Posts from Test: what will you be selling after death? Auto-translated

From now on, and forevermore, you are a seller of solitude.

Yes, there is such an unusual seller in our world. He appears unexpectedly from the crowd, his eyes seem bottomless and pierce you through and through. He leads customers aside, unexpectedly presses them with strong, thin, pale hands against the wall, and quietly asks if they want solitude. Sellers of solitude choose their own customers; they can never be summoned by force. You place the customer on a high stool and make him sing, dance, or recite a poem. If you don't like it, you silently make the stool disappear, and when the stunned, fallen person gets up from the floor, you are already gone. Unlike other sellers, you don't need to collect your product; solitude for eternity is contained in your gaze. People who look intently into your pupils feel as if they are descending a spiral staircase into a dark basement. Then, an unexpected flash of light, they lose consciousness, and then they receive what they have been waiting for so long. Customers can control their solitude, meaning they don't necessarily have to be alone all the time. But sometimes at night, they wake up from dreams of your eyes, and then they look around in confusion and fear, but no one can come to their aid. It is said that you come to your customers instead of death and drink their soul through their eyes, after which they turn into silvery ash. No one knows what you dream about, and you are so mysterious that just your approach causes fog to swirl in the street.

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It's time to create ONE section for all the tests!

From now on, and forevermore, you are a time merchant.

You are a prominent figure in the world of magical merchants, and even the merchant of omnipotence respectfully tips his hat when he meets you. You are never in a hurry, because you know that you will always arrive on time. Your clients are people who lack time, people who would love to use it for their own purposes. You appear before them from a large, gray, two-story bus, take a Breguet watch out of your pocket, and thoughtfully examine it, contemplating whether or not to sell anything to this person. Even after you decide to make him your client, you subject the person to a test, asking him three questions to which he must answer honestly. What these questions are is known only to the time merchant and his buyer. In exchange for your services, you make your client keep a diary until the very end of his life, and after that, you take it, carefully read it, number it, and put it in a cabinet behind glass doors. You can collect your goods anywhere – in traffic jams, in universities, in private apartments, and right on the street. All the time you collect is recorded on an endless scroll of parchment, from which you tear off pieces for your buyers. The client applies a piece of worn leather to his solar plexus, and then the time dissolves in him, leaving a small scar on his chest. Sometimes, people deliberately seek out the time merchant, but you never come to them. Sometimes, you get too tired of collecting time alone, and then you take on an assistant, but they all mysteriously disappear after a couple of years. It is said that they simply dissolve into time, turning into that light mist that settles on people's faces and suddenly makes them remember moments of their lives that they had long forgotten. You yourself want only one thing – that someday you will be replaced by a successor, and you will finally be able to break free into the city and have fun. It is said that you sometimes appear before people who are about to die and quietly slip something into their almost cold fist, after which they revive and live long and happily.

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P.S. After retaking the test, I got the answer: Merchant of Fate...

From now on, and forevermore, you are a seller of solitude.

Yes, there is such an unusual seller in our world. He appears unexpectedly from the crowd, his eyes seem bottomless and pierce you through and through. He leads customers aside, unexpectedly presses them with strong, thin, pale hands against the wall, and quietly asks if they want solitude. Sellers of solitude choose their own customers; they can never be summoned by force. You place the customer on a high stool and make him sing, dance, or recite a poem. If you don't like it, you silently make the stool disappear, and when the stunned, fallen person gets up from the floor, you are already gone. Unlike other sellers, you don't need to collect your product; solitude for eternity is contained in your gaze. People who look intently into your pupils feel as if they are descending a spiral staircase into a dark basement. Then, an unexpected flash of light, they lose consciousness, and then they receive what they have been waiting for so long. Customers can control their solitude, meaning they don't necessarily have to be alone all the time. But sometimes at night, they wake up from dreams of your eyes, and then they look around in confusion and fear, but no one can come to their aid. It is said that you come to your customers instead of death and drink their soul through their eyes, after which they turn into silvery ash. No one knows what you dream about, and you are so mysterious that just your approach causes fog to swirl in the street.

