Dwarf Tank Jedi Mystic Adept with a habit for Recreational Mind Expansion
Growing up a Dwarf, I identified early with fantasy genre Dwarves, and in particular Muradin from WoW. That’s where I got my name, and my toughness. I was interested in other sci fi from the turn of the century as well, such as Star Wars, and thought Jedi were cool ever since before I realized that I was also awakened. Then, on discovering how to manipulate mana, I chose to believe that the Force was simply George Lucas’ accounting of magic and that Lucas was in fact a practicing shaman long before any one else figured it out.
I unfortunately did not have any use for trying to fit in with society, and found myself on the streets in my teens. I sought comfort in knowledge of the the Force, to be one with the Force. I had the will to fight, and my powers grew. I had a talent for survival. My use of magic was once an exhilaration but as the days passed, it also caused my emotions to grow more distant.
Existence in the present day is tenuous. I often wonder if I’m nearer to the end than to the beginning, and what is the sum total of my life? Perhaps a long rehearsal for nothing. I used to feel all kinds of emotions whirling inside me when I fought . . . fear, panic, anger. I once believed that the more times you decide the life or death of another sentient, the stronger your genes become. Tension, joy . . . but not able crawl back to those times.
The drugs help. Uppers, downers, drain. Any one or all three. Each time I think, ‘this is it." But then I come back down and decide the thing I need to make me whole is just another job and some dim sum. My habits aren’t self-destruction, they’re a form of optimism really. What I seek is something to jolt me hard enough to cause me to snap out of it. What will it be? Is it a whisper, a crash, or a deep internal pain? Paradoxically, along the way I’ve perfected the art of survivability. And so nothing seems to break me, no matter how hard I try. . .