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Literature
An Introduction to Friar Jacque
"So, you're the Angel of Death, then?" It was more a statement than question, and the middle-aged man who said it did not, at this moment, appear concerned with its immediate implications.
"In a way, yes. I am a messenger about death." The robed man sighed. "Robert, I'm here to tell you that you are going to die, but if you choose not to die, things will go badly for you."
A grin crossed Robert's mouth. "You're saying I have a choice?"
"Yes, but if you don't die when you're supposed to, it will go badly for you."
"That doesn't sound like a choice."
"It's complicated."
Robert pointed to a paper on the wall. The robed man looked briefly at it. It looked official. "I can handle complex equations. When you say "goes badly for me," what are we talking about here? Why even tell me this?"
The robed man leaned on his staff. "Let me put it this way: you have a time appointed you by God, fate, or whatever you want to call it. Something, I'm not sure what yet, is seeking to unravel that ap
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Literature
5-2-16 10:46 am
5-2-16, 10:46 am. I recognize it's been a couple of weeks since my last log, but what a couple of weeks it's been. To recap: last month, a coworker was found dead in the office, surrounded by tentacles and holding a broken mug shaped like a vaguely terrifying figure. When I made notice of this, I started having all kinds of weird things happen to me.
Well "weird" just went to "alien abduction weird."
Just over two weeks ago, I was about to call it a night, when I remembered my cell phone was in the other room. Who hasn't had that happen, right? So I stumble into the living room, reach out for the phone, and instead, I'm holding a wrist. In the darkness, I completely missed the masked, gloved man (I assume) waiting in the corner, but he(?) didn't miss me. Instead, he grabbed my phone just ahead of me and, knocking me to the ground as he twisted out of my surprised grasp, made a run for the side door.
I recover quickly and soon I'm chasing after this guy running down the street. Let's ig
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9:30 am, 4-11-16. by jeditoby 9:30 am, 4-11-16. :iconjeditoby:jeditoby 0 5 Weird coincidences. Whatever works. by jeditoby Weird coincidences. Whatever works. :iconjeditoby:jeditoby 0 4 11:53 am, Wednesday 4-6-16 by jeditoby 11:53 am, Wednesday 4-6-16 :iconjeditoby:jeditoby 1 0 11:15 am, Wednesday 4-6-16 by jeditoby 11:15 am, Wednesday 4-6-16 :iconjeditoby:jeditoby 0 4 CSI Photo - 4-5-16 by jeditoby CSI Photo - 4-5-16 :iconjeditoby:jeditoby 1 4 Steamfest 2015 photoshoot: You and what army? by jeditoby Steamfest 2015 photoshoot: You and what army? :iconjeditoby:jeditoby 1 4
Literature
SW: Origins
For the convicts:
“And that was when he noticed that his blaster was pointed back at him!” The assembled crowd laughed along with the Devaronian. The noise died down and he said with a wink, “Of course, Gamorreans are always a little slow. That’s what makes them such great guards.” More laughter, but before he could continue, a grumbling voice rose above the rest.
“So how did you get here, then?”
The crowd was watching the Devaronian, but you spot the
All eyes were on the Devaronian, who nodded, smoothly going with the flow. “Right. I’m sure that’s a tale every one of us knows too well.” A few sniggers, but mostly wan smiles from the assembly.
“Right. Well, so I had the jewels and this pig’s blaster, but what I didn’t know was that some poor sod had pulled the exact same job as me just a month earlier. Except he didn’t get out the front door ‘cause, of course, he wasn’t me. So I’
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Literature
Idolatry
Because the name is different from the picture, depictions of the Prophet are worthy of death, but naming oneself Mohammed is fine.
Because the visual art of writing is substantially different from the visual art of drawing, it is okay to write the word Mohammed but a violation of one man's opinion to draw a picture of the Prophet.
Because violating the law in defense of commentary is permissible, but questioning that commentary is against the law, we set men up to be greater than God.
Because you value a Prophet more than God, you'll allow artistic depictions of God but not of one man.
Because you value your feelings more than God, you'll do whatever you want and justify yourself appealing to other men's words, rather than God's word.
Because you love evil more than God, you'll violate His law and kill His people.
Congratulations, jihadi: you have become the idol.
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Literature
Tales of the GM: Player
"This...this is actually a great min-max with the point-buy system!"
"I couldn't help myself. I mean, I wanted to make a Wizard. But I didn't want someone who was useless in a fight. So I gave him 16 on Intelligence, 14 on Strength and Dexterity, and 12 on Constitution and Charisma. Poor wisdom gets 11.
"Then, I give him the Acolyte background. I'm sure Sage would be better, but this works. So, in the end, he's a guy who was sent by his parents to become a cleric. Maybe they thought it'd make him wiser or something. But when he got to the temple, he studied and studied, worked out, participated, but never really got a divine connection.
"So one day, he's in the temple library and comes across some arcane books and he starts picking up this magical ability. So after years at the temple, he's buff and smart and liked well enough, but he's no closer to any particular God. And he goes home and does some arcane spells and his parents, they're none the wiser. So he tells them that he's a Cle
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The HynemOod by jeditoby The HynemOod :iconjeditoby:jeditoby 4 9 Palladium Footpuncher, Bar Scene by jeditoby Palladium Footpuncher, Bar Scene :iconjeditoby:jeditoby 0 0 Draw This Again by jeditoby Draw This Again :iconjeditoby:jeditoby 1 3 Artistic Progress by jeditoby Artistic Progress :iconjeditoby:jeditoby 1 7
Literature
Dear Mortal,
I saw your birth into this world, the beginning of your hourglass filling up with the present thoughts and dreams of the future. From the sands of your mother's life was I born, and ever have I been with you.
I was there those many sleepless nights (for you, as every night is sleepless for me) when, as a babe, you wailed for fear of hunger. I was there the many, many times you bumped your head and thought you were going to die as you tried to walk. Once or twice, I even thought I might lend a hand when you did some foolish thing that your parents would later tell you to never do.
I am always with you, as I am with all mortals, for that is what the word 'mortal' means. I and you, and them, dancing in a timeless waltz that repeats endlessly. The colors and clothes may change, the faces different with every step, but the danse macabre goes on and on until your hourglass runs out.
I wonder, young mortal, what truth you see, for it is not I who makes mortals disappear, but themselves. Truly
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Critiques