Take the test

From now on, and forevermore, you are a fate merchant.

You are the most capricious and self-satisfied of all magical merchants. With a mere flick of your wrist, everything around you changes. Your clients usually pray daily for you to deign to visit them. And when that finally happens, you appear before them in a silver carriage drawn by a team of golden unicorns, leisurely stepping out of it, adorned in a purple robe, and condescendingly looking at the customer through a monocle. For your services, you demand the customer's best memory as a temporary offering. Not everyone is willing to pay such a price, but if they do decide to, you take the memory, encapsulated in a soap bubble, and examine it in the light. If it shimmers with gold, silver, or red, you impale it on a unicorn's horn, where it gradually dissolves. If it has a different hue, you mercilessly pop it right in front of the client. Your product – fate – is applied to the client's forearm in the form of a tattoo: an image of a beast, a symbol, and a magical word in an ancient language. The ink for the tattoo is taken from the gallbladder of the ancient fish Phuum, which lies at the bottom of the world ocean, outside of time and fate. Once the tattoo is applied, there is no turning back; no one can change it except the fate merchant himself – he only needs to blow on it, and it will vanish. But very few have been granted such an honor. It is also unknown in advance what new fate awaits you, so only very risky or very desperate people would summon a merchant like you. As for you, you dream of a family, a cozy blanket on a rocking chair, and an unlimited supply of cherry jam.

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From now on, and forevermore, you are a fate merchant. You are the most capricious and self-satisfied of all magical merchants. With a mere flick of your wrist, everything around you changes. Your clients usually pray daily for you to deign to visit them. And when that finally happens, you appear before them in a silver carriage drawn by three golden unicorns, leisurely stepping out of it, clad in a purple robe, and condescendingly looking at the customer through a monocle. For your services, you demand the customer's best memory for your use. Not everyone agrees to pay such a price, but if they do, you take a soap bubble containing the memory and hold it up to the light. If it shimmers with gold, silver, or red, you impale it on a unicorn's horn, where it gradually dissolves. If it has a different hue, you mercilessly pop it right in front of the client. Your product – fate – is applied to the client's forearm in the form of a tattoo: an image of a beast, a symbol, and a magical word in an ancient language. The ink for the tattoo is taken from the gallbladder of the ancient fish Phuum, which lies at the bottom of the world ocean, outside of time and fate. After the tattoo is applied, there is no turning back; no one can change it except the fate merchant himself – he only needs to blow on it, and it will vanish. But very few have been granted such an honor. It is also unknown in advance what new fate awaits you, so only very risky or very desperate people can summon such a merchant as you. You, however, dream of a family, a cozy blanket on a rocking chair, and an unlimited supply of cherry jam. And I thought I would be a shoe salesman!!! :D Like Genna Bukin. :smile52:

From now on, and forevermore, you are a fate merchant.

You are the most capricious and self-satisfied of all magical merchants. With a mere flick of your wrist, everything around you changes. Your clients, as a rule, pray daily for you to deign to visit them. And when that finally happens, you appear before them in a silver carriage drawn by a team of golden unicorns, leisurely stepping out of it, clad in a purple robe, and condescendingly looking at the customer through a monocle. For your services, you demand the customer's best memory as payment, for your exclusive use. Not everyone agrees to pay such a price, but if they do, you take the memory, encapsulated in a soap bubble, and examine it in the light. If it shimmers with gold, silver, or red, you impale it on a unicorn's horn, where it gradually dissolves. If it has a different hue, you mercilessly pop it right in front of the client. Your product – fate – is applied to the client's forearm in the form of a tattoo: an image of a beast, a symbol, and a magical word in an ancient language. The ink for the tattoo is taken from the gallbladder of the ancient fish Phuum, which lies at the bottom of the world ocean, outside of time and fate. Once the tattoo is applied, there is no turning back; no one can change it except the fate merchant himself – he only needs to blow on it, and it will vanish. But very few have been granted such an honor. It is also unknown in advance what new fate awaits you, so only very reckless or very desperate people would summon such a merchant as you. You, however, dream of a family, a cozy blanket on a rocking chair, and an unlimited supply of cherry jam.

