I'm new to this place. Would someone please tell me what this place is all about? I know what INTP is; I can identify with it. I found this site when researching about INTP.
Here's an in-universe greeting to our forum. Take it with a grain of salt, but enjoy it nonetheless.
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As winter's snowflakes drift from clouds on high, you make soft strides o'er the ground below. Beneath your coat, bandages cover the wounds of battles past. You think of how your blood had run red as an autumn apple, making little crimson pools in the freshly fallen snow. Yet you didn't let the darkness take you; with fury that burnt like the summer sun, you'd risen, angry tears pouring down your cheeks. You'd wanted to make the seas run red with the blood of those who'd attacked you; to choke the rivers with their bodies; to rend the night with their screams of anguish! But they had gone, and you were alone.
You took what little you had left: a beaver-skin coat too ragged to sell, wool pants too tattered to wear, and love note-- now wet and nearly ruined-- from a Jane, girl you'd met in the last town you'd been to, Evair. On that first night you'd met at the New Year's festival, she'd wrapped you in her coat when he'd seen you shivering, she'd listened when you'd ranted about the cold, and she'd had just that certain twinkle in her eye. When the night had ended, she'd taken you back to her house. Suddenly, you'd realized that you liked her, but not like that; she'd noticed, slapped her forehead, put her palm over her face, and said, "You're right, I'm taking things too fast; I'm sorry. Here, I hope that this helps," and offered you a silver piece to get a room at the town's inn. You'd said goodbye, walked down the steps, and off to that nice warm bed. There's a silver lining to every cloud, you'd thought to yourself.
The next day, you hadn't seen her. You'd looked for her by the ashes of the bonfire, in the tavern, and even in the jail. No luck. In desperation, you'd walked back to her house and knocked on the door. No response.
Oi, what a strange girl: Eager to get frisky one day and hidden the next. had rung your thought. How could anyone be so shaky with their feelings?
But as your eyes had passed over the top of her door frame, you'd found the answer. A Latin motto, in black gothic letters upon the worn white wood, had been there. It had read, Logica, Scientia, Veritas. Classic INTP.
I guess that Fe had gotten the best of her
And as the days had passed Jane had become but a foggy memory, and your time at the inn had come to an end. The innkeeper had given you a few hours that morning to pack your things: spare clothes, a few pieces of bread, a jug of water, a small knife. As you had been putting them into your leather satchel, you'd heard a knock on the door to your room. "Who is it?" You'd asked. No reply. You'd sighed, gotten up, and opened the door. There had been no-one there, only a note. "To devslashnull," had read the title. Within, there had been all the signs of a love-struck thinker trying to express herself: crossed out words replaced with ones that were themselves crossed out and replaced with words whose definitions you could barely remember, forcefully pressed pen-strokes, and even a horridly scribbled picture mentioning a visit to a place called "INTP Forum". Another sigh had passed your lips; 'twas cute.
So with note in hand you had left that town, and with note in hand you'd been beaten down, cut, stabbed, and hurled against a sycamore tree by a roving gang of robbers. They'd left you for dead, but they had been wrong. And you had risen from your snowy resting place to take revenge by living-- living in a place where one could walk in peace. You'd ripped some cloth from your meager clothes and fashioned bandages to keep your wounds at bay, gathered your strength, and pressed on into the cold.
And so you stand in the freshly fallen powder like a springtime bud: hardy, strong, and alive despite the bitter cold of nature. You stride forward, eager to know what the world has in store, eager to forget the battles past, eager to let the wounds heal and let you live in peace. Zzzip! An arrow zings by! Snapped back from your thinking, you leap behind a snowbank!
"Halt, who goes there?" cries a woman's voice.
You press closer to the bank, shut your eyes, and shudder.
"Who goes there?!" she cries again.
Your chest rises and falls like a drum beaten by a madman.
"In the name of the order of the INTP forum, who goes there?" the woman cries out once more.
Your eyes flash open. You recall the note that you'd carried in your pocket. You realize that you might be saved!
"H-here! I-I'm h-here" you chatter, partly from cold, partly from fear.
"Then stand and unfold yourself!" comes the reply.
You rise and shout back, "I-I a-a-am Devslashnull the B-Brave!"
The woman wears a thick, russet tunic-- warm enough to brave any chill-- navy blue pants, full mail, and hard leather boots. She carries a broadsword and a buckler that bears the image of a quill and inkpot. Beneath the symbol are the words, "Logica, Scientia, Veritas". Relieved, you walk toward her and exchange stories. Her name is Alice, and she's been guardian of the order of the INTP forum for years and asks if you'd like a place to stay. You nod, teeth still chattering in the bitter cold.
The two of you walk for hours on end, crossing wind-swept hill and frozen dale. The snow, which once fell but one flake at a time, now falls in huge sheets and piles in great drifts as far as the eye can see. The wind howls and roars like a demon, ready to swallow you both up. You shudder and shake, but Alice has nothing to wrap you in. The winter wonderland has become a frozen waste, and the sun, which sets early in the winter, falls below the horizon. The night is as black as pitch.
"H-how are w-we to g-get t-to the O-order?" you ask, teeth clattering together.
"Well, I know a song that will help us get home," she replies:
"In winter-tiding's starry night
See abbey fires burning bright
See the north-star's e'er fixed light
And you will find your home to-night"
Her voice croaks a bit with the cold, and you can barely hear the words over the blasting wind, but for that moment, she looks happy-- like woodpecker caught in a thunderstorm who finds brief respite beneath a tree. Yet the snow pounds down like huge bricks of lead. Each step is harder than the last, and eventually, you drop to your knees in exhaustion.
