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Bonifice the Acolyte

I'm just an ordinary peasant, I was born in a backwater and raised by parents who did little but till the poor soil. I don't have much in the way of skills or abilities, but I have great dreams of rising above my humble station and changing the world. All I have in my possession is the clothes on my back, my pet pig Henry, an oaken staff and a rotting turnip. Look out world, here I come.

Acolyte Bonifice

Advisor Description

Jill the Wench and I used to live across the croft from each other. Every day we would meet to walk to town to buy bread. We've known each other since childhood. However, as we got older our paths separated. I became a farmer and she became a wench. As the years went on we drifted apart. While there was never a romantic bond,there was a deep platonic bond between us. It is my greatest pain that Jill the Winch talks to me only rarely. Today I walk the road, alone except for my pig Henry, off to the market to sell my turnips and come home with only a few coppers. Every day I pass by the wenchery, seeing Jill the Wench working at wenching.

Bonifice the Acolyte Post Play & MMORPG RPG Text

No one shall lay low Bonifice the Acolyte. I, Bonifice, have died but am alive again! Mine defeats hath doomed me for the 1st time all because of my fascinated past in this world of the middle ages. I need to changeth mine object in mind.

Acolyte Bonifice

Bonifice the Acolyte Lives!. Be it known to all that Bonifice the Acolyte hath returned in the 2nd resurrection.

Acolyte Bonifice

T'was the first time I encountered a Woodsman. I live to tell about it because I won that battle.

Bonifice the Acolyte

Bonifice the Acolyte Lives!. Mine calling is to be Ruler of Kings and yet I have suffered sins for the 3rd time much to mine dumbfounded. I am not in a mythology yet I have become it.

Bonifice Acolyte

Bonifice the Acolyte is raised. I, Bonifice, liveth for the 4th version of mine surprised self. Change the duty and I shall changeth the outcome.

Bonifice Acolyte Text RPG MMORPG & Play Post

Reflections On Your Mother

My mother, what do you want to know about my mother? My mother used to beat me with a shovel if I got out of line. It wasn't so bad unless she hit me in the head. I'd often spend my days hiding in a vat of half-filled malmsey. Eventually the old crone tired of beating me and lay down on a large pile of dirty socks and went to her reward. We buried her beneath the sheepscroft. Her claw like hand still clutching her shovel.