform into -- just as a practical example -- a masterwork lockpick, as well as (potentially) a billion billion other sorts of keys of all types.

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

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

As commentary on what I've seen, a couple of things have kind of ... well, definitely made me look sideways. Not meaning to offend either player, but ... I thought I'd give my opinion. Opinion only!!

Again, these are my personal opinions and observations. This ain't my game, and I have noooo desire to bump elbows with Sebecloki; he's the guy with the gavel, not me.

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

Speaking of whom ...

Seb, it's flowing well. I will say that I didn't mean that you had to give background and all that crap to the players; I just meant to suggest that you might be more descriptive, and perhaps indicate a potential action point. 'The floor rises in tiers around an altar, but behind the highest tier there is a sense of things dropping away into an abyss; sound echoes strangely against the far wall, as if some of it vanishes into a pit. To each side, a tall statue seems to demand reverence, and portions of both are glossy where countless hands have rubbed them; inlaid across the central floor is an intricate, lifelike mosaic of a colossal creature, perhaps an insectoid of some sort.' That sort of thing. ;)

What you might do the next time there's a major infodump required, and/or if we're throwing KS dice left and right, is to spoiler your information in rising order of difficulty -- a 15 DC gets you this, a 20 DC gets you that, a 30 DC gets you the other, a 45 gets you obscure stuff, and a 70 DC gets you this impossibly 'how did you know that' thing. (Honestly, when 'Master' is 30 and 'Legendary' is 40, and a Legendary DC of 50 is for L25 characters, a difficulty class of 60 or 70 in this milieu might well be gaining the knowledge from 'information spirits', collective 'knowledge' from the nanobots that infuse everything, a tap on the Akashic Record, or directly downloaded from the datasphere -- perhaps literally everything that's possible to know about something, as if told to you by the individual, or reliving an experience record of the events themselves. I confess I hadn't thought about it before. :P )

The Fool, still standing like a baliff of times ancient before the first civilization truly spanned the entire planet, considers what the Spinner of Songs has conveyed to him through their peculiar link. There is little -- practically no -- movement from him as he contemplates her words and phrasing, only the lazy mid-air movement of Sy'ad in front of him, facing him. Perhaps there is communication occurring between the two; it is difficult, if not outright impossible, to know for certain without knowing both of them very well indeed ...

"Planets, then," finally replies the Infinite Fool in his musical, gestural language, "and other such places of sophonts. No, Spinner, I have no need for knowledge of the infinite spheres upon, around, within which live the lives of uncounted others. I ... feel ... that I have been out there, and in there, for millenia beyond measure; knowledge of them is not something I seek.

"But you avoid the true question. You ask that I -- that we -- go hence, to reunite your riven mind with your entrapped body, and set you free. Tell me of your intentions, should such be accomplished, as you have been asked once before."

A very good question, the Fool temporizes to those present in the flesh. He does, however, continue to speak aloud in his peculiar song-and-dance-like speech.

His words to the Singer are more thoughtful as he continues. "The Nightflyer is a ship, then, of sea or sky or stars. Tell me about the singing spheres; tell me also of your intentions should you be returned to the physical. You sound as a host, a multitude; are you one, or are you many? Would you be a plague upon the land, or peaceful and cooperative? I have vague certainties of being witness and defending against horrors, and I would not unleash such if it is within my power to prevent it. Speak truth."

And he bends his focus upon the sequestered psyche, using all his capabilities to determine the truthfulness of her words -- not the factualness, but her belief, particularly whether or not she is attempting to deceive him -- and, in fact, the last words are a suggestion for her not to do so, though he still listens carefully.

Just as a quick question for Gerran Bayl — it looks like he’s a protector of some sort of specific location (Sacred Site ability); since this is a very ’wandering’ sort of game, how is that going to work with him?

The 'conversation' of the others is something he's keeping track of with part of his mind, as it were; to their consideration about reading the notes of Cigar Thane -- Hadrama'aldramaan -- about the very place here makes a part of his mind smile a little. Or you could simply be courteous and speak to the one with whom he spoke. Which is what I'm doing at the moment, he tells them via their shared mental link.

The Fool stands utterly still for a long moment, contemplating the space he's found himself in. His eyes lift and shift, his head moving but a little, to take in the motions, actions, communications of his erstwhile, perhaps accidental, compatriots. The pressure, the way of the hivelike speech, the silence and suspension of sound and time, all present information to him ... if he were able to grasp its meaning. One thing he suspects, however, is that the speech-manner of Kyoonshar'ah is not needed in this communication, and so he foregoes the song-like composition, though the music and the dance remain as elements of his native speech.

