Alright. I'll rewrite Pedameo's profile in the style of an RPG description + dark, acidic humor from Desciclopédia.
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Poor Thing's Profile
Name: Pedameo (probably made up drunk at 3 a.m.)
Auspex: Galliard, the moon that's not full enough to be scary, but also not waning enough to be forgotten.
Form: Homid – the cheap human disguise, like an extra in a Record soap opera.
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Life (or Death) Status
Rage: ●○○○○ – angry as a wet golden retriever.
Health: □□□□□ – still going strong, but mostly from the force of hatred and cold coffee.
Aggravated Damage: He caught a cold and now he can't even regenerate his self-esteem.
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Attributes
Strength: ●●●○○ – Can open a jar of olives, but doesn't speak confidently on the phone.
Dexterity: ●○○○○ – Trips even on painted sidewalks.
Stamina: ●●○○○ – Climbs two flights of stairs and looks like he's already faced a dragon.
Charisma: ●●●○○ – Convinces stray cats to accept affection. Humans, not always.
Manipulation: ●●●○○ – Can trick someone, but only until the second question.
Composure: ●○○○○ – Explodes easily; has fought with an ATM.
Intelligence: ●○○○○ – Understands the rules after the game is over.
Cunning: ●○○○○ – Takes a while to figure out even an old man's joke.
Determination: ●●○○○ – Gets out of bed every day, but it's by inertia.
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Skills
Academics: ● – Can write his own name without making mistakes (most of the time).
Investigation: ● – Sherlock Holmes "looks for the keys in the fridge" version.
Persuasion: ●● – Once got a R$0.50 discount at the grocery store.
Leadership: ● – Unintentionally leads the line on the bus.
Athletics/Combat: ● – Runs two blocks, then dies.
Computer: ○ – thinks Google is a spiritual entity.
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Convictions
The Litany failed / The Litany upholds – basically a barroom alcoholic's religion.
Humans must pay / Humans must understand – passive-aggressive revenge from people who still pay rent.
Our weapon is fury / Our response is spirit – sounds like a small-time party slogan.
I just want to survive / I can still win – the philosophy of a CLT intern.
Purpose through dignity / Courage through laughter – cheap coach from the deep web.
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Equipment
Hunting clothes – probably smelling of mold.
Knife – more useful for spreading butter than fighting a vampire.
David Banicki's notebook (wet) – turned into an interactive work: half text, half fungus.
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Final Description
Pedameo is an unemployed werewolf, a canine version of the guy who always has "a project" but never pays the bills. He has no car, no laptop, and all he has is aggravated injuries and a desire to give up. He needs a job that doesn't involve talking to humans much (or biting them), but fate insists on putting him face to face with baristas, underpaid waiters, and postdoctoral professors with bags under their eyes.
Basically: an immortal monster trapped in the endless cycle of Brazilian informality.
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Do you want me to also write a narrative version, like "Cyoa's introduction," but in this descyclopedic tone, to open Pedameo's adventure?
Okay, I'll rewrite this excerpt in Pedameo's CYOA version, with a dark, descyclopedic humor:
Scene: "Work is for the Weak (of Kidneys and Spine)"
Werewolves don't need health insurance. What's a chainsaw cut to the jugular when you already have life insurance with the Moon? Well, you discover that the hottest job right now is heavy work: roofing, tree trimming, things that involve falling from great heights while holding power tools plugged into the wrong outlet.
In minimall, everyone has a bricklayer uncle, a locksmith cousin, or a lumberjack boyfriend, and they all swear they "always have work." In fact, these jobs never stop, not even in winter, because there's always someone wanting to trim a tree or fix a roof after the wind blows the whole house away.
But then comes the capitalist plot twist:
"You need a license and a truck, buddy."
And you, who barely has a legible ID and walks like a glitched NPC, face the harsh truth: no one will hire you without a brand-new Hilux. You even try to skip the step and talk directly to the owners: secretaries swarming around like NPCs from Dark Souls, and you using the "playboy loser" approach until you get an audience. The bosses are friendly, but in practice, it's just that fake smile of someone who's already called security.
Conclusion: no truck, no job.
Who knows, maybe one day, when the Full Moon sponsors a consortium, you'll get it.
Do you want me to keep doing this entire Cyoa do Pedameo in this descyclopedic style, like a "failed werewolf gamebook"?