RE: Mini-Grand Organization: The Return
08-07-2026, 10:03 AM
(This post was last modified: 08-07-2026, 10:05 AM by AgentBlue.)
Username: Agen
Name: Ravi "Red" Reeves THE GREAT NOSTALGIO
Gender: Manshaped
Race: Homo sapiens c.21X7CE
Colour: His name is Red.
Biography: Humanity doesn't, for the most part, change a great deal as a century goes by. It's said that genetic drift doesn't work on that kind of scale, even with the advent of technologies like resequencing and phenotypical hybridization. The core drives that push the human mind to accept that which appears the same and reject that which looks different hasn't yet been baked out of the mealy dough and bacterial culture that is the human psyche. It's really no wonder, then, that we come to focus on the things that do change in a lifetime: means, meals, matter, and memes.
In the future, we hold the past in strange esteem. We fear the seeming depravity of the world without that to which we've become accustomed; and we mourn the loss of all the things to which we could not hold. Humanity is not so different in the 22nd century that we've grown beyond such things. Enter Red, stage left: performer, storyteller - lorekeeper. It's his function. He can't not. They removed half his brain for this, cramming the space with high-density memory and leaving the rest a schizoid mess. Even he's not sure what year it is - but he can tell you everything he does know, perfectly. He can't not. It's his function. They removed half his brain for this, and he's not sure which half is still him.
Did I mention we stopped writing things down? Records simply get scarcer and scarcer as we approach 2050, and nearly everything left is slop-contaminated beyond recovery. It's almost as if we lost hope and resigned ourselves to being unmoored in time and memory. After the Fangfall - the last event we can really be sure happened - lorekeepers became vital for the continuation of society, insofar as a collection of dead-eyed echoborgs humping each other can be considered society.
Description: THE GREAT NOSTALGIO is a fount of wisdom, a link to the past, and deeply, fundamentally disturbed. The ritual garb of his station is his Interface: a glittering crown of thorns embeds bioptic probes past dura and pia into the gray neural flesh below, a bloodied tinsel tangle that twists light in painful ways and enmeshes optoelectronics, wetware, and quiet screaming into a syncretic, efficient whole. It's hard not to look at, but if you tear your gaze away, you see Red's sad, brown eyes, deep-set, sunken, skin taut over his skull as if there hadn't been enough left over after the surgery to give him a full range of facial motion. Which is exactly the case. You can address one or the other, and they will respond in kind, but THE GREAT NOSTALGIO communicates in aphorisms and references (b. Acculte, 20X3), and Red... Red mostly screams. He wants his mother. He doesn't remember her. He's not sure she ever existed. Reasons and realities and reversed ranges of Red Red Red RED RED RED
Garb? Crimson, of course. The shade blood turns in pale sunrise over a smog-streaked, hazy sky. A cloak with many pockets, tattered at the bottom, draped over bony shoulderblades wide enough to jam in a narrow door. Underneath the cloak, an emaciated chest nearly seems as if it has no more flesh to spare, stretched over bones that look as brittle as glass. Below, grimy legs, muscled by way of endless walking, protrude from below the tightly-hemmed edges of a golden-trimmed tunic, dyed deep black. It would be impressive to a certain sort of society, but none of it makes sense. The cloak pockets are empty (all his treasure lives in his mind). The tunic does nothing to protect his limbs from a nearly infinite array of scratches and scars (the body is just a vessel). You get the idea. Red is an oracle, but he only tells the past.
Items/Abilities: When humanity lost its grip on memory and time, decolonizing the world of linear experience and history... it may be tempting to say that they did so at the apex of a technological era and that everything since has been a steady spiral downwards. This is a comfortable lie, and Red has no truck with lies. The fact was - perhaps one of the last facts there ever was - humanity came to understand the mind, and the overmind, and the noosphere, and decided certain things simply weren't important anymore. THE GREAT NOSTALGIO is an avatar and a microcosm of the society that made it (b. Ollier, 20X1). Red is everything that couldn't be stripped away. As such, words are his weapons and worlds are his to speak and when he speaks they burrow into your mind and you see and it comes and time is in his hands and hands are in your mind and he sees and you rise and the
Name: Ravi "Red" Reeves THE GREAT NOSTALGIO
Gender: Manshaped
Race: Homo sapiens c.21X7CE
Colour: His name is Red.
