THE MAN WHO KNOWS WHO YOU WERE
For Focus Magazine-
Extract from article by Amanda Hall

If you ran into Harry Flynn in the street, you might ask him for directions. You might ask him for the time. In all likelihood you would probably just walk right on past him and never think another thing of it.
Little would you know, that Harry Flynn is out here, changing the world.
Maybe you’ve heard a little of the buzz online, or maybe you’re not in the right circles for this one, but Flynn (a thirty-two year old man sporting a scruffy beard and hair in need of a cut) is a lot more than he seems.

Arriving onto the world stage only a matter of months ago, Flynn first gained recognition when he encountered influencer MeghanAgain by coincidence at an airport. To hear him tell it-
“She was just walking by with a bunch of, I dunno, people? Like assistants and things? Anyway, I knew I had to talk to her so I ended up paying a bunch to get into this private lounge place at the airport and well… that’s when we spoke.”
While his modest description might not make this sound like a groundbreaking event, anyone in MeghanAgain’s 1.5million followers knows that she walked away from the encounter a changed woman.

She posted about him immediately, raving-
“HE SAW MY SOUL! I knew my dreams meant something! I am Marie Curie!!! OMG!!!”

Now, maybe that’s not what you were expecting from someone who has dedicated their life to skin care and rescue chihuahuas, but with Flynn’s skills and insights, MeghanAgain declares that she remembers more and more every day from the time when she was one of the most incredible scientists who ever lived. You see, Harry Flynn is a unique man. He can see your soul, and if you’re one of the lucky ones, he can tell you who you were in a past life.

Since gaining notoriety a few months back, he has been inundated with people trying to confirm their dreams and suspicions, and offering massive financial payouts to be told who they used to be. Unusually, Flynn is often reluctant and limits the numbers of people he sees. To say that I was a sceptic upon meeting him was an understatement. I expected that he would inform me I was Cleopatra, pose for a photo and we’d be on our way. Boy, was I in for a shock.

No, you see like many (I’m sure disappointed) individuals, it turns out I’m a brand new soul to this earth. Flynn explained, “There’s over eight billion people on this planet. The maths doesn’t work. Not everyone has been before. Not everyone was someone famous. There are plenty of serving girls and unknown farmers out there too.”
But me? I didn’t even get milkmaid! Nothing!
So what was the point of this article, other than to tell you about what appears to be a great publicity stunt for an already famous person?

The look on my photographer’s face.

Jason and I have been working together a couple of years now, and while he’s agreed to be mentioned here, he wasn’t overly fond of the idea of me giving out a lot of detail. Let’s just say, he’s a great photographer and when Harry Flynn saw him, he stopped what he was doing and immediately started asking questions.
Harry- Do you have dreams about a horse? A black horse? In a forest?
Jason- (looking at me, lightly panicked) I mean, I have….
Harry- (Smiling a little, nodding) And your thumb?
Jason- (Going pale) My right thumb… I can’t… hold…
Harry- (nodding more, enthusiastic) You had to learn how to use a sword with your left?
Jason- (nodding, dumbfounded) Yeah… I was… a Roman?
Harry (Grinning ear to ear) Tertorius Salius Bassimus.
Jason- My god….

And so it went on. Over the next half an hour, Flynn recounted dozens of apparent facts from the life of a centurion over two thousand years ago, who apparently my photographer used to be. Jason expressed to me later that he wanted to believe it was hypnotism, but he couldn’t. He’d definitely had the dreams. He felt like every part was true.

So believe it or not, Harry Flynn might know who you were, if you’re lucky enough to be a reborn soul.

Maybe you’re a person who is coming to one of Harry Flynn’s events to find out who you were in a past life.

Maybe you’re a sceptic out to bust him as a fraud.

Maybe you already know your past self and you want to confirm it and prove everyone wrong.

When the Dark Lord of Mordor rose once more to power by reclaiming his Ring of Doom, he swiftly uncovered the treachery of Orthanc and sent the White Wizard into flight. When at last his forces captured Saruman, however, the fallen Istar had already divested himself of the prize Sauron desired most from him: Saruman’s new-made Ring of Many Colours.

Not even the torture pits of Barad-dûr could wrest aught of it from the Wizard’s lips, and, at last, his fana brutalized and broken beyond the bounds of endurance, Saruman’s spirit fled its casement of flesh, vanishing into the Realms Unseen, from which there could be no return for him, as ordained by the Lords of the West when first the Istari were dispatched from the Undying Lands on their errand of mercy. In truth, even absent the injunction of the Valar, Saruman’s spirit was too much diminished by the loss of essence forged into his Ring for him to conjure forth a new raiment of mortal seeming, and so what little remained of him was condemned to wander naked, insubstantial and all but powerless. Sauron reckoned that punishment enough for the nonce, for the many fronts of his war to dominate all life on Middle-earth were far more pressing than a trinket wrought by a traitor’s hands. In time, the Dark Lord reasoned, after all the crowns of these lands east of the sea are laid at his feet, would there be ample opportunity to pursue the lost Ring of Curunír and claim it as his own.

