Recent Statuses

6 days ago
Current "For you, the day I graced your roleplay was the most important day of your life. But for me, it was Tuesday."
9 days ago
Me, playing Dark Souls: "This is clearly a trap." *Does it anyway.* "AYYYYYYIIIIIIIIIIIII---!" *crunch! crunch! SPLAT! Blurp.* "Oh. So that's what that does."
9 days ago
9 days ago
What is a skeleton's favorite restaurant? Bonejangles.
11 days ago
“There are three kinds of lies: lies, damned lies, and statistics.”


― Douglas Adams, Mostly Harmless

Note: If I look inactive or sporadic, I’m not. The two main RPs I’m in do quite a lot on Discord. Regardless of my posting history or frequency, I’m on daily.

Hello lurker/ My old friend/ I've come to talk to you again/ Because a shadow softly creeping/ Lurking in the chat while I was sleeping/ And the roleplay that was forming in my brain/ Still remains with the sound of lurking.

In dead roleplays I walked alone/ Narrow pathways of casual zone...

Need mor ༼ つ ◕_◕ ༽つ

(Made in collaboration with @hatakekuro)

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages.

At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms.

Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school.

And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow.

Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth.

And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part.

The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound.

Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

~~As You Like It, Shakespear

"Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,
Creeps in this petty pace from day to day,
To the last syllable of recorded time;
And all our yesterdays have lighted fools
The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!
Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage,
And then is heard no more. It is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing."

~~ Macbeth, Shakespear

“All stories told have been told before. We tell them to ourselves, as did all men who ever were. And all men who ever will be. The only things new are the names.”

“The purpose of a storyteller is not to tell you how to think, but to give you questions to think upon.”

“What do you know?”

“Almost everything. That almost part can be a real kick in the teeth sometimes.”

“What do you want, then?”

“What I can’t have.” Wit turned to him, eyes solemn. “Same as everyone else, Kaladin Stormblessed.”

"Two blind men waited at the end of an era, contemplating beauty. They sat atop the world’s highest cliff, overlooking the land and seeing nothing.

'Can beauty be taken from a man?' the first asked the second.

'It was taken from me,' the second replied. 'For I cannot remember it.' This man was blinded in a childhood accident. 'I pray to the God Beyond each night to restore my sight, so that I can find beauty again.'

'Is beauty something one must see then?' the first asked.

'Of course. That is it’s nature. How can you appreciate a work of art without seeing it?'

'I can hear a work of music,' the first said.

'Very well, you can hear some kinds of beauty - but you cannot know full beauty without sight. You can know only a small portion of beauty.'

'A sculpture,' the first said. 'Can I not feel its curves and slopes, the touch of the chisel that transformed common rock into uncommon wonder?'

'I suppose,' said the second, 'that you can know the beauty of a sculpture.'

'And what of the beauty of food? Is it not a work of art when a chef crafts a masterpiece to delight the tastes?'

'I suppose,' said the second, 'that you can know the beauty of a chef’s art.'

'And what of the beauty of a woman,' the first said. 'Can I not know her beauty in the softness of her caress, the kindness of her voice, the keenness of her mind as she reads philosophy to me? Can I not know this beauty? Can I not know most kinds of beauty, even without seeing it?'

'Very well,' said the second. 'But what if your ears were removed, your hearing taken away? Your tongue taken out, your mouth forced shut, your sense of smell destroyed? What if your skin were burned so that you could no longer feel? What if all that remained to you was pain? You could not know beauty then. It can be taken from a man.'"

The messenger stopped, cocking his head to Shallan.
"What?" she asked.

"What think you? Can beauty be taken from a man? If he could not touch, taste, smell, hear, see, what if all he knew was pain? Has that man had beauty taken away from him?"

"I…" What did this have to do with anything? "Does the pain change day by day?"

"Let us say it does," the messenger said.

"Then beauty, to that person, would be the times when the pain lessens. Why are you telling me this story?"

The messenger smiled. "To be human is to seek beauty, Shallan. Do not despair, do not end the hunt because thorns grow in your way. Tell me, what is the most beautiful thing you can imagine?"


“In this,” Wit said, “as in all things, our actions give us away. If an artist creates a work of powerful beauty – using new and innovative techniques – she will be lauded as a master, and will launch a new movement in aesthetics. Yet what if another, working independently with that exact level of skill, were to make the same accomplishments the very next month? Would she find similar acclaim? No. She’d be called derivative.

“So it’s not beauty itself we admire. It’s not the force of intellect. It’s not the invention, aesthetics, or capacity itself. The greatest talent we think a man can have?” He plucked a final string. “Seems to me that it must be nothing more than novelty.”