Biography: Humanity doesn't, for the most part, change a great deal as a century goes by. It's said that genetic drift doesn't work on that kind of scale, even with the advent of technologies like resequencing and phenotypical hybridization. The core drives that push the human mind to accept that which appears the same and reject that which looks different hasn't yet been baked out of the mealy dough and bacterial culture that is the human psyche. It's really no wonder, then, that we come to focus on the things that do change in a lifetime: means, meals, matter, and memes.
In the future, we hold the past in strange esteem. We fear the seeming depravity of the world without that to which we've become accustomed; and we mourn the loss of all the things to which we could not hold. Humanity is not so different in the 22nd century that we've grown beyond such things. Enter Red, stage left: performer, storyteller - lorekeeper. It's his function. He can't not. They removed half his brain for this, cramming the space with high-density memory and leaving the rest a schizoid mess. Even he's not sure what year it is - but he can tell you everything he does know, perfectly. He can't not. It's his function. They removed half his brain for this, and he's not sure which half is still him.
Did I mention we stopped writing things down? Records simply get scarcer and scarcer as we approach 2050, and nearly everything left is slop-contaminated beyond recovery. It's almost as if we lost hope and resigned ourselves to being unmoored in time and memory. After the Fangfall - the last event we can really be sure happened - lorekeepers became vital for the continuation of society, insofar as a collection of dead-eyed echoborgs humping each other can be considered society.
Description: THE GREAT NOSTALGIO is a fount of wisdom, a link to the past, and deeply, fundamentally disturbed. The ritual garb of his station is his Interface: a glittering crown of thorns embeds bioptic probes past dura and pia into the gray neural flesh below, a bloodied tinsel tangle that twists light in painful ways and enmeshes optoelectronics, wetware, and quiet screaming into a syncretic, efficient whole. It's hard not to look at, but if you tear your gaze away, you see Red's sad, brown eyes, deep-set, sunken, skin taut over his skull as if there hadn't been enough left over after the surgery to give him a full range of facial motion. Which is exactly the case. You can address one or the other, and they will respond in kind, but THE GREAT NOSTALGIO communicates in aphorisms and references (b. Acculte, 20X3), and Red... Red mostly screams. He wants his mother. He doesn't remember her. He's not sure she ever existed. Reasons and realities and reversed ranges of Red Red Red RED RED RED
Garb? Crimson, of course. The shade blood turns in pale sunrise over a smog-streaked, hazy sky. A cloak with many pockets, tattered at the bottom, draped over bony shoulderblades wide enough to jam in a narrow door. Underneath the cloak, an emaciated chest nearly seems as if it has no more flesh to spare, stretched over bones that look as brittle as glass. Below, grimy legs, muscled by way of endless walking, protrude from below the tightly-hemmed edges of a golden-trimmed tunic, dyed deep black. It would be impressive to a certain sort of society, but none of it makes sense. The cloak pockets are empty (all his treasure lives in his mind). The tunic does nothing to protect his limbs from a nearly infinite array of scratches and scars (the body is just a vessel). You get the idea. Red is an oracle, but he only tells the past.
Items/Abilities: When humanity lost its grip on memory and time, decolonizing the world of linear experience and history... it may be tempting to say that they did so at the apex of a technological era and that everything since has been a steady spiral downwards. This is a comfortable lie, and Red has no truck with lies. The fact was - perhaps one of the last facts there ever was - humanity came to understand the mind, and the overmind, and the noosphere, and decided certain things simply weren't important anymore. THE GREAT NOSTALGIO is an avatar and a microcosm of the society that made it (b. Ollier, 20X1). Red is everything that couldn't be stripped away. As such, words are his weapons and worlds are his to speak and when he speaks they burrow into your mind and you see and it comes and time is in his hands and hands are in your mind and he sees and you rise and the
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So very British / But then again | People are machines Machines are people | Oh hai there | There's no time
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Superhero 1920s noir | Multigenre Half-Life | Changing the future | Command line interface
Tu ventire felix? | Clockwork for eternity | Explosions in spacetime