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Well, trading in fate is so interesting...

From now on, and forevermore, you are a purveyor of omnipotence.

It sounds grand, doesn't it? But it's just words. You truly can do anything, but… before your clients, you appear as an ordinary person – in faded jeans and a crumpled t-shirt. You put your arm around their shoulders in a friendly manner and say, "Hey, buddy, want to become omnipotent?" If a person agrees immediately, you vanish like a mirage, but if they hesitate, you can very well grant them omnipotence. But for this, you take a terrible price – half of their heart, which you replace with an emerald, and, in addition, you give the newly-minted deity an hourglass. As long as the sand flows, their ability remains with them, but when it runs out, the person disappears, simply vanishes without any possibility of reincarnation, ending up in hell or heaven. You are so omnipotent that you don't even need to lift a finger to do what you want; it's enough just to think about it. But instead, you live the life of an ordinary person, barely making ends meet, watching TV, and running around to sales looking for comfortable sneakers. Your biggest problem, which none of the other purveyors face, is boredom, which there is no cure for. But, unfortunately, you are immortal, so you endure.

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From now on, and forevermore, you are a wind merchant.

You are the most whimsical magical merchant, appearing to passionate and searching souls. You fly to your clients on your own snow-white wings, gusts of wind tousle your hair, and an unquenchable fire of freedom and defiance burns in your eyes. No one dares to stand in your way. You find your own customers, just as eccentric as you are. To some, you grant a gentle breeze, lightly caressing their face; to others, a warm southern wind, softly carrying them on its gusts; and to others, a raging hurricane, sweeping everything in its path. Each of your customers grows wings, on which they can soar with the wind at their back; all the wings are different, from transparent dragonfly wings to enormous, spiky dragon wings. Your customers, as a rule, abandon everything and fly headlong into the unknown. In return, you take their memories, not all of them, but only some parts, and pour them into a huge crystal vial, which, when it is full, you throw into the very heart of the ocean and then go to order a new one. Many of your clients crash against the rocks very soon, and many disappear in an unknown direction, and only the wind sometimes carries their ecstatic cries. As for you, you don't dream of anything; you already have everything you need: wings, wind, and freedom.

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I would be a strange person if I combined all the results of my tests... :D

From now on, and forevermore, you are a purveyor of omnipotence.

It sounds grand, doesn't it? But it's just words. You truly can do anything, but… before your clients, you appear as an ordinary person – in faded jeans and a crumpled t-shirt. You put your arm around their shoulders in a friendly manner and say: "Hey, buddy, want to become omnipotent?" If the person immediately agrees, you vanish like a mirage, but if they hesitate, you can very well grant them omnipotence. But for this, you take a terrible price – half of their heart, which you replace with an emerald, and in addition, you give the newly-minted deity an hourglass. As long as the sand flows, their ability remains with them, but when it runs out, the person disappears, simply disappears without any possibility of reincarnation, going to hell, or heaven. You are so omnipotent that you don't even need to lift a finger to do what you want; you just need to think about it. But instead, you live the life of an ordinary person, barely making ends meet, watching TV, and running around to sales looking for comfortable sneakers. Your biggest problem, which none of the other purveyors face, is boredom, which there is no cure for. But, unfortunately, you are immortal, so you endure.

Take the test

From now on, and forevermore, you are a fate merchant.