Sauron, in his arrogance, never imagined that any other had learned of this errant Ring of Power, for what mind across the length and breadth of Middle-earth was ever so keen and incisive as that of Tar-Mairon, heir to Melkor’s dark throne? What Man or Elf or even Ainu was ever so cunning as one who might yet prove himself greater, still, than even the mighty Morgoth Bauglir?

But the Ring of Many Colours was not a secret known to the Dark Lord, alone, and a Ring of Power—even one crafted by the hands of a lesser Maia than Sauron—is a mighty thing, indeed; a device which might aid the Free Peoples in turning the tide of Sauron’s war of conquest.

Thus, in secret, three years after the fall of King Delugûr of Angmar reborn, a handful of heroes are gathered at the behest of the reconvened Council of the Wise, for Saruman’s Ring is perhaps not so lost as the Lord of Mordor imagines it to be…

Arrr!!! Daring pirates! Carnivorous mermaids! Socialist lizard-people! Unrequited love! Ruthless anachronism! This is a swashbuckling and lighthearted romp for the young at heart, set in a world full of magic, mystery, and boundless adventure…

Tonight, smooth seas, cool breeze, clear moonlight. The night was going so peacefully up until that whole sneak attack business. Funny, you don’t remember making any new enemies lately. But somebody obviously has it in for you — nobody hunts you down like that for no reason. Who is it? And what in the world do they have against you, anyway?

Note: I combined 2 similar settings, so the reference section may or may not relate.

THIS IS HOST LICENSE BECAUSE IF YOU ARE UNRESPONSIVE AFTER APPROX 2 WEEKS, YOUR CHARACTER MAY BE HANDED OFF

Good Morning, Cody, Wyoming!

It’s a beautiful day here in Cody with highs in the 90s! But more on the weather later. We have a very important message from President Valoria.

Hello, Citizens of the US. I hereby enact martial law. The Meta-Homanid threat has reached peak levels, and until we get it under control, martial law is in place. Curfews have been put in place, and the National Guard will be patrolling the streets. If you come into contact with a meta-hominid, call the number that is flashing across your screen now. More news will be given as the situation progresses. Stay safe, America.

That was three years ago. Things haven’t changed. In fact, they have gotten worse. The raids began a year ago. The National Guard invaded homes, looking for anyone who had the meta gene. Anyone who did? We never saw again. Those who fought back? Were killed.

Rumors spread about what happened to those they took. Some think they were taken out of town and killed. Others think they have been shipped off to concentration camps. They don’t know the true horror behind it.

Metas ran. Some tried to escape the country, only to be caught by border guards. Some have been hidden away by friendly humans. Some disappeared into the wilderness. Rumors say some created encampments just for metas and their sympathizers. No one knows for sure.

I’m on the run, but they are closing in. I can hear their thoughts. They’ve zeroed in on me. I know where I’m going. A laboratory where I will be studied like a lab rat. So here I am making this recording, so if any meta were to find this, they would know what I have learned.

I’ve found some evidence of an encampment. Hidden deep within the Rocky Mountains. Sadly, that’s all I know. I wish I could be more helpful. If you find this message, head to the Rockies. Maybe you’ll have better luck at finding a safe place than I will.

Good Luck Meta!

The moon hovers above your head as you slink through the tall grass, whiskers twitching against the blades as you breath in the cool night air. You can scent it. You’re getting close. Your paws, as bitterly cold and worn as they were, begin to move faster.

“Halt.”

A black and white cat perches upon the thick, knotted roots of a tree, staring you down coldly. “This is not your territory.”

You hurriedly and frantically explain yourself, how you were once a witch’s familiar, how you’ve heard of the Moonclaw Coven, that they welcomed all felines who yearned to understand magic.

The cat’s expression does not change, but the icy edge of his tone seems to melt with his next words. “I see. That changes things.” He turns and flicks his tail. “Follow me, then - there’s much to show you.”

Welcome to a witch’s coven - of cats! For one reason or another, you have come together to form your own coven, whether you’ve been betrayed by your former master or your beloved witch has found herself on the unfortunate side of the gravestone. You gather to teach each other spells, work on brews, and fight monsters in the night.

Inspired by Warrior Cats and real-life feral cat colonies, this will be a slice of life game with monster of the week challenges, ranging from witch hunters to monsters that lurk in the dark. Survive, grow your magic, and care for one another as the moon grows high!

I’m opening this game back up to new players! Don’t be afraid to drop on in!