When his lips part, the musical, gesture-enhanced speech of the Fool's native tongue emerges once more. "Hadrama'aldramaan returns not to Kyoonshar'ah, O Spinner of Songs; it has been generations since he left, and so it may be that he will never return. My name is ... unimportant, perhaps, for I remember it not; call me the Infinite Fool. I and a handful of others are here, dropped for unknown reason upon your shores. Speak to me of your desires, and your intentions, of this Nightflier and what you desired for Hadrama'aldramaan to have done with it. I am Fool, aye, but for the Balance, I am also Judge.

"Speak." And indeed, his posture has subtly changed, his staff no longer that of a seneschal, but instead of a bailiff, charged with overseeing the execution of the law -- and perhaps execution in all senses of the word, for the emphasis of the last word is that of a command, not an entreaty.

Someone from the current time period.

A guide would not be bad, I think.

Pacing thoughtfully across the floor, he pauses, then adjusts his placement so that he is before, but not upon, a certain other-colored portion of it. And then he begins to speak, or sing, or dance -- well, really, it's all three -- in what is at first a sonorous song-chant, projecting as he does, with a thumping rhythm that exists in both voices, mind and throat.

Te-ho-ru-ma-tha-l-lu-a-mas-sa-mas-sa calls their prey;
Te-ho-ru-ma-tha-l-lu-a-mas-sa-mas-sa, go or stay.
Not for seek-ing, not for learn-ing, not for glo-ry or for fame;
Strive a-part and strive to-geth-er, they for-get they are the same.

This seems a call for attention, a chiding, a reminder of past times, and perhaps a bit of instruction for the rest of those around him; it is both song and speaking, perhaps created on the spot as he sings, staff lifted to balance his body as he dances as well. Launching from her perch on his shoulder, Sy'ad harmonizes along with him, her aerial dance weaving in and out of his semi-martial movements. He continues to projects as he sings, his mind-voice and his speech somehow managing to match each other in rhythm and song, though it is entirely possible one is more ... informative ... than the other.

"Bright light and shadow, you watchers and players, how can you not see the other, your mirror?
Closing your minds to your siblings and children who choose a path not the one that is yours?
To watch without caring your judgements made wisely are foolishness waiting to fall on your head;
To seize others' free will and drive to destruction is cruel and evil thrice paid for instead.

"Your follies have led you to mayhem and madness, alone in the darkness with naught but yourselves,
Keeping at arm's-length those you could have aided, to leaven their suff'ring and made bloom their fields,
Or taking and raiding their very existence, to toy with, a plaything, and break in the end!
To not help is harming if you could do something; to force on them suff'ring, infinitely worse."

As he has sung this scolding, his dance has taken him up to between the two statues -- the gateways through which the 'fireflies' and the 'shadows' enter those who touch them.

"So cease now and listen, cease now and slumber: your Spinner of Songs is whom I address.
Stopper your ears, you, and cover your eyes up, quiet your chatter and silence your minds."

The rest of the 'verse' is but wordless song, a seeming lullaby of sorts, two portions each aimed at the apparent focal points of the tehorumathalluamassamassa, as if to persuade them to sleep. His mind gropes for a conceptualization of power ...

... and fails to grasp a proper framework for 'quieting' the 'statues'. Nevertheless, his dance and song continues, long sweeps of legs and three-ringed staff bringing him back to face the Voice of the Lost.

"Lady of Lost Songs, the last of your kind, trapped in their amber of sordid life-dreams,
Singing that they may be understood freely, a translator-prisoner who wordlessly screams.
Speak of your wishes, for freedom and life, or for memory lost and oblivion black,
Tell us what you wish for this Splinter'd haven, to see you the sunlight or deepest night's black."

The Infinite Fool comes to rest at the end of this -- request? offer? exhortation?? -- with the staff's heel planted firmly upon the ground just above the 'head' of the Spinner of Song, the staff gripped firmly not unlike a seneschal awaiting a response.

No no -- I can tweak!! I didn't know that was a thing, but now that I do, I must go look!! :D

I have no idea what the lore is. Therefore, great!!

Pulling my OOC aside from the gameplay post (which I'm still putting together), Seb, I have indeed seen the new imagery, and I thank you for it. I will note that for some reason I can only see the upper left quadrant of the image; all the rest gets blanked out after the first fraction of a second, but I have no idea why. :P

It never ceases to amaze me, the imperfect man muses 'aloud', no matter how advanced beings get, that the preferred methodology of discovery almost always starts out with their version of 'let's give it a poke and see what happens'. And not always with a stick. His head turns towards the eight-foot colossus, his body turning as well as he must in order to take them all in at once. I've no name yet in this time, in this place; Sy'ad, he 'states', the fourteen-inch-tall golden blonde duelist on his shoulder standing up straight and giving a courtly bow, likes to call me an infinite fool, so let's go with that -- the Infinite Fool. And why am I here?

He smiles, both impish and cheerful. I'm here to poke things with sticks.

