I'll be the first one to admit, I don't entirely get stuff like LARPING, Roleplaying, Fanfiction or Furries but just seeing the common representation of them in pop culture as a group of weirdo outcasts or mentally deranged criminals over and over just seems like bullying at this point.
It's a hobby people are passionate about and they've found a group of people who share similar interests and created a community to have fun together. That's wonderful but so often, people who don't understand their interests pervert what they do, and end up making them seem like a weird interpersonal cult or losers who are destined to a life of misery.
I'm not against criticizing certain aspects of obsession or a parasocial relationship, but come on, give these people a break. In terms of hobbies you can do MUCH worse then the ones I've mentioned up above, not only that but there are hobbies that are not only much more dangerous but much more popular.
Acting and camera work were actually good. It wasn't campy whatsoever. Characters kinda pissed me off a couple times with stupid decisions, but that's typical of people and horror anyhow.
Honestly, I think it's the best Big Foot film I've watched. I know that isn't saying much given I can't think of a good one at the moment.
Pretty good entertainment and worth a watch if you like found footage creature features in the woods.
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Rob’s eyes widened as Diplomacy writhed in alarm. The Skill trembled violently as a kaleidoscope of emotions exploded in the corner of Rob’s mind. It was like a rabbit caught in a trap; pure animalian instinct left with nowhere to run. Except that this particular trap was the inside of Rob’s head, where important brain meats were kept carefully stored, and the Skill’s struggles were starting to make the back of his scalp prickle.
Despite that, Diplomacy’s freakout actually took the edge off of Rob’s suspicion. No malignant, conniving entity plotting his downfall would have had that bad of a poker ‘face’.
*I’m...*Diplomacy eventually said, in a soft voice like an echo on the wind. I’m your Skill.
Yeah, Rob replied. I got that. But what else?
More panic from Diplomacy, although panic that was being slowly diluted by resignation. Rob gave it time to collect its thoughts; the Skill had helped him out enough times that it deserved to be treated with consideration. If possible, he wanted this to be a dialogue, not an interrogation.
Diplomacy’s emotional turmoil subsided to a manageable level. I’m your Skill, it repeated. There was a minor pause in-between every word it said, reminding Rob of Orn’tol trying to speak unfamiliar Common. Aside from that, what else could I be?
It wasn’t a rhetorical question or an attempt at diversion. He – She? – truly didn’t know, and was hoping for an answer.
Rob wasn’t sure if he was the most or least qualified person on Elatra to ask. On one hand, he didn’t grow up with the system, and didn’t understand all its nuances on an implicit level. On the other hand, that gave him an outsider’s perspective on a unique problem. He was pretty sure that most native Elatrans would have already declared themselves insane by now. Rob knew he was insane, at least by their standards, so he had nothing to lose by thinking outside of the box.
I’m scared, Diplomacy blurted out. The Skill’s utterance was accompanied by a pulse of fear that confirmed it was telling the truth.
Scared of what? Rob asked.
A flashing Christmas Tree’s worth of varying emotions blasted at Rob. After a few seconds where he felt like he was trying to pick out the lyrics from ten overlapping songs played at the same time, Rob threw up his metaphysical hands and pushed back on the pressure. This is a little much, he said. *Pleas
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Irish mythology is so rich and beautiful that it's a crying shame that more of them aren't explored in movies but lucky for us we have producer/director Tomm Moore whose amazing animated films capture these faerie tales with all the magic and enchantment you could hope for.
Song of the Sea itself tells the wonderful story of a young boy on what could be considered a "Heroes Journey" who must discover the secret behind his mute sister Saoirse and save her life. If you don't fall in love with this pair you should seek help from a doctor as you have no heart.
The wonder and craftsmanship behind this film are simply stellar and Tomm More and company prove that this style of animation is still relevant and for some stories even more preferable. If you want to be whisked away on a magical adventure that will stir the heart and awaken your youth then check out Song of the Sea as not only is a great and heart-warming story it's a work of art.
--
A wave of shock rippled through the crowd of civilians. For his part, Rob stayed low and kept himself surrounded by them, employing the tried-and-true strategy of sticking his head in the sand and hoping everything would turn out fine. Maybe they’ll just...I don’t know...go away?
“That’s a bold accusation to make,” Elder Alessia said. “Just where did you hear those sort of baseless rumors?”