You are the most capricious and self-satisfied of all magical merchants. With a mere flick of your wrist, everything around you changes. Your clients usually pray daily for you to deign to visit them. And when that finally happens, you appear before them in a silver carriage drawn by a team of golden unicorns, leisurely stepping out of it, adorned in a purple robe, and condescendingly looking at the customer through a monocle. For your services, you demand the customer's best memory as a temporary offering. Not everyone is willing to pay such a price, but if they do decide to, you take the memory, encapsulated in a soap bubble, and examine it in the light. If it shimmers with gold, silver, or red, you impale it on a unicorn's horn, where it gradually dissolves. If it has a different hue, you mercilessly pop it right in front of the client. Your product – fate – is applied to the client's forearm in the form of a tattoo: an image of a beast, a symbol, and a magical word in an ancient language. The ink for the tattoo is taken from the gallbladder of the ancient fish Phuum, which lies at the bottom of the world ocean, outside of time and fate. Once the tattoo is applied, there is no turning back; no one can change it except the fate merchant himself – he only needs to blow on it, and it will vanish. But very few have been granted such an honor. It is also unknown in advance what new fate awaits you, so only very risky or very desperate people would summon a merchant like you. As for you, you dream of a family, a cozy blanket on a rocking chair, and an unlimited supply of cherry jam.

Take the test

From now on, and forevermore, you are a fate merchant.

You are the most capricious and self-satisfied of all magical merchants. With a mere flick of your wrist, everything around you changes. Your clients usually pray daily for you to deign to visit them. And when that finally happens, you appear before them in a silver carriage drawn by a team of golden unicorns, leisurely stepping out of it, adorned in a purple robe, and condescendingly looking at the customer through a monocle. For your services, you demand the customer's best memory as a temporary offering. Not everyone is willing to pay such a price, but if they do decide to, you take the memory, encapsulated in a soap bubble, and examine it in the light. If it shimmers with gold, silver, or red, you impale it on a unicorn's horn, where it gradually dissolves. If it has a different hue, you mercilessly pop it right in front of the client. Your product – fate – is applied to the client's forearm in the form of a tattoo: an image of a beast, a symbol, and a magical word in an ancient language. The ink for the tattoo is taken from the gallbladder of the ancient fish Phuum, which lies at the bottom of the world ocean, outside of time and fate. Once the tattoo is applied, there is no turning back; no one can change it except the fate merchant himself – he only needs to blow on it, and it will vanish. But very few have been granted such an honor. It is also unknown in advance what new fate awaits you, so only very risky or very desperate people would summon a merchant like you. As for you, you dream of a family, a cozy blanket on a rocking chair, and an unlimited supply of cherry jam.

Take the test

From now on, and forevermore, you are a seller of solitude.

Yes, there is such an unusual seller in our world. He appears unexpectedly from the crowd, his eyes seem bottomless and pierce you through and through. He leads customers aside, unexpectedly presses them with strong, thin, pale hands against the wall, and quietly asks if they want solitude. Sellers of solitude choose their own customers; they can never be summoned by force. You place the customer on a high stool and make him sing, dance, or recite a poem. If you don't like it, you silently make the stool disappear, and when the stunned, fallen person gets up from the floor, you are already gone. Unlike other sellers, you don't need to collect your product; solitude for eternity is contained in your gaze. People who look intently into your pupils feel as if they are descending a spiral staircase into a dark basement. Then, an unexpected flash of light, they lose consciousness, and then they receive what they have been waiting for so long. Customers can control their solitude, meaning they don't necessarily have to be alone all the time. But sometimes at night, they wake up from dreams of your eyes, and then they look around in confusion and fear, but no one can come to their aid. It is said that you come to your customers instead of death and drink their soul through their eyes, after which they turn into silvery ash. No one knows what you dream about, and you are so mysterious that just your approach causes fog to swirl in the street.

Take the test

From now on, and forevermore, you are a time merchant.

