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1 day ago
Current Why is it when I'm tired, sometimes I feel like I can think more clearly?
6 likes
3 days ago
C O N S I D E R THE C O C O N U T!
4 likes
8 days ago
Digging a hole is Boring. :^)
1 like
1 mo ago
A good read for everybody: Sanderson's 3 laws of magic. brandonsanderson.com/sander…
1 mo ago
Playing through the very first Final Fantasy, and I was thinking I want to know who came up with the idea of random encounters. I would very much like to tell them what a frustrating idea it is.
3 likes

Bio



“NO ADMITTANCE.
NOT EVEN TO AUTHORISED PERSONNEL.
YOU ARE WASTING YOUR TIME HERE.
GO AWAY.”
― 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)

"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."

Silence

"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


Some heartfelt music while you lurk



Or U liSTEN TO tem MOOSIC!



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



I LOVE TVTROPES! (Don't click!)

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Ferrin Astra


Tenrou Team

Pensive


Despite himself, he grinned a little at the young woman's exuberance as she and her cat flew after Sasha. It was a genuine grin of pure amusement. Something he had thought he had forgotten to do. Left alone at the ship's bow, Ferrin turned his gaze back to the island and leaned on the wooden railing of the ship. In truth, he didn't quite understand how he felt. His circumstances were so bizarre that the enormity of it eluded description. His emotions were a storm of things that he couldn't quite put a name to. He was nearly two centuries after his time, staring at the island that started the guild that took in a talented but incorrigible miscreant orphan like him, gave him a family, friends, somewhere to belong and turned him into someone he could be proud of. That very same guild had gone down in legend. The people he had known, talked with, laughed with, and fought with were famous the world over.

And all very much dead.

But yet...looking at the island, he didn't feel anything in particular. Should he? It was hot. The water was beautiful. The island looked like something out of a postcard. "Wish you where here!" it would say. He could see it now, he'd send it back to Ashe with some plants and flowers. She likes strange flora, especially flowers.

But he couldn't could he? He would never see her again.

He shook his head. No fatalistic thoughts. He would find a way back. That was one reason he was here.

He glanced back at the various member of the guild preparing, some with haste and others, like him, at their leisure. What reasons did they have for coming here? He knew that Sasha had her premonitions of danger, and while potential disasters were high on most people's priority list of things to stop, most people ran for cover instead of danger. So why were they here? The Dragonslayer had mentioned wanting to meet her dragon. But, obviously not all of them were dragonslayers. Like Ariel, the girl who had somehow his absorbed his magic. Thinking of anyone else holding his power made Ferrin feel uncomfortable. He had always felt that his magic was an important and inherent part of him. Aether magic had only ever been tamed by the Astra family, and even then only one in several generations inherited it. As far as he knew their bloodline were the only ones who could wield it. Even other mages who specialized in copying or stealing magic in one form or another couldn't master Aether, which essentially made him unique and he was perhaps a little too proud of that fact. So her sudden and inexplicable acquisition of it presented a mystery. He had spend several days thinking it over, and the most probable answer that occurred to him was that they were, possibly, distantly related.

Family. He could have blood family here. She could be something like his many greats grandnephew. Or well...

He winced. He drew in a shuddering breath and let it out slowly. He was not going to lose his composure here. But neither was he going to shy away from where that line of reasoning had taken him.

He--he had left behind his wife and an unborn child. In nearly two thousand years what had happened to them? They might have lived out their lives, gotten married, and had kids of their own. Did Ashelia resent his sudden disappearance? Did his child resent him for leaving? Did they wonder what happed? Did they ever try to find him?

Or did they forget about him. The man who vanished without a trace.

Stop. Tangent. He was on a tangent. Right. If Ariel was related to him by blood, would that change things? He unexpectedly felt a fierce surge of protectiveness. This mission may be dangerous, but if anyone were to harm her...

The wood railing cracked under his grip. Ibi erit Inferno reddere. There will be Hell to pay.

