James Wilcox
Posted: Wed May 06, 2015 3:10 pm
Template For Character Creation Reward:
First Name: Justin
Last Name: Wilcox
Appearance:
Your average human man. Clean cut. He has a taste for bold colors and green things, emeralds and gems. There is a tiredness to his shoulders and demeanor, but overall a healthy, beef fed man.
Race: Human
Age: 32
Height 5’9”
Weight: 150lbs
Eyes: Light Green
Hair: Black with blonde streaks.
Facial Hair Style: Clean shaven.
Personality Profile:
A curiously patient and heady character with a hint of passion. As a writer he spends most of his time in thought or writing, studying language and words. Slow to form an opinion, but strong in his opinions when formed. The beautiful, the colorful and the outlandish expression of the mundane is a favorite pass time for Justin. He has a healthy dose of mischief and an even bigger dose of laziness that he overcompensates for by trying to motivate others, whatever the story may need. Quick to laugh, but long to forgive an injustice, your average Baldurian tired of an everyday life and looking for something more through adventure.
General Health: Generally good. Has some trouble with dampness.
Deity: Denier
Initial Alignment: Neutral
Profession: Writer
Base Class & Proposed Development: Wizard
Habits/Hobbies:
Smokes a pipe. Takes walks. Daydreaming. Writing. Schemes and plots. Inventing new spells. Learning new spells.
Languages: Draconic, elven and is currently studying Sylvan among other languages. A side hobby of his.
Weapon of Choice: The weave and words.
Background:
I am a Baldurian. What I mean to say is, I am no different than you. I’m a man, like you. I’m a slob, like you. Maybe not as slobby as some of you, but you get my point. I had a place to lay my head, some work for someone, somewhere that put some coin in my pocket, even if it never seemed quite enough, a few interesting moments from time to time at the tavern just to go to sleep, get back up, wash my teeth and back at it again. It was exhausting.
It was on a particularly boring day doing the same boring things that it hit me. You see, being a minor clerk tasked with reviewing paperwork you have a fair amount of time to think and as paperwork seems to never end, more often then not I found myself dreaming of what I always wanted to be: an author. Regardless of the incredible potential, more often than not when I spelled this out for most it lead to the inevitable rolling of the eyes, a polite excuse and sometimes, if my story got particularly pointed and passionate, a half empty drink left across the table with me looking around, yet again, wondering what happened to my potential date. Another night of shots, sleeping it off and back at it the next morning. Paper after paper.
A man can only take so much.
One day, after reviewing a particularly boring application for research into raising the dead and other flimsy excuses for perversions that are better left unspoken, I got to thinking. There are many different types of magic. What if? It was the most fascinating thing that had ever happened to me. What if. You see, there is a way things actually were, there is a way things actually are at this very moment and there is an actual way things will be in the future. There’s actually a whole slew of ways things could be in the future, but only one moment with a culmination of every moment from every thing that is which makes up the moment that comes next after this one.
Insanity? Maybe. The problem is I couldn’t let go of this idea. The more papers I read, the more I got to thinking, the more I couldn’t let it go. I remembered when I was growing up my mother was fond of telling me stories, fantastic tales of magical beasts and heroes, wizards and warriors, good and evil, stories that meant something, that gave purpose, that teach about what really matters, fairy tales, if you will. Here is where I started getting nervous. What if? What if there was truth to these stories? What if, with the help of the weave, these stories were brought to reality?
It was a terrifying thought to have while I tossed yet another sloppy research paper into the “Reviewed” stack on my less than impressive desk leased to me through a less than impressive wizard who made his coin through crushing the dreams of others. Or allowing them. It was that moment that I made a decision. This was far too heavy an idea to be contemplating on an empty stomach and without my pipe. I was going to have a smoke and a juicy steak, potatoes smothered in cheese, perhaps an ale or two and think this through. Why not? I certainly didn’t have much to lose by not doing anything than what I normally do.
As with most ideas, the only fan fare and glory that surrounded mine was the crisp snap of a cider ale, the cheesy smothered potatoes on my plate and the fresh smell of a char-grilled steak and an ashtray full of ash that ushered in this author’s tale. Succulent bites of steak, one after the other melting in my mouth, each moment a choice, a choice for another choice and another choice, each one changing the future. If I chew this way, one person notices. If I chew another, someone else. A cider brings one eye to watch, a shot of spirits, another. This went on for some time in the evening until finally, after many empty glasses, a few cleaned plates and a much emptier tavern than when I arrived, all that was left was a rather tipsy me, a whole lot of interesting thoughts and a choice. What did this all mean?
Time to think. Somewhere in-between infinite eternity and the moment of now there is a story, one set meeting of every moment that plays out as what will be. If this is true, arranging and affecting the moments now, no matter how small and inconsequential they may seem, can drastically change what will be. With a little practice, it might even be possible to, in essence, write your own future. The pieces were all lining up. Things started making sense. This happened because this happened because this happened. This first thing happened though because of, what?
That’s when it struck me. The key is your imagination. Your imagination creates the dream, your actions and choices weave the moments, your moments combine with other moments and destiny is written. All you have to do is believe.
I know there are some reading this book now raising a skeptical eyebrow, others laughing, but to a few of you, the simple fact you are reading this book right now has you wondering. What if? If my theory is true and you are reading this book, believe. Fate will bring us together when the time is right.
So begins the tale of Justin Wilcox, the magician.
Goals:
To study the weave and perfect his theory. To weave dreams into reality and have some fun while doing it.
Possible Plot-Hook Ideas and Misc Facts:
You’ve got a plot, I can work it in. Just give me the mood you want. Nightmares welcome as well.