First, to the embellishment: my wife is quite content with this, though I confess the large red object at the bottom (wax seal? But whe...

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"So, you're the Angel of Death, then?" It was more a statement than question, and the middle-aged man who said it did not, at this moment, appear concerned with its immediate implications.

"In a way, yes. I am a messenger about death." The robed man sighed. "Robert, I'm here to tell you that you are going to die, but if you choose not to die, things will go badly for you."

A grin crossed Robert's mouth. "You're saying I have a choice?"

"Yes, but if you don't die when you're supposed to, it will go badly for you."

"That doesn't sound like a choice."

"It's complicated."

Robert pointed to a paper on the wall. The robed man looked briefly at it. It looked official. "I can handle complex equations. When you say "goes badly for me," what are we talking about here? Why even tell me this?"

The robed man leaned on his staff. "Let me put it this way: you have a time appointed you by God, fate, or whatever you want to call it. Something, I'm not sure what yet, is seeking to unravel that appointment, to create alternate timelines for purposes unknown."

The young man nodded, absorbing the idea. "Alternate timelines is not, from my perspective, a problem--especially if they result in a longer, fuller life for me...."

As if completing his thought, the robed man continued, "...And so where's the hitch? you ask."

Almost simultaneously, but just a syllable behind, the young man finished his thought, "And so where's the hit...hey! How'd you do that?"

"It is a gift--and a curse--of my order, to be able to be a bit in the future, right up until our death. This is just a bit of a parlor trick to show you that I'm serious." He stood straight and pointed the simple wooden staff at his charge. "The hitch, as you call it, is that the life you live after your appointed death comes at a terrible price--everything you do is cursed to harm others."

"What, like I lead an old woman across the street and end up breaking her legs?"

"Or causing a car accident that kills others."

"Wouldn't that have happened if I didn't help her across the street?"

"Perhaps. But it will happen if you intervene."

Robert frowned. "So there are some philosophical hoops to jump through. That's hardly a steep price to pay. Is that all or is there something you're not telling me?"

The robed man suddenly looked pale and very old. "That's not all," he whispered, glancing at the floor of this highrise office suite. Looking the young man directly in his eyes, "It does something to your soul. Corrupts it somehow. Turns you evil as well, so that when you do die...I believe you call it hell."

Robert stared deep into the angel's brown eyes, looking for any sign of flinching. There was none. "You mean that we go to hell? I don't even believe in God. Hell? Hell, I don't even believe in YOU! what's your name?"

"They call me Jacques."

"French, eh?"

"What is 'French?'"

Robert blinked, fell back into his chair and let out a bellyful of laughs. The robed man stood, uncomfortably shifting his feet, not sure how to process this.

When at last his laughing subsided, Robert said, "Well, I think that confirms that you're not from Earth, at least. So...tell me more about yourself. Give me a reason to believe anything you say. For that matter, how can we even understand each other?"