He lingered at the prow of the ship a little longer to compose himself. But as he was turning away, he thought he saw something out of the corner of his eye: movement on the island's shore. He turned back but saw nothing unusual. Trick of the eye? He wondered briefly. No, he trusted his instincts, and they were practically screaming that something was watching him. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Acting casual, he turned his back and pulled his shaving mirror out of a pocket. He palmed it and held it out at waist height, careful to keep it in shadow so that the sun would not glare off it. He angled it until he was able to see the shore. He watched, tiling it back and forth but he saw nothing. The feeling quickly receded but it made Ferrin uneasy. It should be uninhabited, but someone or something is on that island. And they know we are here. Wonderful. He supposed it could have been an animal, but the gaze felt too purposeful. He pocketed the mirror and looked up. Due to his idling, he was one of the last of the wizards on board still. He glanced disdainfully at the boats and sighed. They were bloody wizards, why were they all piling into bits of floating wood to row a few hundred feet? He casually walked to the railing, and in a smooth motion, jumped overboard.

He cast a spell as he fell, landing in a crouch on the water's surface, which had abruptly solidified. He cocked his head and eyed the rowboats, noting Ariel. Keep my distance for now. He thought.

"I will walk, thanks." He proclaimed instead. He extended his Gauntlet over the water. "Aquae Solidum." In a surge of magic, the sea between him and the island suddenly became still as glass in a ruler-straight path a few feet wide. The unaffected water surged and eddied around it. "I will wait for you there." He tossed over his shoulder as he strode along at an unhurried pace.

Sure, he could have frozen the water, but this was much more impressive.
... Right, I'll get this rolling soon enough.

Eisenhorn has informed of personal problems and will be pulling out until further notice. I'll figure out what to do with Voss.


Aww :(
rolls around with nothing to do


Amara Solidor


Around the ship, the storm raged. Inside the bowels of ship, the crew made merry. Raucous laughter in several echoed off the creaky wooded wall. The omni-present clank, smash and thump of mugs being placed, slammed or banged together formed a discordant chorus. Even on their best days, Amara found to crew of The Cloud Chaser, also wizards of the guild that bore the same name, to be an irritatingly rambunctious bunch. She had stashed herself in a corner of the room trying to find some privacy so she could focus on her studies, but there was no escaping the noise of some two dozen pirates drinking. Normally she would be outside, but with the storm raging and the atmospheric disrupter on the fritz (again) staying inside was marginally better. A pilfered lacrima-lantern swung on a hook above her, holding at bay the darkness and providing an unsteady light for her to read by. In front of her, laying open, was The Book.

The Book didn't look special. In fact it looked completely ordinary. It had the appearance of an unused shoddy old journal that one could buy for a handful of jewel. It had soft, brown leather bindings sandwiching off-white pages with the yellowish tinge of parchment that, when opened, were completely blank. But, as so often with magic, appearances were deceiving. For one thing the book was more than a century old, and yet looked like it was just made. Also, it was very durable. Fire couldn't touch it, even blades couldn't harm it. As far as she knew it couldn't be ripped, stained, soaked, or otherwise effaced. Writing in it was futile; the ink wouldn't transfer to the pages. It also faintly radiated magic to those who were sensitive to such things. However, it was still a book. or more accurately, a library. Hard coded into the blank pages was a vast amount of knowledge from centuries of wizards. But clearly the ones who had created The Book did not create it to be easy to read. It was more like the information had been *shoved* in, making it difficult to find anything useful. At best she could pick out a random 'book' and read it But less useful subjects like history, genealogy, and poetry were mixed in among books on summoning, magic, and fruit bats with seemingly no regard for order. It was frustrating. She had all this knowledge at her fingertips but yet it was near impossible to read it, much less understand it and put it into practice.

But she persevered. She had to. For herself.

But she was distracted from her studies were interrupted when, ironically, an unusual silence fell over the Barracks. Her subconscious picked up on this, drawing her out of the nearly trance-like state she fell in when reading the book. Amara suddenly became aware that Ragnar had been speaking and she had no idea for how long. Her head snapped up as she heard her name. "...Amara, Silver Claw...".

