Whew, another Mega post. Good thing this moves so slowly. It gives me time to type these things up.
Crimson Raven
Member
*Rolls a Nat 1*
STATUS: 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. 6 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 6 yrs ago
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 5009 (1.22 / day)
- VMs: 2
-
Username history
- Crimson Raven 11 yrs ago
-
Latest 10 profile visitors:
-
Most recent →
LiverisGood,
The Raven Calls,
Fish of Oblivion
Status
Recent Statuses
6 yrs ago
Current
'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
6 yrs ago
I say the words that I wish someone would tell me in vain hope that they might be returned to me.
2
likes
6 yrs ago
Existence continues.
6 yrs ago
So much I want to do, so little time...
1
like
6 yrs ago
“I’ve met some pricks in my time. But you, sir...” He said to the offending cactus.
7
likes
Bio
“NO ADMITTANCE.
NOT EVEN TO AUTHORISED PERSONNEL.
YOU ARE WASTING YOUR TIME HERE.
GO AWAY.”
― Douglas Adams, Mostly Harmless
NOT EVEN TO AUTHORISED PERSONNEL.
YOU ARE WASTING YOUR TIME HERE.
GO AWAY.”
― Douglas Adams, Mostly Harmless
NOTICE
Thank you for Noticing This Notice.
Your Noting it has been Noted.
And it has been Reported to the proper Authority.
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)
It is known that there are an infinite number of worlds, simply because there is an infinite amount of space for them to be in. However, not every one of them is inhabited. Therefore, there must be a finite number of inhabited worlds. Any finite number divided by infinity is as near to nothing as makes no odds, so the average population of all the planets in the Universe can be said to be zero. From this it follows that the population of the whole Universe is also zero, and that any people you may meet from time to time are merely the products of a deranged imagination.
--Douglass Adams
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.
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."
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
"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
Or U liSTEN TO tem MOOSIC!
I just don't want you to have a Bad Time...
What do I live for?
"I think I've seen this movie before." -@Guess Who
I LOVE TVTROPES!
Most Recent Posts
Mors vincit omnia
(Death conquers all)
Ferrin
Ferrin's eye twiched as Time Lord spoke. Making fun of some one asking for help is low. I can't blame him, though. I'd probably do the same if our roles were reversed. Surprisingly, instead of returning verbal fire, Ferrin took a deep breath and let out a sound that sounded suspiciously like a sigh. "Thank you, I owe you one." He said. "Those two will explain everything. Take them to Jamie and ask for her help, tell her its in return for helping Mithera out." He crouched as if to jump. "Aether enhance, Leg Point." He said. Ferrin sprang to the top of the nearest building, and started making his way across town.
Ferrin stopped to confirm he was going in the right direction. Crocus had been around in his time, but much had changed. He suspected that the whole city was not in the same place, and it was much larger than he remembered. But there was one structure that stood in the same place for a century. Ferrin dropped down in front of the Crocus Grand Library. She always told me, when in search of knowlage, always consult a book, first. Ferrin thought. He took a moment to admire the massive scale the building was built on, and it's architecture. It looked more like a massive cathedral than a library, with huge stained-glass windows depicting unfamiliar scenes and severel massive domes connected by long corridors to the centermost dome, even bigger than the others. Ferrin walked in, between two large staturs of maidens bearing books in one hand and exquisitly carved flowers in the other and through massive double doors that stood wide open, welcoming visitors inside.
The inside had an open space around a semi-circular desk with several stern-faced librarians sitting behind it. In all directions, there were rows and rows of bookshelves that formed hallways. Ferrin had tucked his Gauntlet into a pocket, so he didn't stick out too much, although it would probably be hard to not notace a man as large and as tall as Ferrin was in a big white coat and scars decorating his face. He strode up to one of the librarians, a silver-haired, elderly man with a sharp, severe face and a stern expression, who was clearly engrossed in some thick, dusty tome. Ferrin cleared his throat, as loudy and obnoxiously as possible. Then, to add insault, he coughed a few time. Up went the man's eyes without moving his head. He eyed Ferrin, who stood there smiling. "What do you want?" The old man asked. "Now, that is a broad question, after all, I don't know of you are asking what I want personaly, what I want to do, or what I want in comming here." Ferrin said, with his grin. The old man's face crinkled into a scowl, and he shut his book woth a resounding boom that echoed slighly. Ferrin looked around, thoughtfully. "Good acoustics in here." He noted aloud. The old man said "Allow me to reiterate, then. Why are you here in this library talking to me, what do you intend to accomplise, and what do you want here?" "Now we are getting somewhere." Ferrin said. "I am here to do research on the history of Crocus." The old Librarian's scowl turned to a smug expression. "Now that's a broad subject indeed, after all, you could mean recent history, ancient history, or pathologic history." He said. Ferrin nodded. "Touché. Ancient history, them, from sveral centuries ago. Around the beginning of the Grand Magic Games, I think." He said. The Librarian nodded. He reached under his desk and pulled out a small orange lacrima. "This lacrima will lead you to the section you want, and it will lead you back when you are finished. Just follow it and you will be fine." He said, handing Ferrin the stone, and promply going back to his tome, ignoring Ferrin's existance.
