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
<Snipped quote by Crimson Raven>
Mayt just got on at the same time, but through a different door, so they're about on the opposite sides of the car. He's just relaxing and looking out the window right now, but he still has his weapon.
Done.
Oops -removed-
@Crimson Raven *Gives cake wile file in it*
I'm surprised Valak didn't notice, say, the Wizard in the corner with the katana openly on his hip who's guild mark is hidden under his glove. (Mayt)
I must have missed that part.
Goes back to IC, edit pending.
Edit: Ehh... Just give me a brief description. I can't find it.
Mors vincit omnia
(Death conquers all)
Ferrin, Colt and Claire
("Give me the damn narrative. You are a terrible storyteller.") Yeah, heeloo, Ferrin here. I was going to let the other guy tell the story, but he is a terrible lazy (and terribly lazy) writer and is currently claiming writer's block, (which is bull) so I am going to pick up where he left off. Anyways...where was I? Oh yes. Three days before everything changed...
I woke out of a blissfully deep sleep to someone who apparently had death wish shaking me and saying my name. "...in. Ferrin. Wake up. Hey, wake up. It's almost noon." I shifted slightly and cracked an eye open to see the face of the person I was about to kill.
Oh wait.
It was the Twin.
Damn.
I closed my eye and hoped they would give up and leave me be. No such luck. They kept up their determined attempts to convince me that killing them would be a really good idea. Eventualy, the other one got frustrated. "GET UP YOU LAZY BUM!" She shouted. I heaved a soggy mental sigh.
I hate mornings.
"I am awake, I am awake." I said. Or, tried to. It came out more like "Mmmamske..." Finaly, the shaking stopped, but it was too late. I was awake.
I extracted myself from the blankets and my coat that I wrapped myself up in. I sat up and turned a bleary-eyed glare at the violator of my beauty sleep. "Oh, good you're up." Blue-eyed Colt said, cheerfuly, with a smile. The kid's eyes suddenly did something weird. They changed color. From a dark blue to a blood red hue. The eyes were not the only change, though. The pleasent smile was replaced by a deep scowl, and the voice change just slightly, to a higher pitch. "About damn time! Claire shouted. Blue eyes, and a gentle, brotherly frown. "Sis, watch your language." He chided. Red eyes. "I can f****** cuss as much as I want!" She shouted. Blue eyes. Colt winced, "I didn't say them, but the words still tasted foul." Red eyes. "Foul?! I'll show you foul! She said, them she let loose with an explosive string of expletives that I am NOT going to put down. "How lady-like." My sleep-fogged brain said without consulting the logic portions. She swung her ruby gaze on me. Oops.
Fortunately whatever she was going to say was cut out by Colt's timely interruption. He took control of their shared body and put his hand to his temple. My telepathy wasn't funtioning, so I missed whatever she said, but judging by Colt's reaction, it was pretty bad. "Sorry." Colt said breifly. I grunted, too tired to verbalize any complex sentences. He moved away, slightly, his eyes unfocused, probably arguing with Claire.
You probably are wondering why I keep mentioning the eyes. No? Well, too bad I will tell you why anyways. Its just a habit I developed at a young age. "The eyes are windows to the soul." Is very a very wise saying. I have found that watching people's eyes can give you insight (Pun intented) to what they are thinking, a hint to what they are going to do next, maybe a blink if they are lying. That habit, combined with the way I tower over most people, and the fact that I wear a big coat tends to intimidate people. I try to smile and joke, but I do not have a face for smiling. Something to do with the several faded scars, probably. But I digress.
I stood up and streched, squining against the bright sunlight, trying to think, and failing. I needed coffee, a big, steaming mug of holy mocha. Then I remembered that I was out of beans, low on money, and up to my neck in trouble.
Dammit, I hate mornings.
Colt walked over, apparently their argument was over. "So what now?" He asked. I scowled and tried to think through the coffee-less haze. "First, I need more information. I think I have an idea of what they are after, but I need the how, when, why, and where of it." I said. Too many syllables. "Do you have something in mind? A way to find out what you need to know?" He asked. "Yeah." I responded. Better. I grabbed my coat and put it on. "The ring. Oh, god. I sound like Valak. "I have it right here." He said, as he pulled it off his finger and held it out to me. I resisted the sudden ridiculous urge to snatch it and hiss "My Precious."
Man, I get loopy when I'm tired.
I took it an put it on, feeling the enchantmant put on it envelope me. I sartes to walk away and said, "You stay here, I will go into town and ask some impertinent questions to hopefully get some pertinent answers." With that, I headed into the city.
Valak Solidor
White Knights and Black Stars
White Knights and Black Stars
Valak sneezed. How unusual. He thought. He looked around the interior of the train, habitually assessing everyone and everything for potential dangers. He took note of one person, most of their face and body hidden behind the newspaper they appeared to be reading. And another, weaing a big roomy cloak with enough room to hide a weapon and his hood up, who seemd to be asleep. To most people, they seemed innocent enough.
But you could never be certain.
One person that caught his attention was a sword-toting brown-haired man, staring out the window, on the far end of the car. Valak didn't seen anything unusual about him, but simply because he had a visable weapon, Valak decided to keep an eye on him.
His dispassionate, roving gaze fell upon his new companions. The shapeshifter-dragon-girl, Mithera, and the duo, Joslyn and Zen. The strength of their magic was yet to be seen, so he couldn't accurately judge weather thay would be an asset or a hinderance. He studied the pair, disturbingly intently, and with a slight amount of distrust.
@Burthstone (And whoever else)
Well. That was a fun post. I highly recommend reading it.
By the way, who's character is Zen or Joslyn? The site doen't say.
By the way, who's character is Zen or Joslyn? The site doen't say.
Blargh
curls into a tight ball
Ditto
Ad nauseam
<Snipped quote by Crimson Raven>
It's the fourth day of the games man.
We haven't had four events yet.
Or the 2v2 battles.
Argh, sorry I wasnt thinking.
I got ahead of myself. I was thinking of the next day.
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