"A-alice, g-give th-this n-note to a girl n-named J-Jane in E-evair. T-tell h-her th-that i-it had k-kept me warm. Th-then, r-raise y-your s-sword to s-s-tormy c-clouds o-on h-high, th-then b-bring i-it d-down u-upon m-my n-neck; i-it's a b-better way t-to d-die."
"Devslashnull, where is your courage?"
"I-in the d-drifts of s-snow"
Alice pauses, looking down at her boots. Then she kneels down before you and looks you in the eye.
"Come pain, come death, come suffering, your name is forever. Like a legend, it carries you thousands of miles. So rise, brave Devslashnull, rise and take the name that you were given!" Your jaw quivers a bit. Your whole body tenses up. With one great breath, you straighten to a height that you never known that you'd had. With the fury of the summer sun, with angry tears frozen on your cheeks, with all the courage of your name, you rise.
"Death's scythe shall clang upon my armor of rage" you shout, too furious to chatter.
And so it does. Made warm by the heat of a summer sun within your breast, you press on for miles through the night and eventually come to a titanic castle. You barely make out a motto on its towering iron doors, "Logica, Scientia, Veritas". Alice smiles at you as you mouth the words. The sentries, who stand upon the walls, call down through the howling wind, "Alice the Guardian, who stands beside you?"
"D-Devslashnull th-the b-b-brave!" you scream up at them "A-and I-I'll c-climb up th-that t-t-tower and r-rip y-your throats o-out i-i-if y-you d-don't l-let us in! A-AM I-I C-C-CLEAR?"
Alice nudges your ribs, "Easy, easy, take it easy. We're reasonable people here, no need to shout".
"W-wait? Th-they're a-all INTP's l-like m-m-me?"
"Well, yes, for the most part; however similar we may be, though, some of our most colorful members aren't INTP's at all.". You tilt your head questioningly.
"Cognisant, for example, is an ENTP, and he's practically melded with the floorboards. The place just wouldn't be the same without his Ne-fueled dreams of humanoid robots and sentient AI. Just be careful with his feelings, though: he's sad and lonely so he tries to pretend that he's emotionless."
One sentry runs down and opens the a small door in the larger ones. The two of you enter and proceed into the bailey.
"My, my, my, is this Devslashnull the brave?" asks the guard. You snarl at him like a hungry wolf. He gulps. "For the title is well deserved!" The sentry directs you toward a large stone building just a little to the left of where you'd entered. He tips his helmet disappears into the falling snow.
"Well, I suppose that this is goodbye, Devslashnull." says Alice as the two of you stand before the building's door, a tinge of sadness in her voice. "My place is out there, standing watch and searching the woods for others like you." She gives you a hug as warm as a crackling fire, a lonely sigh under her breath. Then, she too disappears into the drifting flakes and howling wind. You open the door and enter.
You find yourself standing in the atrium of a great castle. A mosaic of light streams through stained glass windows bearing the visages of such great men as Socrates, Plato, Godel, Picasso, and Nietszche and creates bright, dappled pools the dim vastness. Two white-bearded old men argue unintelligibly over what looks like calculus, but could very well be abstract modern art. A cloaked figure emerges from the shadows, bearing a leather satchel with your name.
"Hail, traveler, and welcome to our quiet halls. You'll find a room down five doors and on your left-- mind the cobblestone floors, it's easy to stub your toe. The nights are a bit cold, drafty, and damp, but there's plenty of hot, crispy, succulent roast boar and cold, sweet, clear mead to wash it down. This place has a glorious history of titanic battles among the great knights of our order: Cognisant, Architect, Da Blob, and ProxyAmenRa, just to name a few. And in our finest hours, we've taken trophies: the heads of Norse Gods, the crimson blood of dreamers scorned, and the still-beating heart of a troll. Yet, if trade you seek, other manors may better able to help you.
For example, and though you likely didn't see it through the snow, the one-hundred story glass tower that you saw on the way in is a colony of ENTJ's; their very similar functions and yet different perspective on life have made trade and friendship with them both lucrative and interesting. But they are just as 'soulless' as we, and few have ever tried to mate with them-- a course I that highly recommend maintaining.
As a final detail, even we of the rational temperament can fall victim to our emotions. Try to remember that in your posts, as even a simple, "Alright, let's let this cool off for a few days" or "Oh, that must have hurt something awful; here's a dry shoulder *hug* " can work wonders when another poster is angry or upset."
With a gentle nod and the wink of an eye, he hands you the satchel. Therein you find your room keys, a thick, warm, cotton cloak, cold, slippery slices of partridge carefully wrapped in parchment paper, a small, hearty loaf of bread, and a frosty glass bottle of water from the castle's spring.
"Just in case you decide to leave, let this be a gift from our order" interrupts the figure "Oh, and do dig deeper, you'll be pleasantly surprised."
Reaching further into the satchel's murky depths, you find a scroll on which is written in small, neat script, an oath:
The Thinker's Creed
In brightest day,
In darkest night
No falsehood shall escape my sight
Let those who worship Madness' might
Beware my power,
Pure logic's light!
The cloaked figure touches your shoulder and asks:
"Swear you this oath? For only through it shall you find Truth, be it in the Void or another code. In times of darkness, let it be your candle."
-Duxwing