As soon as Ferrin touched the stone, a small arrow appeared about a foot in front of him, hovering in the air, pointing down a row of bookshelves. Interesting Ferrin thought. He quicklywalked in the direction it pointed. When he came to an intersection, the arrow swiveled to point down a different path. Ferrin marvled at the thing. Whatever enchantment in on this thing it must be fiendishly complex. It would be easy to make it point in the direction of the target, but having it point the way to the target is quite a feat. Whoever made this must have been a master. Ferrin continued to puzzle over the small lacrima as he followed it through the twisty maze of shelves. He soon came to a spot where the hallways met in a T. The lacrima pointed straight at the wall. Ferrin got close enough to read a plaque, that said "history of Crocus, X500-600". This must be the spot. He thought. Ferrin looked at the shelves that spanned from the floor to the ground, and streached endlessly in both directions. Good thing I kept my pair of Gale-Force Reading Glasses. Ferrin pulled them out of a pocket, and got to reading.
Several hours, and hundreds of books later, Ferrin though he knew what the necromancer was after. And it wasn't good. But...something like that would require a big ritual, a skilled mage and tons of magic. That necromancer seems skilled, but where would one hide a magic ritual of such proportion? And how would they get the magic energy required?Everytime I find an answer, it only spawns more questions. Ferrin stood up, and looked at the mess of books he had made. I have learned all I can here. I must get moving. Ferrin used his magic, and his razor sharp memory to put every book back where it belonged incredibly quickly.
Ferrin sprinted back, following the lacrima, to the entrance. Without breaking stride, he placed the lacrima back on the desk as he ran passed it. Now, I need to relocate the Twin and Seth. They are out of my Telepathy range, but the ring I left with them, will let me find them. If all goes to plan, we can stop this crazy mage before anyone gets hurt. Ferrin thought. He ran out the doors and came to a sudden stop. In a semi-circle, surrounding the entrance of the library were rows upon rows of the Rune Knights. A frog-person stepped forward and proclaimed, in s loud, high-pitched voice. "Ferrin Astra, You are hearby under arrest on the authority of the Magic Council for the attack on Iron Enigma. Any attempt to resist will be forcefully stopped with extreme prejudice."
Fuck
Colt and Claire
When Ferrin took off, Colt was silent for a long moment, as he looked at Time Lord. Eventualy he shuffled nervously. "Uh...I'm Colt," He said, pointing to his eyes. "Claire is here too, but she's angry and won't come out." Eyes red. "I'm not angry!" Claire said. Eyes Blue. "There she is, and yes, you are." He said. "So, anyway, Ferrin called you Time Lord, right? Thats an odd name." He said.
@Caits
<Snipped quote by Crimson Raven>
What exactly are you looking for in a pic for this character you are making?
I'm scrapping the idea. I have something else in mind.
Alright, @Crimson Raven have you used the pic in a Character Sheet yet? cause if so, I cannot find it.
No, go ahead and use it.
<Snipped quote by YipeeXD>
Do you like this image for Melody Sharp instead?
@Joshua Tamashii
Why so I gotta keep bringing this back up?
There was a fiasco about an character image on page 1,946.
<Snipped quote by Crimson Raven>
Yes Senior?
Dat pict...you thief...
>:|
In
My Gif and image drop (Please do not post on. PM if you wish to add something.)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Test Forum
In
My Gif and image drop (Please do not post on. PM if you wish to add something.)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: Test Forum
I dont feel like it especially if I have 3 gorgous sisters who all have a love life and I'm the only one with bags under my eyes and brown hair and all that. I absolutely despise myself to no point.
How about this, let's play the yes or no game.
Rules: You can only say yes once and no once.
1. Are you beautiful?
2. Are you lying?
© 2007-2026