"A blind man awaited the era of endings," Wit said, "contemplating the beauty of nature."


"That man is me," Wit noted. "I'm not physically blind, just spiritually. And that other statement was actually very clever, if you think about it."

"What is it to be witty, then?”

“To say clever things.”

“And what is cleverness?”

“I…” Why was he having this conversation? “I guess it’s the ability to say and do the right things at the right time.”

The King’s Wit cocked his head, then smiled.

“Expectation. That is the true soul of art. If you can give a man more than he expects, then he will laud you his entire life. If you can create an air of anticipation and feed it properly, you will succeed.

“Conversely, if you gain a reputation for being too good, too skilled . . . beware. The better art will be in their heads, and if you give them an ounce less than they imagined, suddenly you have failed. Suddenly you are useless. A man will find a single coin in the mud and talk about it for days, but when his inheritance comes and is accounted one percent less than he expected, then he will declare himself cheated.”

Wit shook his head, standing up and dusting off his coat. “Give me an audience who have come to be entertained, but who expect nothing special. To them, I will be a god. That is the best truth I know.”

~~ Stromlight Archive, Brandon Sanderson

"You see, whether you can draw like this or not, being able to think up this kind of design, it depends on whether or not you can say to yourself, ‘Oh, yeah, girls like this exist in real life. If you don’t spend time watching real people, you can’t do this, because you’ve never seen it. Some people spend their lives interested only in themselves. Almost all Japanese animation is produced with hardly any basis taken from observing real people, you know. It’s produced by humans who can’t stand looking at other humans. And that’s why the industry is full of otaku!"
-Hayao Miyazaki

"In culture an analogous situation leads to the emergence of enclaves shut up in ghettos, where intellectual production likewise stagnates because of inbreeding in the form of incessant repetition of the selfsame creative patterns and techniques. The internal dynamics of the ghetto may appear to be intense, but with the passage of years it becomes evident that this is only a semblance of motion, since it leads nowhere, since it neither feeds into nor is fed by the open domain of culture, since it does not generate new patterns or trends, and since finally it nurses the falsest of notions about itself, for lack of any honest evaluation of its activities from outside."

~Stanislaw Lem, author of Solaris

Some heartfelt music while you lurk


I just don't want you to have a Bad Time...


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...and after all that I have nothing to say.

You sheet is solid and Leon is interesting and compelling with great room for development.

Good job.

Doc in question

I have looked over your sheets and here are my thoughts:

Not a fan of Alexander. His father researching ways to make magic more accessible, backed by the council, just doesn't jive with the past/current attitude toward magic.

There is also the issue with the sword, but that was already vetoed and addressed. That aside, I'm not sure if operating on his 11-year-old son and then handing him a sword of all things is even in the realm of rationality,Then...the quality of the rest is questionable. If the lab had been attacked while he was unconscious, why was he not killed/kidnapped/ect? Then dying words, a random ambush and somehow the 11-year old just stabs him and...then absorbs the fire from the lab? (which is by the point, probably natural) and sets off on his vengeance quest? eh...

I understand what you were aiming for with Alvina but, judging from her backstory, I'm not convinced you can write her well enough. Veto'ed unless Zarkun or Marsh say otherwise.

Tristen is great. I like his goal and theme. I like how his goal is clear and his magic is equally versatile, strong, and potentially humorous.

Devin's overall magic is fine, but I not so sure about parts of Snatch, Poltergeist, Gespent, and Necromancy. You've bundled mind-control, possession, mind-reading, Necromancy, and whatever Gespent is, in a magic that is seemingly unrelated and strong enough on it's own. I realize this ties into his backstory but I'm sorry to say that the potential for abuse is too great. Although, I do like his story, ironically I think it would make more sense if he was younger. 16 when he started then 22 when he was caught is odd.

Nina is troublesome. I like the thought behind her, but much like the others, execution needs work.

How about, as a weakness, she has to *keep* reading (even if it's the same lines over and over) to make whatever it is last unless used with Permanence. If she stops or interrupted, it vanishes.

Backstory, common villager's reaction at this point in time to magic is fear and hate. Although depending how real that was...


I'm not sure what happened after that. I cannot make heads or tails of the rest of the story. I can say that telling someone you just overwrote her memories and that you have the ability to do so is a terrible idea if you are trying to gain trust.

Overall, I liked the common themes seen and the pieces present in everyone's story, but your writing quality doesn't quite yet live up to the scope you are attempting. Bravo for going big, but perhaps you might want to try to start smaller and a little less ambitious?

Anyway, this is just my opinion. I'm only a volunteer evaluator, @MarshiestMallow and @Zarkun are the ones who have the final say in things.

