<Snipped quote by Expolar>
But, your post was the 45,665th post!
Your math is a little off.
5,662+40,022+128= 45,812
So, it is now the fourty-fifth thousand eight hundred and twelth post. XP
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
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Username history
- Crimson Raven 11 yrs ago
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Latest 10 profile visitors:
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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
Your math is a little off.
5,662+40,022+128= 45,812
So, it is now the fourty-fifth thousand eight hundred and twelth post. XP
You know, we are coming up on 40,000 OOC posts. Wow. 14 posts away.
*Blinks at the strangness going on.*
*Grabs a camera and takes pictures*
*Grabs a camera and takes pictures*
<Snipped quote by Crimson Raven>
Akame ga kill, he is just a weapon
Just started that one. On episode two.
First impression:
0.0
Big boo----
Considering I tried and simply laid in bed for four hours? No.
=.= *Looks at sig*
Black Star, (Someone from Magi?), don't know, Henry, and Sans,
So bored...too tired to go to sleep.
Is that odd?
Is that odd?
Mors vincit omnia
(Death conquers all)
Time Lord
@Crimson Raven
Time Lord merely chuckled, "Your dramatic Exits tend to be just that, Dramatic. They would have followed you This way, all trace of you just...disappears" He said, watching the Rune Knights spread out, "Certainly, but I wouldn't recommend it. You could easily be trapped in another time" As he spoke, the image of a child, battered, cold and downhearted flashed in front of them, before disappearing, revealing Crocus once more. "I'll take it down. One moment" There was a slight shimmer, and they appeared in the presant again.
Ferrin Astra
Ferrin resisted the urge to poke the wavering magic as he waited impatiently for Seth (As he would now call him) to take it down. He glanced at the time mage. One day, he would have to get Seth to teach him time magic, but right now was not the...time. Ferrin noticed an image on the curtain appear, but it disappeared so quickly Ferrin almost thought he imagined it. Interesting. He thought. A true event, perhaps? He dearly wished he could stay, and unravel the walking mystery that was standing next to him.
But Ferrin had bigger fish to fry.
As soon as the magic was down, Ferrin gave Seth a dramatic bow. "Well, it has been fun, my ostentatious friend, but I must be off. Try not to miss me too much." He said. As soon as he said this, he vanished beneath the veil of illusion magic that hit him from sight, smell, and blocked sound that he had been ready to cast since the moment he saw the soldiers. Undetectable, Ferrin broke into a magic-enhanced run, slipping between the soldiers that were in the perimeter with ease. "How is that for dramatic?" He sent to Seth, via telepathy. He was out of range a moment later, so he didn't hear if Seth replied or not.
Once he had put several blocks between him and the soldiers, Ferrin made sure no one was around, then he came out from under his Veil. He pulled out a small chunk of silver from one of his many pockets. It had been a piece of the setting of the ring he had loned the Twin that had broken off long ago. He had had the ring reqaired, but he kept the little piece that broke off for just this sort of occasion. Fishing in another pocket, he came out with a lopsided piece of chalkand Bending down, he drew a magic circle. Honestly it sounds more dramatic than it was. Anyone, with the right knowlage could do it, even non-wizards, though it would take something extra for them. One of his formor guild mate taught Ferrin how to make one.
"It's bloody simp'l reall'." He said, swiging his third mug of beer. "'Hould be perfect, wha' wiff that simple mind o' yours. First, ya' make a circle." "With what?" Ferrin interupted. The man bonked him on the head with his empty mug. "Wiff an'a thang, hold hands, draw inna dirt, wave incense, wha' eva' floats yer boat. As yew dew, focus yer magic innit, simal'r to a spell." The man looked thoughtfull for a moment. "Although yew don't have ta make a circle and what you make it otta has an efect, but thats for 'nother time. ...Now, where was I? Oh, yea. When yew finnish da circle, focus onnit, and imagine a barrier. Takes practice and whatnot, but wen ya' done it right, yew will feel the difference, and ya' got your self a magic circle." The man tried to take another swig, but then he peered inside, confused on how it got empty. "But what does it do?" Ferrin asked. The man set his mug down with a sigh. "Lot's o' things, depending on." He answered. "A norm' circle will act asa barrier to outside magic, but will also do a job o' keep inside magic in, although its only so powerful. This helps a wiz, inside it to focuse magic better, som' thin' 'bout keepin' random energies away or whateva." He nodded drunkenly. "So they tell me ana' ways. Its good for castin' delicate magics, tha' require focus and time. Problem is, ana thang physical crosses it it, and poof. Its broken. Lot'ss o' other applicationsss...zzzz." The man fell forward and started to snore. Loudly.
Ferrin smiled slightly at the memory, then he shook it off as he returned to the present. He reached into another of many pockets, pulling out a small compass that he had left in his room last time. The spell wasn't much differnt from the one he had used to track down Mithera, in fact, it was the same. The silver one once part of a whole, and using the metaphyical link between them, he could use one to track down the other. Clearing his mind, Ferrin begain to mutter a mostly nonsence chant. As he did, he brought the compass up to the chunk. The needle spun to face it, like a dog picking up a scent. Then it spun again an pointed toward a direction that definatly wasn't north. Whisling a merry tune, he stuck his hands in his pockets, he broke the circle with his foot, and headed in the direction indicated by the needle.
Sasha
Rather then intimidate, Sasha glared right back at them, placing her hands on her hips. "You don't like me, fine, you don't have to. All I have to do is keep you alive, and that's fine by me. Do not think to intimidate me, it won't work out for you. Now, lets do this again. I'm Sasha."
Claire pulled down her eye, and stuck her tounge out at Sasha.
Sis! Colt thought. You are acting like a child. Have you looked in a mirror lately? We look like one. I'm just playing to expectations, and I really don't like her, or feel like cooperating. Claire told him. Colt sighed. We may look like one now, but its only temporary. Try to act your age, even if we don't look it.
The Twin's eyes turned blue. Colt put his hand on his forehead, like he had a headache. "I'm sorry, Miss Sasha. Please forgive my sister's rudeness. I'm Colt, and...uh." He waved his other hand around vaguely. "The...uh...other is Claire. It is nice to meet you." He said, awkwardly.
Looky looky!
me did quite well again its my second best now
SECOND BEST?!
Dang...thats...
amazing.
@Caits
So it wouldn't be broken? I mean unless you want me to throw in some cheap-trick to spawn a new scythe everytime it gets broken. Maybe the scythe can be broken, but it regenerates over time? I mean if the scythe gets annoying what I would do is grab it and take it, or wack it out of her hand.
@Caits
As a point, when Erza's armor breaks, she un requips it, and it slowly regenerates.
Edit: I think. Because she has reused armors that have broken without any mention of repairing them.
<Snipped quote by Crimson Raven>
I had a link to it.
Clicked it. Made no sense to my brain.
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