“You don’t need to know,” the commanding voice replied. “And spare us both the tedium of drawing out the truth from you. You may have kept your composure, but your people most certainly did not.”
Several of the civilians in Rob’s vision winced in embarrassment. The commanding voice continued, putting a touch more menace in his tone. “Bring the Human. I’ll not ask again. I speak with the authority of Seneschal Sylpeiros; disobedience will result in harsh, swift consequences.”
Rob didn’t need to activate Quick Thinking to know the endpoint of this conversation. The Seneschal’s scouts wouldn’t be this unconcerned if they didn’t have the martial prowess to back up their arrogance. And while they were technically heavily outnumbered, Rob couldn’t ask or expect for the civilians to contribute. Even if all of them charged at once, they would be slaughtered in the dozens before their Zerg rush made a difference.
Pushing away the Elves that tried to force him back down to the ground, Rob stood up, his head easily poking above the crowd of relative shorties. He made his way to the front of the procession, ignoring the way that the Seneschal’s scouts glared at him with fervent hatred and disgust in their eyes. It wasn’t the worst he’d gotten; there was one older Elf that had woken up early every day, without fail, to wait outside Rob’s housing in the Village and give Rob the evil eye when he exited his house. That had gone from insulting, to amusing, to a part of his daily routine that he would miss if the Elf ever got bored and stopped.
Of course, that Elf had been a Level 16 Lawkeeper. The Seneschal’s five scouts – which he quickly re-evaluated as Advance Forces – were all between Level 33 and 40, decked out in expensive-looking equipment, and sporting five different Combat Classes. Only one was a Ranger; the others were a Warrior, a Swordmaster, a Spearman, and an Elementalist.
Rob opened up his Party Screen. Two Rangers on the list had mostly recov
... keep reading on reddit ➡I was officially diagnosed with CPTSD 3 years ago after a bad breakdown. Have been off work since. Throughout my life I have always struggled with school attendance, have only ever worked part time and even struggled with that. I'm 27. I also struggle with relationships and sticking to plans because something always seems to crop up .... whether it's insecurities, abandonment issues, triggers, flashbacks, lack of energy. I simply struggle to be consistent no matter how much will I put into it.
I see all my friends living their lives, fully capable and resilient and fairly consistent in holding down jobs, relationships, friendships and following through with things they want in life. I feel like I'm on the other side of a glass panel.
I feel like an outcast and spend so many days absaloutley gutted that I have CPTSD. I'm a very positive person and have tried to hard my entire life to try and claim the life I should have and always get knocked back by this illness.
Today I feel anxious and depressed ... unsure if I will ever be able to get where I want in life. I feel so many emotions for not working... so much guilt, shame. I feel left out from the world. Sometimes I don't even feel human, I'm just existing in my house or out on walks trying to keep my head above water.
I feel so lost and confused and have no idea how long it will take for me to recover and if I will ever be able to live like my friends do... or if I'm going to constantly have to try and shape my life around this illness.
Anyone else relate? Sending so much love xxx
Overall, where would you say it ranks on a scale of beginner to expert? Just curious. Thank you.
--
Vul’to sat quietly on the ground as the minutes crawled by, idly crunching leaves in his hands, the murmuring of civilians in the background acting as the countdown timer for his success or failure. As more people turned in for the night, the noises of the crowd relaxed, signaling that the curfew was drawing closer. While the curfew wasn’t enforced at swordpoint or anything so drastic, there was a very strong social incentive not to end up being the layabout who couldn’t keep up during a march and caused everyone else to slow their pace. Based on how brutal the verbal lashings had been towards those few layabouts in the early days – mostly rich folks who had yet to realize their money was now worth as much as shiny paperweights – pressing a sword to their necks might actually have been the less mortifying alternative.
The point was; the curfew wouldn’t wait for him to pull himself together. Vul’to dug deep inside, hoping for a groundswell of courage to rise up within him and propel him one forest clearing over to where Rob was laying, alone and isolated. If he missed his opportunity to talk to Rob, he would have to wake up the next morning and explain to everyone that he hadn’t gone to console their friend, and the only excuse he could give them was cowardice.
Why...why can’t I…
It was a rhetorical question. Vul’to knew exactly why. He opened his Character Sheet, read it over once again, and deduced that the last dozen scrutinizations hadn’t been figments of his imagination.
Damnit.
