Difference between revisions of "William Lotorsson"
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Are they demon-possessed? A skilled Elementalist? Want to describe their awesome powers or trademark equipment they always carry? This is the place to do it. | Are they demon-possessed? A skilled Elementalist? Want to describe their awesome powers or trademark equipment they always carry? This is the place to do it. | ||
− | + | =•WIP•= | |
If your character existed in TSW (The Secret World) before coming to SWL (Secret World Legends) -- how do you treat the transition? Are they exactly the same? Did they suffer memory loss? Are they some 'alternate reality' version of themselves? | If your character existed in TSW (The Secret World) before coming to SWL (Secret World Legends) -- how do you treat the transition? Are they exactly the same? Did they suffer memory loss? Are they some 'alternate reality' version of themselves? | ||
− | = | + | = •The Buzzing •= |
Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see... | Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see... | ||
TRANSMIT- initiate the waschbär signal -RECEIVE- initiate the runaways syntax -I LIVE FOR THE SIMPLE THINGS- initiate the masked frequency -LIKE HOW MUCH THIS IS GOING TO HURT- initiate the betrayed child protocols- WITNESS- William Lotorsson. | TRANSMIT- initiate the waschbär signal -RECEIVE- initiate the runaways syntax -I LIVE FOR THE SIMPLE THINGS- initiate the masked frequency -LIKE HOW MUCH THIS IS GOING TO HURT- initiate the betrayed child protocols- WITNESS- William Lotorsson. | ||
+ | Do you like raccoons, sweetling? Small, mischievous creatures, hiding behind masks. Once nature's children, they adapted to city life almost as well as those who built it. | ||
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+ | Compare them to the agent. Behold the similarities. The quick hand. The adaptation to new life. The mask. Not all masks are visible, sweetling. This man wears two. | ||
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+ | Initiate the secret histories. | ||
+ | Histories of a different kind, hidden not because of ancient conspiracies but because of a man's own regrets. There is no legacy here, no glory for the ages. | ||
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+ | We see a child stepping on the cobbles of the big city, wide eyes and optimism. His steps lead all the way from a sleepy town in Maine, a model little community and what was a model little family. | ||
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+ | We see a broken bond. A father leaves for the day to his job. The day becomes a week. A week becomes months, years, a decade. A mother lets go, and a new bond is formed. | ||
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+ | We hear the protest of a child, the cries of rebellion of a young boy who idolizes a father long gone. At the age of fifteen, a bag is stuffed full of clothes, and a letter is left on the bed, to be discovered in the morning. | ||
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+ | The boy discovers the grim truths. Raccoons and people are not the same. And yet the child becomes like one. The alleys become his bed, the trash cans his buffet. We see him, suffering in silence, wrought by regret. We see him become just another statistic | ||
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