This is here because Discord has a character limit. Smh. I'll ping you there too.
Mentions, I'm good at them.

Payback XD

OKAY So I maaaaaay have messed up ONE mention

Just ONE mind you.

So you get a special post with just YOUR NAME ON IT

and the babbling of a sleep-deprived lunatic but whatever

Ferrin sighed. This wasn't going to end anytime soon. It seemed like everyone wanted to chime in, even after he gave his advice. Sasha seemed fairly adamant on her stance though. Good girl.

Ferrin quickly grew board with the squabbling and his mind wandered. His eyes glazed over and he suddenly felt...apathetic. Who cares anymore? The decision was made and, though he disagreed, it was done.

He briefly considered a nice fireball in the face of the most annoying of the lot, the red-head. Then he remembered her magic and changed that idea into a massive, spiky glacier. He yawned, nice and loud, flipping Time Lord a metal bird with his Gauntlet for his half-assed shady bastard comment. Gonna insult someone make it proper-like. He grumbled, scowling fiercely. Something felt wrong, but he couldn't place it. He glanced around. Trees. Cliffs. Beach. Water. Some kinda of Gorilla octopus. Sand. Wizards. Idiots. Idiot Wizards. Nothing was out of the ordinary. What was ordinary anyway? Ordinary was...a temporary state. Ordinary means something has been that way long enough for no one to care. And foreign wizards on Terou wasn't ordinary.

Then it clicked. "Coffee." He hadn't had his morning nirvana-in-a-cup yet. No wonder he was getting existential. And grumpy.

Ferrin walked away from the still-arguing group to the tree line. He rummaged around and quickly came up with a fair amount of fire-worthy wood along with some flattish stones. Arms laden, he walked back, stopping a pace away from the group, and laid out the wood and rocks. A quick fire cantrip and he had a cheery fire going. A second cantrip made the fire slightly hotter then normal. One requip later and he was holing a small pot and a stained mug. A quick incantation filled the pot with water, which he hung over the fire with a frame of sticks. He knelt, placed the mug aside, and pulled a brown bag full of beans and a measuring cup from a pocket and a grinder from another. He hummed to himself as he measured out the beans then poured them in the grinder. He set the grinder on a 'course' setting, then cranked the handle. Once he was satisfied, this too, he set aside on a flat rock. The water started to boil so he took it off and set it on a rock. He hit it with a very gentle cold spell, to juuuust the right temp. He pulled out a thermometer and stuck it in: 93.3 degrees Celsius, on the dot. yesss

He grabbed the coffee grounds and tossed them in the pot. He stirred gently with a spoon from his endless-seeming pockets. Then he waited, counting the seconds, ignoring anyone and anything else.


Two minute later, he unfroze and stirred again. Then he restarted his count. The savory smell of coffee was wafting into the air by now. A presence not far from the group, but hidden in the shadows of rocks and trees came closer, drawn by the smell. They didn't seem to be trying to hide; anyone who was paying attention might notice it.


Two more minutes later, he conjured just a cupful of cold water and dashed it in the pot. He waited a painful moment more. Then he picked up old, stained, chipped mug and poured the rich, brown liquid. He gave it a courtesy blow and took a sip. Ouch. Too hot.

"And, of course, you." A familiar voice said.

"Oh. Hey Mavis." Ferrin said without turning around. "I just made a pot of coffee. Want a cup?" He held up and waggled his mug in demonstration. He brought it back down and tried another sip with similar results.

Then he stiffed. Stood. And turned around. He eyed the innocently smiling cherub of a girl.

The cup slipped in his grasp but he managed not to drop it.

He blinked. She smiled.

He brought the cup to his lips and took a long sip, staring at her with an unamused glare over the rim.

He took another long sip. She smiled more.

He took a third sip.

Then he stalked over and poked her in the head. *

His metal finger passed through her without meeting any resistance. "Hey!"

"Huh." Ferrin peered down at her. He inhaled as if to say something, then stopped. "Small as ever, I see. Whenever are you gonna grow, eh Shortstack?" He put his hand on her head, or where it appeared to be.

She pouted and huffed. "Not everyone is as freakishly tall as you, Maggie." She said, drawing out the 'a' and chopping the word.

You could practically hear the vein pop on Ferrin's temple. His right eye started twitching. "Don't call me that." He said though gritted teeth. He also took another sip of coffee. Long-dead guildmaster or not, he had coffee and no one could keep him from it.

Mavis smirked impiously. "Why not? Maaaag-ie."





Ferrin crossed his arms, careful of his mug. "If it were to rain, you would be the last to know."