That was when an older man walked over and sat down a few feet in front of him. The man’s garb and dual-swords marked him as a Ranger, and something about his appearance tickled the back of Vul’to’s brain in nascent comprehension, but try as he might he couldn’t place a name to the man’s face. He hadn’t known that many of the full-fledged Rangers back when the Village was yet whole. Identifying the man was always an option, but Vul’to was one of the holdouts who considered that sort of thing rude. As far as he was concerned, Identify should be used on enemies to figure out how to kill them, not on potential friends whose best foot forward might be hacked off at the ankle by whatever incriminating text the system decided to include in their Status profile. So, instead, he handled it like a reasonable person should.
“May I help you?” Vul’to inquired.
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Day 11
“Without further ado: I’d like to commence the next official meeting of Zamira’s Rangers,” she said.
“I thought we were called Rob’s Rangers,” Orn’tol remarked.
“That was never agreed upon by anyone except him,” Zamira stated in a matter-of-fact way, her arms crossed. “He can contest the name next time he deigns to attend.”
Her attempt at levity fell flat. Partially because Zamira being sarcastic had the tone of someone reading off of a shopping list, and it took Vul’to and Orn’tol a moment to realize that she had been trying to make a joke. It was a moment that didn’t go unnoticed by Zamira as she uncrossed her arms and cleared her throat, mild embarrassment spreading into her cheeks.
And partially because no one was in the mood for lightheartedness. Vul’to couldn’t help but be amazed at how his low expectations, bordering on unbridled pessimism, had turned out to be the naive optimism of a fanciful dreamer. If even half of the gossip spread around by the witnesses was true, then the meeting between the Village and Seneschal’s forces had been doomed from the start. Considering how negotiations had ended with four more graves for them to dig, it certainly couldn’t have gone any worse.
Well, no, that wasn’t true. The Seneschal’s forces could have won. Keira and Elder Alessia would be dead for the crime of mercy, and Rob for the crime of existing.
Logically, Vul’to understood why it had happened, but emotionally, he was in a mild state of disbelief. Perhaps everyone was right, and the clash had been a foregone conclusion, but why? Trusting Humans was hard – he knew that as well as everyone else did. The Scouring and The Cataclysm had extinguished the light from so many peoples’ lives. His included. But just as not every Elf was the same as their neighbor, not every Human was one of those who had caused so much death and destruction. It didn’t hurt to extend an olive branch.
And even if the Seneschal’s soldiers were incapable of trusting a Human, their hearts locked tight in cages of hurt and sorrow, surely they could have placed some degree of faith in their fellow Elves. They all shared that same pain together, and a bond of mutual suffering could be as strong as one made of happy memories. If the people of The Village could find it in themselves to look past that pain, then others could as well – and failing that, o
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Jason pulled his oversized baseball cap further down and hunched as low as he could without making it seem obvious that he was going incognito. The sidewalks were congested today, moreso than expected. With practiced eyes, he scanned the crowd for any glimmers of recognition or flashing phone cameras, relaxing when he concluded that everyone was too busy going about their days to pay much attention to him. He really wasn’t in the mood to be recognized as the Portal Guy. Not today of all days.
Stepping into the restaurant, Jason requested two seats on the outside patio, facing away from the crowds. They questioned his insistence on the arrangement until he pointed out that the restaurant was half-empty and that he would be ordering two dinners regardless. The servers seated him and left him with a menu and his thoughts. Luckily, the patio was empty. He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done if it wasn’t.
Jason retrieved two beers out of his bag, putting one in front of him, and the other in front of the second seat. The brand was Minty Fresh Phantasma. Jason thought it tasted like old feet, but it was Rob’s favorite. This restaurant was also Rob’s favorite, and the patio, his favorite seat in the house.
With no grave and Rob’s house being watched by at least one paparazzi at all times, this was the next-best way Jason had to connect with him.
“Hey man,” Jason said, speaking to the air. “Sorry I haven’t visited in a while. Been kind of crazy. I’m sure it’s crazier wherever you are, but man, count your blessings that you never had to deal with reporters looking for their next Big Scoop.”
He admired their persistence, if nothing else. And he supposed he could understand the pragmatism in fishing where the pond was dense. One might assume that the public would have gotten bored of the Portal Incident after more than a month of the video – captured on over five different phone cameras and a security camera to boot – being watched and discussed over the airwaves until the dead horse had been beaten into a pulp.