First Name: Justin
Last Name: Wilcox
Appearance:
Your average human man. Clean cut. He has a taste for bold colors and green things, emeralds and gems. There is a tiredness to his shoulders and demeanor, but overall a healthy, beef fed man.
Race: Human
Age: 32
Height 5’9”
Weight: 150lbs
Eyes: Light Green
Hair: Black with blonde streaks.
Facial Hair Style: Clean shaven.
Personality Profile:
A curiously patient and heady character with a hint of passion. As a writer he spends most of his time in thought or writing, studying language and words. Slow to form an opinion, but strong in his opinions when formed. The beautiful, the colorful and the outlandish expression of the mundane is a favorite pass time for Justin. He has a healthy dose of mischief and an even bigger dose of laziness that he overcompensates for by trying to motivate others, whatever the story may need. Quick to laugh, but long to forgive an injustice, your average Baldurian tired of an everyday life and looking for something more through adventure.
General Health: Generally good. Has some trouble with dampness.
Deity: Denier
Initial Alignment: Neutral
Profession: Writer
Base Class & Proposed Development: Wizard
Habits/Hobbies:
Smokes a pipe. Takes walks. Daydreaming. Writing. Schemes and plots. Inventing new spells. Learning new spells.
Languages: Draconic, elven and is currently studying Sylvan among other languages. A side hobby of his.
Weapon of Choice: The weave and words.
Background:
I am a Baldurian. What I mean to say is, I am no different than you. I’m a man, like you. I’m a slob, like you. Maybe not as slobby as some of you, but you get my point. I had a place to lay my head, some work for someone, somewhere that put some coin in my pocket, even if it never seemed quite enough, a few interesting moments from time to time at the tavern just to go to sleep, get back up, wash my teeth and back at it again. It was exhausting.
It was on a particularly boring day doing the same boring things that it hit me. You see, being a minor clerk tasked with reviewing paperwork you have a fair amount of time to think and as paperwork seems to never end, more often then not I found myself dreaming of what I always wanted to be: an author. Regardless of the incredible potential, more often than not when I spelled this out for most it lead to the inevitable rolling of the eyes, a polite excuse and sometimes, if my story got particularly pointed and passionate, a half empty drink left across the table with me looking around, yet again, wondering what happened to my potential date. Another night of shots, sleeping it off and back at it the next morning. Paper after paper.
A man can only take so much.
One day, after reviewing a particularly boring application for research into raising the dead and other flimsy excuses for perversions that are better left unspoken, I got to thinking. There are many different types of magic. What if? It was the most fascinating thing that had ever happened to me. What if. You see, there is a way things actually were, there is a way things actually are at this very moment and there is an actual way things will be in the future. There’s actually a whole slew of ways things could be in the future, but only one moment with a culmination of every moment from every thing that is which makes up the moment that comes next after this one.
Insanity? Maybe. The problem is I couldn’t let go of this idea. The more papers I read, the more I got to thinking, the more I couldn’t let it go. I remembered when I was growing up my mother was fond of telling me stories, fantastic tales of magical beasts and heroes, wizards and warriors, good and evil, stories that meant something, that gave purpose, that teach about what really matters, fairy tales, if you will. Here is where I started getting nervous. What if? What if there was truth to these stories? What if, with the help of the weave, these stories were brought to reality?
It was a terrifying thought to have while I tossed yet another sloppy research paper into the “Reviewed” stack on my less than impressive desk leased to me through a less than impressive wizard who made his coin through crushing the dreams of others. Or allowing them. It was that moment that I made a decision. This was far too heavy an idea to be contemplating on an empty stomach and without my pipe. I was going to have a smoke and a juicy steak, potatoes smothered in cheese, perhaps an ale or two and think this through. Why not? I certainly didn’t have much to lose by not doing anything than what I normally do.
As with most ideas, the only fan fare and glory that surrounded mine was the crisp snap of a cider ale, the cheesy smothered potatoes on my plate and the fresh smell of a char-grilled steak and an ashtray full of ash that ushered in this author’s tale. Succulent bites of steak, one after the other melting in my mouth, each moment a choice, a choice for another choice and another choice, each one changing the future. If I chew this way, one person notices. If I chew another, someone else. A cider brings one eye to watch, a shot of spirits, another. This went on for some time in the evening until finally, after many empty glasses, a few cleaned plates and a much emptier tavern than when I arrived, all that was left was a rather tipsy me, a whole lot of interesting thoughts and a choice. What did this all mean?
Time to think. Somewhere in-between infinite eternity and the moment of now there is a story, one set meeting of every moment that plays out as what will be. If this is true, arranging and affecting the moments now, no matter how small and inconsequential they may seem, can drastically change what will be. With a little practice, it might even be possible to, in essence, write your own future. The pieces were all lining up. Things started making sense. This happened because this happened because this happened. This first thing happened though because of, what?
That’s when it struck me. The key is your imagination. Your imagination creates the dream, your actions and choices weave the moments, your moments combine with other moments and destiny is written. All you have to do is believe.
I know there are some reading this book now raising a skeptical eyebrow, others laughing, but to a few of you, the simple fact you are reading this book right now has you wondering. What if? If my theory is true and you are reading this book, believe. Fate will bring us together when the time is right.
So begins the tale of Justin Wilcox, the magician.
Goals:
To study the weave and perfect his theory. To weave dreams into reality and have some fun while doing it.
Possible Plot-Hook Ideas and Misc Facts:
You’ve got a plot, I can work it in. Just give me the mood you want. Nightmares welcome as well.