"And if there was lightning, you'd be the first to know." She countered.


"Thank you."



"Stunted midget!"

"Overgrown Troll!"

And on it went, their insults gradually getting at once more creative and even lamer. Ferrin still took sips of his coffee, spaced between insults. They would probably be at this for a while, unless someone interrupted them.

As most of the wizards there could only see and hear half the conversation, Ferrin looked like he had suddenly gone completely bonkers and was now yelling insults at empty air. Which, while unusual, wasn't completely out of character. While all eyes were on Ferrin, the pot of coffee sat, unwatched. Some bushes nearby rustled gently, not in time with the wind.
Finally posted. I know it's short, but that's all I have right now.

Your fine. We don't stress about length here.


Chapter 1 - In Times of Need

The Fire Emblem had stopped moving. That wasn't good. Kara wondered if she had been mistaken in her assumption of the purpose of whomever held the Gem. Were they hiding it? Stashing it somewhere? There was too much she didn't know. The best she could tell, it was located roughly below several of the buildings just north of where they hid. If the invading army got hold of the Emblem, who knows what they would do with it? She shuddered as she recalled what happed the last time history took a turn like this. That thought was making the normally patient and calm manakete anxious.

She sat and listened in silence as the nervous and easy-to-overlook Hevel spoke up, offering to make a distraction. The little thief might be useful to have around, come to think of it. Servus seemed to like the idea, and considering his Jehennan looks and gear, he just might be able to slip in and look around without suspicion. It was a risky bet, and not much of a plan either, but if the Emblem wasn't moving then waiting suddenly didn't seem like a good option either...

She rolled her eyes. "Go on." She told Servus. "I won't be able to go with you as I stand out too much." She reached back her scaled hand to brush her hair to the side, lightly touching one of her horns too. "But you should be able to blend in. You even smell like them. Should you get the chance, there are some buildings almost directly in front of thus that you should investigate. I feel the Emblem's presence from somewhere underneath them. Grab it and get out." She hesitated. "And...should you get into trouble, I'll come with Ambroli when you whisle to bail your ass out." She glared at him. "But only because Ambroli like you, got it?"

Ferrin Astra

Tenrou Team

@MarshiestMallow, @Zarkun, @Lunarlord34

Ugh, Wizards.

And yes, he was one, and that gave him the right to complain about them in a purposefully ironic and hypocritical manner because he of all people would understand the depth of their arrogance and general contrary-ness. So there.

Ferrin turned his attention first to the green-haired man who unnecessarily identified the roar as belonging to a dragon. Judging by what he said and the feel of his magic, Ferrin felt reasonably comfortable pinning the man as a dragon slayer. "Yes, yes. It was fairly obvious that was a dragon. If it was not, then it would have to be Timmy's stomach, and then we would really be in danger. I have read dear Sash here's journal." The shortening of Sasha's name was entirely intended. "A Dragon here was fairly likely. Expected even. It is the unexpected that I want to scout for. You say 'one if we are lucky' how would you know if there was as more then one? And what if there are other threats? In fact, was would stop the dragon from decending from the sky and taking us by surprise? Determining numbers, understanding the situation, and acting accordingly are essential to surviving any conflict. Winning is another matter." He said the last part with a hint of black humour.

A couple of questions did occur to him, along with a pun that he tucked away for later use. Here was someone who had dealt with a dragon directly, perhaps he could give Ferrin a more accurate idea of he strength and capabilities of dragons. All Ferrin had to work with were mere legend, heresay, and some vaguely remembered lectures on the magical and alchemical properties of their various body parts. He snorted softly as he remembered his old Alchemy teacher. Old crusty Legius would have a fit were he here. He was always fascinated, no, obsessed with dragons. He even claimed to have seen and talked with one, though he was also nutty as a fruitcake so who knows if it was true. However, his extensive knowledge about them would come in handy about now. If I can get a scale, maybe a claw or a fang or two... Ferrin pulled himself out of the past as another wizard, a woman with fiery hair, which, Ferrin judged, matched her attitude, joined them with proclamations of destruction and ashes. Am I the 'shady bastard'? He wondered, amused. Grey was a shady color, right, right? Ahem. On the other hand, this hot-head wasn't going to add anything but difficulty to the discussion at hand so he summarily ignored her.

To the green dragon-slayer he said, "Your first hand account of a dragon could be useful, no matter what we decide to do. I'm going to need to know everything you can recall about your...adopted father." Ferrin made a mental note to ask the other slayers similar questions. Actually, he probably should have done so on the trip here, but he had been so wrapped up in...well...

Hindsight is the clearest sight, so they say.
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