"Fine. May I sit? My feet are killing me."

Robert motioned to a chair.

Jacques sat and recounted how, in all his travels, he had always been able to understand the language of those he met. It was miraculous. He couldn't explain it. It just was.

"Polyglot, then?"

"Or something." Jacques didn't want to admit that he didn't know what 'polyglot' meant.

Robert leaned forward over his desk. "Can you be killed?"

Jacques gently laid his staff across his legs as he relieved his feet. "Yes, I am mortal. I, too, have a time appointed to die."

Robert grinned again, opening a desk drawer and suddenly he was pointing a revolver at Jacques's impassive face. "So what happens if I pull this trigger?"

Jacques closed his eyes, his muscles tightening in concentration. "I move my stick to intercept the bullet...you pull the trigger...the bullet hits my stick, shattering it...the bullet misses me but hits the window behind me, which cracks but seems to absorb the force...you go to fire a second shot, but the gun will not work...I believe a piece of my staff becomes lodged in the firing mechanism."

As he spoke, Robert fired--the stick was suddenly in the path, and shattered, splinters flying everywhere. He pulled the trigger again, and the hammer fell, but somehow jammed. As he turned the gun to examine the jam, thinking to himself that revolvers shouldn't jam, he saw the speck of wood lodged between the pin and the cylinder and heard Jacques's observation saying the same.

"That was amazing."

"As I said, I am a bit ahead of us."

Robert flipped open the cylinder and the piece of wood dropped out, onto his desk. "The unlikelihood of that happening...."

..."Defies description?" Yes. I don't fully understand it, myself, except to say that my God has appointed me this task and I cannot die until it is complete. I would really not recommend trying that again. And, in fact, I see that you won't."

Robert flipped the cylinder back into place, careful to turn it so the next round was in firing position. He held the weapon lightly in his hand, just in case.

"An angel of death who himself has yet to die. Interesting. Okay then, let's say I believe you. Why are you here? Robert paused, his astute brain forcing him to ask one last question: "...Now?"

Jacques rose, leaning on his staff for balance. "I think you've just figured out the second part of your question, Robert, which leads us to the first part. I'm here to make sure you die at your appointed time."

"Now?"

"This moment, yes. The measurement of time is rather arbitrary, but the events occur."

"When you say you're here to make sure I die...you're saying that I have a choice, and if I make the choice to live instead, you'll kill me?"

"As painlessly as possible."

"That's reassuring."

"There's no animosity here. I'm trying to save your soul and the souls of others."

"Maybe I should have paid attention to my teachers in Sunday School."

"Maybe."

"So...what happens now?"

"You want to know how you're going to die?"

"If it's supposed to happen at this moment, yes."

"Ah," said the robed man as the office door rudely opened and three security guards with guns drawn swarmed the room. They saw their boss, his gun in his hand, and this strangely robed man with a broken stick. One, a fresh recruit named Williams, sighted the robed man and as he did so, a bead of sweat dripped into his eye. He moved his free hand away from the gun, his aim wavering, and just as he wiped his eye, he heard his commander yell, "Shoot!" Instinct and training took over, and time slowed down as his finger gently eased the trigger back. The gun kicked as the bullet fired and missed the robed man. Robert Orwell, his boss's boss, fell sideways, a look of astonishment on his face as he dropped the revolver with a ridiculously loud clatter on his glass desk. For a heartbeat, there was no sound in Williams's head.

Then time sped back to normal and the guard commander was wrestling the gun out of trigger man's hands while another guard tried to tackle him to the ground. The last guard ran to Robert's side, trying to keep his weapon pointed generally at the man in the robe while ascertaining Robert's injuries.

"Man down! Call the ambulance!"

"I said "Don't shoot!" Williams! What the hell were you thinking?"

"Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!" was all Williams would say. Indeed, that was all he said until the police arrived.

"The boss is hit! GET AN AMBULANCE!"

"Control, this is Arguleta. Code Black. We need immediate medical attention in Mr. Orwell's office. I repeat, immediate medical in Orwell's office!"

The radios crackled and squealed with chatter as the security apparatus of the building sparked to sudden life.

Jacques moved swiftly to the dying man's side, laying aside his broken staff. The guard there, whose named tag said "Andrews" asked him to stand back. With a calm voice, Jacques said, "Andrews, I'm a healer. Let me see what I can do."

His own blood pounding through his head, Andrews, who had spent a tour of duty in Iraq, put his weapon back in its holster and helped Jacques rip off Robert's shirt, revealing a bloody mess--the bullet had punctured the inferior vena cava and the wound was bleeding heavily. Andrews muttered a profanity.