Pacing thoughtfully across the floor, he seems to be examining it for something in particular as he walks; a few murmured/sung words, accompanied by gestures with his hands and almost dance-like positioning of his body, send his tiny companion into the air, her wings beating firmly as she rises and spirals above him, apparently on the look-out for whatever he is looking to find.

Though the 'perfect human' with the peculiar accoutrements speaks, the Infinite Fool cannot understand his words ... but the little one on his shoulder is a different matter. The dark-skinned man tilts his head to one side and says something to her in his own language, whatever that is, and the little winged warrior-woman replies; her words are understandable by all*. "He asked, 'What 'Way' are you referring to?'"

Giving an understanding nod, he looks at the other and conveys to him (and the others) by way of their shared thought-domain, You ask what 'Way'. I mean that of life and living, of course, the path upon which we all walk our own pattern, and the landmarks of which are different for each of us, but which we, now and then, share with others. It would seem that for some reason, we are to accompany each other on some portion of our particular journey along the Way.

He shrugs, and moves past the black-haired man, in through the entrance hall and into the fracture's housing. Lifting his staff to carry it over the shoulder opposite Sy'ad -- and with the air of someone of whom this is a common occurrence -- he treads lightly upon the peculiar intermeshed 'tiles' of the floor, examining them for a moment before speaking again to the small fluttering-winged woman.

"[What do you make of this, Sy'ad? Intermeshed, and the great muscular one seems to be at odds with some thing or another.]"

The tiny one seems to consider and analyze for a few moments, then replies to him.

The response of the little one makes the human pause for some time, considering options -- and potential consequences.

He came to himself, as he knew he often did, as he was walking. Nothing else was known at that moment -- not his shape, not his history, not even his name. But in the midst of a step, he was suddenly aware, walking from one place to another. Unknown his destination, unknown his origin, unknown his capabilities. A look down at himself informs him of what the most common physical form is; his body is always made to blend in, though he knew he would have advantages built into the form. After all, why pay the price of immortality if you cannot survive its rigors?

As always, there was something to hand; his head turned naturally to allow him to regard it. In this case, it was a staff of some sort, near equal to his own height, girded with three thick metal rings spaced a thumb's-width apart near the top of the staff. He knew instinctively that each of the metals were different from each other, and nothing so mundane as simple iron or steel, but could not say how he knew.

In the other hand was something as well -- or rather, cradled in his other arm. Nestled there (he saw, as his head turned to regard the wonder) was a small being the length of his forearm, which he had no doubt was bound to him, and he to it; there were wings of a translucent and fanciful nature, wrapped around what, yawning and stretching, seemed to him to be a tiny but otherwise perfect feminine form. She was in turn curled around a slender length of heavy steel, sheathed in what looked to be fine leather of some sort: a duelist's blade something more than two-thirds her own height. Smiling up at him, she gripped the sheath with one fine hand, then leaped out of the cradle of his arm to fly in a swirl around him as he walked, her wings a moment of musical song before she came to settle upon his shoulder.

"Good morning," she said.

"Good morning, Sy'ad," he replied, knowing without knowing how that that was her name. "Did you sleep well?"

"I do not remember," she answered, looking around at the surrounding buildings with obvious curiousity. "Where are we? When are we?"

"I have no idea," he admitted blithely, "but it's certain to be a learning experience."

"The infinite fool, you are," she responded, her tone both fond and mildly chiding.

He shrugged, eyeing those up to whom he finds himself walking, his clothing (sandals, loose pants, a simple calf-length robe, a belt of soft rope) comfortable but not remarkable -- very much like himself. Somewhat taller than the perfect black-haired Cal, he has none of the other human's perfection: brown skin darker than can be explained away by an excuse of 'field worker'; unexceptionally curly dark brown hair, clipped rather raggedly to a fingertip's length, clearly as poorly tended as his beard, which is in evident need of a shave. There is silver at his temples and lightly seeded throughout, including that stubble; a mole sits on the lower lid of his right eye, and other blemishes show themselves upon his arms as his sleeves shift to display them. Perhaps the only unusual element are his eyes, grey and steady.

The panel-winged miniature on his shoulder is as light as he is dark, pale skin and honey-blonde hair, though unlike the 'Infinite Fool', the latter's hair somehow tumbles to her waist without getting in the way of her wings. She is clad in tiny, tight-fitting trews and a simple tunic, and as her human conveys her, she carefully fits her scabbard into the frogs her belt holds ready to receive it.

Be at peace, the male instinctively projects to those before him. Are we not all travelers on the Way, seeking answers to questions we find ourselves asking? Let us put aside aggression and seek answers together.

I've been looking for the 'colour rules' for info on smite, but I can't find a link. Can anyone help me out on this?

Thus, the Infinite Fool; here, his companion Sy'ad.

Technical bits are essentially done, but Lokifinder-specific items (e.g. AC/Defense, Vigor/Wounds) have not yet been calculated, nor have spells been selected.