Richard E. Moore

There are many stories regarding the mysterious origins of this unique specimen. While it can be difficult to separate fact from fiction, actual memory from willful re-imagining, some of the tales are too recurrent to assume that there isn't at least a grain of truth at their core. Collected here is a synopsis of the most prolific of these.

Some say that Richard E. Moore was born on the breath of angels, while another camp argues that he was lowered into our version of reality fully whole, a strapping young man of thirteen years. An equally vociferous camp argues that he was born on the breath of angels, but that the angels had stayed up all too late the previous night, drinking and carrying on, and their breath was none too sweet. Bets were made, bottles were passed, and eventually enough bets were lost that one of them had to wake early and deposit the man into the world, a task made difficult by the pounding of the angel's addled skull.

Suffice it to say, the earliest record of Richard E. Moore concerns his appearance on the treacherous slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro (although not /that/ Kilimanjaro). There he was raised by a pack of rabid monks, and taught the fine art of songwriting and home-brewing by a certain Sai Cloudrider. After taking his mentor's life as part of his coming of age ceremony, Richard moved first to Oregon, then to Hawaii, then back to Oregon and finally to Phoenix, Arizona, where he currently curses the sun and the sweat pouring down his lithe, well-formed body (he never quite got used to the heat, and his sinewy muscles still glisten with the chiseling of his training on Mount Kilimanjaro (although not /that/ Kilimanjaro).

Richard can often be found painting, playing music, or writing one of his never-quite-finished novels (which are quite good). When not engaged in bringing the songs of the heavens to rest ever so gently upon this sometimes undeserving reality, he can be found spending time camping, hiking, and generally carousing with his wonderful son (the Graydon Gooding of lore that you no doubt studied in primary school).

Richard's turn-ons include science fiction, bald girls who wear glasses, micro- or craft-brewed beer, and the color forsythe (which, distressingly, cannot be seen through human eyes).

Richard has killed a man to watch him die, is known as "The Destroyer" to the terrible Uquito tribe of the planet Kamperon, and is a master of the Telusian joke form... which, sadly, is not funny in any human tongue.