Robert, who's scared gaze suddenly calmed as his eyes met Jacques's asked, "This moment, Jacques?"

Jacques nodded silently.

"It only happened because you were here."

Jacques bowed his head. "The timelines are altered, Robert. It would have happened in some other way at this same time, and you would not have had a choice."

Robert coughed as Andrews applied pressure to the wound, unsure what else to do, but yelled over his shoulder, "I'm losing him!"

"When...is this...choice?"

Then it all went black.

There was a tear in the blackness--something bright and growing brighter. Robert couldn't close his eyes--he had no eyes. It all seemed to be in his head. A voice spoke out of the brightness, quietly, "Come with me if you want to live."

"I'm supposed to die," Robert found himself saying, though he had no mouth.

The voice was louder, more insistent: "Do you want to live?"

"Of course I do," thought-spoke Robert.

"Then come with me," said the voice, more insistently.

Something about the voice, or maybe it was just what Jacques had said, made Robert hesitate. He asked, "Show yourself to me first."

The light through the tear grew brighter as the tear seemed to widen and a claw--Robert thought it looked exactly as a demon's claw should look--reached through for him. "Come to me NOW!" the voice said, and Robert clearly understand that the claw belonged to the voice.

"No," he said simply, and just that quickly, the tear was gone, the claw was gone, and only a disembodied thought of malevolent anger remained, a near-palpable taste in his mind.

He opened his eyes, the brightness of his office somewhat lessened by his recent vision. "Jacques?" he whispered, another cough racking his system.

"I'm here, Robert," came his reassuring voice, and a hand--a hot hand--brushed his cheek. Robert's eyes were so heavy, he couldn't keep them open.

"Did--cough--did you hear?"

"Hear what?"

"There...was a...demon..."

Jacques's voice was close, his honey-scented breath right in Robert's ear: "What did you choose?"

Robert summoned what strength he had to raise a blood-soaked arm, which he thought Jacques caught, the universe suddenly extended only that far. "Death," he smiled weakly, and then was gone.

The paramedics found a nearly bloodless corpse by the time they made it up to Robert's office. The guards were busying themselves with performing CPR, applying pressure to the wound, trying in vain to keep Mr. Orwell alive. The paramedics took over, exchanging knowing glances. This one was a goner, but they did everything they could anyway until the ambulance arrived. As they escorted the body out of the office, Jacques went with the medics.

One of them, a a woman named "Lucero" by her name tag, asked, "Are you family?"

Jacques instinctively said yes. He wasn't familiar with this place's protocols, but it seemed the right thing to say.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, noting his blood-strained clothing.

"No. It's all his," he replied, and that seemed to suffice, as she turned away and focused on the dead man.

People gave them all a wide berth in the foyer, and as he left the building and made his way down the street toward the setting sun, he seemed to notice for the first time the strange manner of dress that these people had. Gone were the simple robes and in their place were buttons and latches and devices he'd never seen before. He looked at his bloodstained robe and sighed. It was hardly the first time he'd had to clean the robe, but in this place, in this age, there didn't appear to be any running water at all. Only tall, palatial buildings, finely leveled roads, and an occasional metal lid on something steaming and smelly below it all. It was a strange world, filled with people and he had a certain sense that he would be quite busy here for some time.
An Introduction to Friar Jacque
This is a vignette introducing my OC, Friar Jacque, a member of a monastic order who have the ability to know when someone (or something) is supposed to die, and trained in the deadly arts to help them should they choose not to when that time comes.
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Some actors chafe at being so iconically tied, but I think she rode this wave as well as anyone ever has. Why fight the zeitgeist when it's putting food on the table? She was able to live the high life--literally, given some drug addictions--but also helped a lot of others find success through her work behind the scenes as well. She exemplifies--besides the drugs--the power that we have generationally to pass the torch to the next generation. She was handed the torch by her parents, and she passes it on to a new generation of talented actors, all the while showing grace or at least good humor in dealing with her own problems in a world that can't get enough of her character. 

When Disney bought the rights to Star Wars, she said, "I'm a Disney Princess!" But she was wrong. Every Disney Princess in my lifetime was based on her portrayal of Princess Leia. She was not "A Disney Princess," she was all of them, and that's something special that nobody else will ever be. To paraphrase Batman, "As a woman, I'm flesh and blood, I can be ignored, I can be destroyed; but as a symbol... as a symbol I can be incorruptible, I can be everlasting." Carrie Fisher, however it came to be, became that symbol who defines generations of women. Carrie Fisher may be dead, but Princess Leia--General Leia--is immortal, forever carrying on the fight against evil.