But they hadn’t. The first 100% confirmed supernatural incident since the advent of the Internet wasn’t going to leave the public consciousness so easily.
“You know what’s even worse than the groupies?” Jason said. “The people who don’t believe you. Personally, it’s no skin off my back if they don’t, but man, they really like to let
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On a sunlit day much like any other, as a gentle breeze made its way through town, four Elves and one Human held a funeral.
It wasn’t the first funeral that had been held in the past few days. In fact, so many had been held that it had been a bit of a challenge to find an out-of-the-way place that hadn’t been claimed by another gravestone, reminding Rob of trying to find a parking spot in a crowded shopping mall, but with a lot more grief involved. They’d settled on the Ranger trainee grounds. Partially because three of the people they were putting to rest were Tarric, Alia, and Riardin, and a lot of their time spent together had been on those grounds.
And partially because the other trainee groups wouldn’t be fighting for the space, because all of them were dead.
Rob tried to keep morbid little thoughts from creeping into his mind as he waited his turn, but it was difficult when he was the last in line to pay his respects and everyone else had a lot to say. He’d volunteered to go after the rest of the Ranger trainees, as he’d known the deceased the least-amount of time of anyone else, and while he didn’t regret his decision it still gave him a mounting sense of performance anxiety as he watched the others pay their respects. They were far enough away that the personal eulogies being spoken by each person were inaudible, but he could still see the intensity on their faces, the tears running down their cheeks. Vul’to especially; the guy wore his heart on his sleeve, and right now that heart was breaking. Each trainee had their own personal brand of survivor’s guilt that would be gnawing at them for years to come.
And then there was Rob, who didn’t know what he was going to say. Not when he was going last after everyone else had bared their souls. They had to know that he didn’t have as much to say as everyone else, right? Would he come across as callous if he didn’t speak as long as them, didn’t cry a little? He didn’t have the kind of history with the interred that everyone else did. Just because he wasn’t going to be able to recount their years of getting to know each other didn’t mean he didn’t care.
Most of all, he hated that Elatra had forced him to think so pragmatically about a fucking funeral, and how his actions might affect his social standing among the few people that accepted him.
Then Vul’to started walking back and *O
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Day 1
“GET THE FUCK BEHIND ME!”
Rob pushed away the dumbshit Elf who was gaping at the monster like a deer frozen in the headlights. The bat’s foot-long fangs missed the Elf’s neck by inches, and Rob was too busy pushing him out of harm’s way to get a proper counterattack off – his sword drawing no more than a thin papercut on the inside of the bat’s wing.
‘Identify’.
Name: Greater Bat
Level: 20
Status Effects: Thirsty
Description: A monster formed from tainted mana coalescing around the corpse of a dead bat. Actually, this is the first time you’ve fought a monster outside of a Dungeon, isn’t it? They periodically spawn out in the world at large every now and then. Not that you had time to worry about that until now; all those Infected animals certainly took precedence! By the by; the system hasn’t been making fun of you. I’m not sure why you would think that. That’s a very rude assumption. Would it help if it gave you a hug? Also, you probably have more important things to be doing than reading this. Look up.
A second giant bat landed on Rob’s head and bit him in the scalp. The hum of Power Slash mixed with the torrent of expletives spewing out of Rob’s mouth as he swung above and bisected the monster. Blood and organs spilled out of the creature and plopped on top of his head and Oh god, I think I’m going to be sick.
Nausea distracted him for an instant, which was enough time for the first bat to swoop in close. Shock distracted him for another instant as, instead of clawing or biting at him, the bat wrapped its grubby mitts around his sword and yanked it out of Rob’s hand.
“Buh-, whuh-” Rob sputtered. “I just got that! Give it back!”
It snickered at him. Well, more likely it was using echolocation to map out the surroundings, but Rob interpreted it as a snicker and he wasn’t going to let logic tell him otherwise.
“If that’s how you want to play...” Rob opened his palm, summoned the Broken Dwarven Shortsword out of his Bound Items – which was apparently the same as an Inventory except not really – and cast Rampage, blasting forward at the monster like a bullet fired out of a gun.
Monsters didn’t have emotions outside of basic feral instincts. Rob knew this. He also knew that he had a recurring habit of misattributing human characteristics to things that didn’t have them. With all of that sai
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