MAGI'S PROFILE

author=Holbert link=topic=3132.msg61859#msg61859 date=1234671976
Sadly, I think that says more about WIP than it does Feld.

Mog has been mapped out, there isn't much more you can say about him that people don't already know. WIP is obviously just contributing to this thread in order to emphasize the many facts of mog ;)

To whom it may concern,

Please hear my story. I do not know you, but what I do understand is you know the whereabouts of a man who you may refer to as WIP. Likely, he has angered you in some unspeakable way, but please do not give chase or harm him, for WIP is my friend, and I could not bear to see any manner of harm find its way into his life.

You see, since I was a wee lass, WIP was a household name that you could depend on. While to many his handle communicated an idea that his work would perpetually remain unfinished, that is what was so special about the name. All of my brothers and sisters packed into our split level condo would be lead to WIP's stories like sheep to slaughter; his tales fantastic, but somehow they always seemed true- those old stories of WIP.

On Mondays, an atypical yet stereotypically dull weekday, WIP would bring us gifts from far-away places and reminisce on his travels to the far edges of the known. As he spoke of land's end, a curious shine lit up in my eye and I understood exactly what made the place so magical: It was the aspect of freedom, a life on the edge where even the most domesticated white collar coffee-junkie could let out a primal howl and be at ease, for here he was a man in more than the traditional sense. Of course, WIP had told us there were not only men on the far side of the world, but women too, voluptuous dames that were beautiful, yet if you glanced twice at their sensuality with any type of lustful fervor you'd discover what really drives up a cold sweat in dreaming minds. That is, these amazons didn't take names, and they sure as hell cared little if Jimmy was made a few inches shorter off the top of his poor head.

About that time, our mother, a loathesome evangelical would happen to wander in after her afternoon flirtini and her reaction was the same as always. "SCReEEEEeEEECH!" As she seperated those fat bright red flaps of skin she called lips, she howled like a mad harpy defending her young. Out the door WIP flew, knowing that even in the sleeze and slime of suburbia there are some things much more fearful than any fantastic creature that lurked on the edge in land's end.

With "uncle WIP" gone as we all liked to call him, our mother began to pace madly back and forth in the living room, all fire and brimstone, ranting and raving about this and that; and as she began to get seriously worked up over the "tarnation" WIP had been feeding her children we each could swear the old wretch started to speak in tongues. "If you children want to keep your souls until the rapture, you had best make yourselves unknown to that filthy libertarian that calls itself a human being! If your father RPG Advocate were here, what would he say if he knew you had been letting WIP come round'?"

"Fuckin bitch." my brother Tommy, the eldest murmured under his breath. My mother froze in the center of the room bfore the Thanksgiving fire, the glow of the blaze perpetuating her fury. Though we all feared her wrath, the anger melted away from her face suddenly. Right then my sister Annie and I knew she had just gotten an awful, inhuman idea. She stoked the embers of the fire using a poking tool, and with a devilish grin fueled by seven flirtinis she up and took off after Tommy with it. As he sprang from the couch he knocked over a table in the kitchen and jetted out the front door to avoid our mother's wrath.

Of all of us to be influenced by WIP the most, Tommy was much like Santa's little helper, only instead he swore like a sailor. Surprisingly, he picked up this language from his father, who liked to curse at his children after a terrible and long day in the chipset mines. Like our late father, he also enjoyed antagonizing our miserable spawn to no end.

I'm certain you are wondering about my father, the man called RPG Advocate. The truth is he and WIP were supposedly old war buddies during the RPG-infinity liberation wars. While WIP valiantly fought the loyalists on the frontlines, our father RPG Advocate was hidden away in a secret lab far beneath the surface where he worked on decoding a stolen weapon from the A.S.C.I.I. corporation. It was that very device that would end the war and lead to seven years of peace and prosperity. I'm sure if WIP were here now to see how things have turned out, he would be very satisfied with his work.

And yet... His work remains unfinished. That is why I beg of you, my only contact beyond the borders of the great chipset wall, to find our old friend WIP. Perhaps he still walks the weird and lurid landscape of land's end, or maybe he has even traveled to worlds beyond. Whatever be the case, should you find him do not harm him, but return him to us. Please.

Sincerely,
Riza Advocate