So we bid adieu to not just an iconic actress, but an iconic woman: a fearlessly flawed mother, mentor, and friend, and an inspiration to men and women throughout that galaxy and this one. Farewell, Princess, and may the Force be with you.
  • Drinking: Hot Cocoa
Passions have cooled enough that I can say this: 
Don't tell me who you voted for. I can see it in your eyes. Best leave it unsaid between us and we'll get through the next four years as best we can together. Days like now are why ballots are secret.
Some actors chafe at being so iconically tied, but I think she rode this wave as well as anyone ever has. Why fight the zeitgeist when it's putting food on the table? She was able to live the high life--literally, given some drug addictions--but also helped a lot of others find success through her work behind the scenes as well. She exemplifies--besides the drugs--the power that we have generationally to pass the torch to the next generation. She was handed the torch by her parents, and she passes it on to a new generation of talented actors, all the while showing grace or at least good humor in dealing with her own problems in a world that can't get enough of her character. 

When Disney bought the rights to Star Wars, she said, "I'm a Disney Princess!" But she was wrong. Every Disney Princess in my lifetime was based on her portrayal of Princess Leia. She was not "A Disney Princess," she was all of them, and that's something special that nobody else will ever be. To paraphrase Batman, "As a woman, I'm flesh and blood, I can be ignored, I can be destroyed; but as a symbol... as a symbol I can be incorruptible, I can be everlasting." Carrie Fisher, however it came to be, became that symbol who defines generations of women. Carrie Fisher may be dead, but Princess Leia--General Leia--is immortal, forever carrying on the fight against evil.

So we bid adieu to not just an iconic actress, but an iconic woman: a fearlessly flawed mother, mentor, and friend, and an inspiration to men and women throughout that galaxy and this one. Farewell, Princess, and may the Force be with you.
  • Drinking: Hot Cocoa

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:iconpassionism:
passionism Featured By Owner May 20, 2013  Student Traditional Artist
why anarchist?
Reply
:iconjeditoby:
jeditoby Featured By Owner May 20, 2013
Anarchist? I'm just a straight-A student!

Well, okay, that's not entirely accurate. When I first registered to vote, I claimed I was an anarchist. Anarchy is an ideal, and as I see it, it can be either a utopian ideal or a dystopian one. I'd like to think that left to their own devices, people are good and will take care of themselves and each other without the need for governmental controls. As I've gotten older, I've come to understand that government is a natural outgrowth of the need to work together (and have someone direct that work), so I've mellowed out some since. But I still have a soft spot for utopians. So...a little shout out to my idealist roots.

...Okay, that's not entirely true, either. Mostly, it's 'cause I'm not terribly artistic or photogenic and I don't want to steal someone else's work (lest people here think I'm some awesome auteur). Granted, I did take this picture off the internets, but if needed, I could make a reasonable facsimile in Microsoft Paint.

That's the whole story.

Well...hmm, yes, I think that will do. My Molotov story is for another day (and has nothing to do with any -archy).
Reply
:iconpassionism:
passionism Featured By Owner May 21, 2013  Student Traditional Artist
I don't know almost anything about anarchists but when I spotted your symbol I immediately recognized it. I sometimes see it on the streets and wonder what it truly means.
Thanks for the explanation.
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:iconfrosty-rain:
Frosty-Rain Featured By Owner Apr 1, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Thank you so much for the watch! :iconrainbowbummiecakeplz:
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:iconlittlecrazyneko411:
littlecrazyneko411 Featured By Owner Jan 17, 2013
Thanks for the fav ^^o
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:iconschizmatic:
schizmatic Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2012  Professional General Artist
So sorry to hear about your data. I never knew USB's could just fry like that, and I suspect it might be part of an insidious conspiracy to get us all to upload ourselves into the Singularity. Power to Paper!
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:iconjeditoby:
jeditoby Featured By Owner Dec 24, 2012
Dude. The possibility is technically there, but the likelihood is so remote!
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:iconmindflenzing:
mindflenzing Featured By Owner Nov 21, 2012  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Thanks for the +fav.
Reply
:iconraisegrate:
raisegrate Featured By Owner Nov 7, 2012  Professional Artist
Hey, thanks for the watch! Glad you enjoy all the whatever it is I do. Stay tuned, I'll try and put on an amusing puppet show for you!

:iconpiratepenguinplz:
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:iconjeditoby:
jeditoby Featured By Owner Nov 7, 2012
You've got a lot of impressive work. I stay up on the whiners as often as I can!
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