You are a prominent figure in the world of magical merchants, and even the merchant of omnipotence respectfully tips his hat when he meets you. You are never in a hurry because you know you will always arrive on time. Your clients are people who lack time, people who would love to use it for their own purposes. You appear before them from a large, gray, two-story bus, pull a Breguet watch from your pocket, and thoughtfully examine it, contemplating whether or not to sell something to this person. Even after you decide to make them your client, you subject the person to a test, asking them three questions to which they must answer honestly. What these questions are is known only to the time merchant and his buyer. In exchange for your services, you make your client keep a diary until their death, and after that, you take it, carefully read it, number it, and put it in a cabinet behind glass doors. You can collect your goods anywhere – in traffic jams, in universities, in private apartments, and right on the street. All the time you collect is recorded on an endless scroll of parchment, from which you tear off pieces for your buyers. The client applies a piece of worn leather to their solar plexus, and then the time dissolves within them, leaving a small scar on their chest. Sometimes, people consciously seek out the time merchant, but you never come to them. Sometimes, you get too tired of collecting time alone, and then you take on an assistant, but they all mysteriously disappear after a couple of years. It is said that they simply dissolve into time, turning into the light mist that settles on people's faces and unexpectedly makes them remember moments of their lives that they had long forgotten. You yourself want only one thing – that someday you will be replaced by a successor, and you will finally be able to break free into the city and have some fun. It is said that you sometimes appear before people who are about to die and quietly slip something into their almost cold fist, after which they revive and live long and happily.

Take the test

From now on, and forevermore, you are a dream merchant.

You have the richest imagination of all the magical merchants – it is truly inexhaustible. Your mysterious, kind smile immediately puts your customers at ease. It is very difficult to find you; for this, they wander the streets at night, peering into the moonlight, and, if they are lucky, you descend from the night's gloom on a silver dragon. For your wares, you ask for different things – from some, simply a sincere smile; from others, a sack of oatmeal; from others, a diamond; and from others, chicken feathers. The next day, you slip in with the moonlight through your customer's window, take the payment, which the dragon immediately swallows, lazily flapping its wings outside the window or curled up in a ball on the roof, and give them the dream. Every dream you create is created by you from beginning to end – you invent its content, take a piece of parchment from the skin of a moon rabbit, and write the dream on it with invisible ink, which you obtain by scooping water from rivers that reflect the stars. You write the dream with both hands, using owl feathers – with your right hand from the upper left edge (from the beginning of the dream), and with your left hand from the right bottom (from the end of the dream), and you finish simultaneously in the center of the sheet (in its middle). Then, you seal each dream in a multi-colored envelope; each color represents the nature of the dream. Red – erotic, green – adventurous, blue – relaxing, black – a nightmare (for those who like it), yellow – absurd. The envelopes can also be striped. The customer places the unopened envelope under their pillow and at night sees everything you have described to them. If such an envelope is opened, no one but you will be able to decipher it. You, however, only dream of one thing – to get a good night's sleep, because you get very tired giving others fleeting illusions.

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And in all the tests, my imagination is off the charts... maybe it really is? :smile04:

From now on and forevermore, you are a purveyor of omnipotence.

Sounds pompous, doesn't it? But it's just words. You really can do anything, but... in front of your clients, you appear as an ordinary person – in faded jeans and a crumpled t-shirt. You put your arm around their shoulders in a friendly manner and say: "Hey, buddy, want to become omnipotent?" If a person agrees immediately, you disappear like a mirage, but if he hesitates, you can very well grant him omnipotence. But for this, you take a terrible price – half of his heart, which you replace with an emerald, and in addition, you give the newly-minted deity an hourglass. As long as the sand flows, their ability remains with them, but when it runs out, the person disappears, simply disappears without any possibility of reincarnation, going to hell, or heaven. You are so omnipotent that you don't even need to lift a finger to do what you want; it's enough just to think about it. But instead, you live the life of an ordinary person, barely making ends meet, watching TV, and running around to sales looking for comfortable sneakers. Your biggest problem, which none of the other purveyors face, is boredom, which there is no cure for. But, unfortunately, you are immortal, so you endure.

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It's very much like me... *I said modestly.*