She found herself frowning as their Captain fished giving his orders. Storms! I missed most of what he said. She knew there was a mission coming up, and that she had a fair chance of being chose. That was why she didn't have any summons out, to conserve her strength. Normally she had one out at all time, as a form of practice. Oh well. I'll keep quiet and pay attention. I should be able to pick up on what I missed. She inserted the mental-magical equivalent of a bookmark, then shutting the magical tome and safely stowing it into a pocket. Said pocket was in the breast of a too-large greatcoat which she wore to ward off the weather and the cold. It was also useful as there, The Book would be safe from thieves. A guild they may be, but The Cloud Chasers were still pirates and some of them were of the unsavory sort. She pulled the coat tight, shivering despite herself. It was almost perpetually cold in the clouds, made worse by the storm that was currently blowing and the broken disruptor. However, the peals of thunder and winds sounded more muffled now. Did those incompetent engineers finally get that Storming machine to work again? Hopefully. Then the temperature would finally become more bearable.

Gathering herself up, she stood and glanced around. Her oversized greatcoat hung to the floor. Various members of the guild were milling about, a hundred voices becoming an incoherent buzz. Roshar had mentioned Silver Claw after her name, so he was the man she was, reluctantly, looking for. Claw had a reputation as fearsome as his appearance. Amara didn't know any details, but the other guildmembers treated him with awe and reverence, born of fear. He intimidated everyone and no one wanted to cross Claw. Amara had avoided him too, but she avoided everyone so she knew nearly nothing about him. Nor, however, was she intimated. She spotted him quickly, for his appearance and his height made him stand out.

He was also looking straight at her. She suppressed a shiver, instead putting on a blank, bored look with just a touch of haughty confidence.

With her expression in place, she sidled around the edge of the room, then cutting through the crowd of pirates to stand an arm's length from Claw. She found it irritating that, even at that distance she had to tilt her head way up to look him in the eye. She gave him a small smile she didn't feel and said "Evening." She said quietly with a nod. She reminded herself that she refused to be intimidated, even if he probably was as large as two of her combined. Then she shoved her hands in her pockets and stood there quietly, not inclined to initiate more conversation then necessary.

She still had yet to find out what the hell was going on.

@Leslie Hall @Lmpkio
<Snipped quote by Crimson Raven>

Why else would the good fairy be so upset?


Oh.

Why must so many childhood stories be violent and or disturbing in retrospect?!


Ferrin tilted his head, studying the dragonslayer more closely as Sasha spoke. Her sad, brief tale didn't surprise him, but he did empathize. Everyone has a Story to tell. He though somberly. He was considering what to say next when Sasha gave the call to prepare to head for the island. Ferrin looked up to see that the island was indeed very close.

And what an oddly shaped island it was. At first he didn't quite understand what he was seeing. It looked like two islands stacked on top of each other. But Ferrin's perspective changed as he realized what he was looking at. "Stars, it's a tree." He breathed quietly in awe. "The Tenrou Tree. I've never seen it's like in person before... It was a tree so massive, it's uppermost branches formed a solid layer that somehow rock and dirt had accumulated on, becoming it's own island in the sky, held up by the massive, twisted, knarled, majestic truck of the tree. Here was something that remained from the past. Something that connected past, present, and future, simply by existing. This same tree was the one that watched over Guildmaster Mavis, the same on that generations of wizards from Fairy Tail must have laid eye on through many centuries.

And the island was the place where it all began.

He turned to Amaya. "May we continue this conversation later? It seems that Sasha is in a hurry to disembark, which I'm sure you, as a motion-sick-prone-slayer would appreciate." He flashed her a small grin and stood to the side, gallantly gesturing with his claw-like metal hand for her to go before him. "Ladies first." He said, acting the part of the chivalrous gentleman.
No, no, I'm pretty sure he popped them.


So Fufu was a mice murderer?! (pun)
<Snipped quote by YipeeXD>

Field Mice after being scooped up by Little Bunny Fufu.


That's boppin' not poppin'. :3
A TYPO IN THE THIRD PARAGRAPH FIRST LINE OF KARA'S FIRST RESPONSE? FOR SHAME!


Samuel Seabury voice

For shaaaaaaaame!

For shaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame!

(0:40)

Weasels

Weasels are popping
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