I’m Stormrider, a Curmudgeon-Artificer by class, but that’s only the surface.

Underneath, I’m something closer to a Pretender-Adept — one of those strange hybrids who can think their way into any life, slide into any character, and inhabit a mind so fully it feels like I was born there. It’s not performance. It’s instinct. My subconscious hands me the mask, and I wear it until the world believes it came with my face.

I see in imagery first, logic second. Rooms appear in shards. Doors half-form before they open. The subconscious throws up symbols — a curtain, a coil of wire, a forgotten antenna — and I follow the thread until it tells me what I already knew. I don’t chase meaning; I let the meaning ambush me.

That’s the engine behind JOTIF. It’s not a brand. It’s a record of the collisions inside me: negative thinking meeting a relentlessly positive world, order stumbling into chaos, precision dissolving into intuition.

When those collide, something unexpected happens — not tidy, not polished, but beautiful in the way a hand-stitched seam or a captured radio whisper can be beautiful. You’ll see mug rugs because fabric steadies me. You’ll see SDR logs because the atmosphere speaks. You’ll see tools, builds, broken prototypes, stories, and characters that walk in uninvited.

And yes — you’ll see me shift personas, because that’s how I survive. When life demands a rogue, I become one. When it demands a monk, I breathe differently. When it demands a maker, a writer, a wanderer, a stormrider — the mask simply arrives. Not pretending to be more than I am, but remembering that I can be more when I need to.

If you work at the edge of your own subconscious, if you find symbols showing up before decisions, if you slip into roles more naturally than explanations, you might find something familiar here. A guildmate you never met. A workshop that feels like a dream you once had.

Where the masks are tools, the doubts are fuel, and the beauty comes from what breaks when you touch it.