MildlyAnachronistic

FS

Enter Name.
Your name is FAIRAN SICRAN, and you think that's just fine.

Let's get one thing pegged: You're cool. SO COOL. You are part of a small religious cult whose main principle is BEING COOL, and you are a MASTER OF IT. It's pretty swell. You think a lot of things are pretty swell. It's part of the strict tenets of your beliefs.

Your lusus is significantly less cool. In fact, your only AMAZING PSYCHIC LOW-BLOOD POWER is that you can tell exactly how disappointed in you she is RIGHT NOW. Such a drag. She doesn't approve of your MUSICAL TALENTS (which are, technically speaking, nonexistent) or your WEARING TINTED GLASSES INDOORS, AT NIGHT. In fact, she doesn't even want you bothering her right now. You spend your days wasting the hours with your collection of instruments, all of them out of tune. One day, you are sure you will make the COOLEST SONG OF ALL and everyone will respect you for it!

You only have your right horn, due to an accident involving your lusus and a behemoth last Sweep's Eve. She seemed pretty apologetic, though.

Your trolltag is mildlyAnachronistic and you love being cool, cats and kittens.

What will you do?

Examine Room.
Your room is kind of a TOTAL SHITHOLE with a leaking roof, on account of you're living in an ABANDONED HIVE YOU WANDERED INTO temporarily.

"Your" closet contains a high-quality, tailored outfit for EVERY DAY OF THE PERIGREE. All of them are exactly the same, except for the musclebeast leather jacket and pants you wear on holy days. You have a pile of HAIR-GEL BOTTLES to keep your hair in that amazing slicked-back style nobody can see under your hat, and near that is your ULTIMATE, UNSTOPPABLE BATTLESAXOPHONE. Unfortunately, you do not have a BTLSAXKIND specibus, so you just use it as a regular instrument.

Your ODDLY SHAPED HUSKTOP sits on a desk you found, and you've sort of propped up some kind of a blanket over it, to keep it from getting wet. Your BORROWED RECUPERACOON's previous owner appears to have been a yellow blood, although MOST OF THE SOPOR SLIME is gone. Must have been abandoned for a while! Luckily, you haven't really had as many problems with the nightmares as some other trolls.

Allocate your Strife Specibus.
Too late. You have sbmchngnkind, because that is undeniably the coolest modus around. Fill 'em with so many holes they can't count 'em, cool squid. You try not to use it too much, though- getting all hot around the collar looks real lame.

You have a pile of rifles under your bed, gifts your lusus found. She just doesn't understand. Ugh.

Do something awesome.
EVERYTHING you do is awesome. You're gonna have to be a little more specific than that, fella.

Sorry, I meant do something incredibly stupid.
NOTHING you do is incredibly stupid. You're a real lug, ain't ya? Here, maybe this'll help you out some.

You play a blistering SAXOPHONE SOLO. It is the worst thing ever perpetuated on the ears of trollkind. You can hear your lusus getting angry over it after only a few seconds.

BY THE SUMMIT, BADGERMOM. YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND THESE SOULFUL SONGS. YOU'RE TOO OLD TO KNOW THE PAIN THAT OLD BLUE-BLOOD WROTE THIS ABOUT. ALSO TOO MUCH OF A BADGER.

Ponder situation.
You used to live in a fairly well-populated communal hivestem, but they kicked you out when you started creeping them out with your weird habits and terrible music. Whoops? For a while, you lived in some kooky cult lawnring with other believers, but they kind of got sick of the music too. You were given a HOLY CRUSADE by the community: to go forth and bring the word of THE SUMMIT to more common lawnrings.

You're cool with that, and you're confident all the other trolls will be too. When you're done with them.