Avatar of Crimson Raven

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


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.


~~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."

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

Ugh, man that was a long post, and a long time coming too.

Part of the reason why it took so long is because I wasn't sure where I was going with it, and I wanted to take time to think about it.

Honestly, I'm pleased with the results.

There is some MASSIVE characterization, and exposition about Ferrin in that post, so of anyone is interested, give it a read.

(Might be kinda important for you, @Caits, forgot to tag you in it.)
Ferrin Astra Colt and Claire


Mors Vincent Omni


Yesterday, Aftermath of the Battle.


He said "don't worry about him. I remember getting that speech a time or two as a kid. That's just how he is" he mused on that a moment, before shrugging, and studying the destroyed building. He walked on over.

A chuckle escaped him at the mention of the destroyed building, "the magic council is what it is, and that is why I am here. Even now, I'm around to clean up your messes, Ferrin" not that Ferrin would even know who he was, but he amused himself by playing with him.

Raising a hand, he closed his fingers one by one and Then opened them one by one, like their own miniature Mexican wave. The building restored itself, and then in a blink of the eye, Timelord was gone.
Caits


Ferrin's look of puzzlement morphed into a scowl, and he glared at the empty space where Seth had vanished. He muttered some ungracious things about where Timmy could stick his messes, but his anger was subverted by the feeling that he was simply getting some cosmic payback. The I-know-something-you-don't-know routine was something he did a lot to other people.

Then, the possible implications of what he had said dawned on Ferrin.

His headache intensified.

Ferrin shook his head and growled. "I don't have time for this."

Ferrin missed what Sora said, and he was only slightly aware of him moving to rejoin the battle that was currently going on. Ferrin wanted to help, but he took a step forward, and the world started swaying nauseatingly. Ferrin's headache mutated into a full-blown migraine. [color=silver][i]What?[i][/color] Ferrin thought, his mind fuzzy, and slow. He could feel huge waves of magic coming from across the park, but even they were dwarfed by the massive amount of magic Ferrin could feel, grating against his skull. His gaze was drawn to the east, where, unknown to him, Grane and Saya were facing down Frye. But he could feel the magic, all the way over here. Beyond that, there was some presence wrapped around his mind, squeezing it, stifling it. He struggled the put up his mental barriers, a familiar ritual that he had developed to block out over stimulus for exposure to large quantities of magic. After a brief struggle, it worked. The pain receded, and his thoughts cleared. He was left panting, feeling strangely out of sorts. "What is going on...? He wondered, trying to make sense of it. He had a feeling like he was staring at a strange puzzle with two pieces swapped, as if one small change could make the entire picture recognizable. He shook his head, and immediately regretted it as the ground did a few one-eighties around his head, then threw in some loopty-loops for an encore. He staggered a bit. Calm down He told himself. Think, there has to be a reason for this... But any attempt to put together a coherent train of thought was foiled. It was all he could do to maintain his mental walls. There was commotion on the other side of the clearing, but that wasn't his concern. His first priority was...he wasn't sure. A kid? His kid? No, no kids. The Twin. Right.

As he thought of them, Ferrin was gripped by a sudden sense of foreboding. He turned to the direction he had left the Twin in, and drunkenly staggered that way, no one tried to stop him for whatever reason. Have to...find...them... He thought. He came to the spot where they had arrive, and looked around, but they where nowhere to be found.

Of course, he realized. They must have put some distance from them and the battle. He staggered away plodded in one direction for a few minutes, before he realized that he had no idea where he was going. The city was vast and without some way to locate--

Ferrin put his head in his metal palm and groaned. The ring of course.

His headache throbbed. He felt even worse. This...ailment is...magical in nature. I know that much...but...what..... He dearly wished to find somewhere dark and lie down for a bit...or a month. But he had an obligation to help his client...and hell, if he was being truthful with himself, liked the kids. Then there was their wild story of some madman's plot to destroy the city. That would be rather inconvenient. So he hauled himself together, stuck some mental tape on his fragmented mind, and set to work.

He fumbled in his pockets, and pulled out a silver ring, identical in every way to the one he had given the Twin, even cast from the same chunk of silver ore. He held the ring up to eye level and started muttering. The actual words didn't matter, only the intent and willpower behind it. A stream of nonsense syllables flowed from his mouth, some English, some Latin, some Greek with the occasion bit of Russian and German interspaced by grunts in a vaguely arcane sounding babble. Had he been in his right mind, he would have almost been proud of it.

It took less then a minute for the magic to take effect, the ring pulled gently in a certain direction. It was strong, the pair was close. Ferrin slipped the ring on, and followed the pull.

The magic had no concept of obstacles, and Ferrin's head hurt too much to triangulate, so he mostly stumbled forward until something got in his way, then he took a detour, reoriented himself, and stumbled forward again. Some people asked if he was okay, others just gave him weird looks.

He ignored them both.

Some time later, he slipped between two buildings, and entered an open space, an empty lot that had been overlooked when the city was planned and built.

And it was just that. Empty.

Ferrin gave it a lidless glance over, and passed through it. At the other side he stopped. The ring was pulling back the way he came. He turned around.

The last rays of the setting sun glinted off of a tiny circle of metal, lying discarded in the dirt. Ferrin stumbled over to and he carefully picked it up, and held up the other ring. They matched. "No..." He gasped.

His mental barriers fell, his mind shattered and was swept apart by the assault. His head swam, and he felt dizzy. Words echoed in his head, and memories of another time and place flashed through his mind. He started shaking, he felt feverish, and his breath sped up. The sunlight hurt his eyes, as the world spun around his head. His head throbbed and he felt like it was going to split open, the migraine intensified with every throb. He thought he could hear a voice singing, as if from far away, calling...calling to him. He became aware of more phantom sensations, things that felt real, but were not. He could feel what felt like a centipede crawling up his leg, his hand felt like it was on fire, and the inside of his mouth felt like dry leaves. There was too much going on, his brain was overloaded, trying to sort the out whirlwind of the sights, sounds, smells, feels, or distinguish from past, and future. It was too much, too much!

Ferrin tasted blood in his mouth, and he felt a slight pain in his tongue. He felt a mountain of guilt pile up. He inexplicably remembered her, painful memories that will never fade with time. Blond hair. Blue eyes. The smell of strawberries and sunshine. I failed...again...

I'm sorry, Ashelia


Then the ground hit him with an uppercut, and everything went dark.




Time passed.

How much, he didn't know.

Ferrin drifted. And it was nice.

He drifted in a void, he could taste nothing, smell nothing, feel nothing, see nothing, and he could only hear a voice singing, as of from a great distance...Memories that might have been his own drifted by.

"Magus"

A Voice, melodious and powerful, split the void, and resonated with Ferrin.

...leave me be...

Self-pity does not become one such as you, Magus.


Do not call me that. That name is no longer mine.

Magus Ferrinas Astra!


Each syllable fell like a hammer blow. Magus's mind shook with the intensity of it.

Your name and power were given to you, and they bore little responsibility other then to bear them wisely and honorably. Do not malign them.


What do I care? All they have brought me is misery and sorrow. Besides, I was born with this curse. You merely enhanced it, and trained me in it so that you may continue existing. I owe nothing to you.

There was a sigh, of titanic depth and width that reverberated through Magus's soul, carrying an unspeakable sadness within.

You have not changed, child. Ever the stubborn one.

I learned from the best.

The Voice chuckled. You did indeed, child, you did indeed...

Now, I grow weary, child, and my time grows short, so I shall come to the purpose for which I contacted you. To offer advice, and lend aid.


Was this your doing?

Nay, the one who caused you ailment lay far over the continent to the north. Though I sensed no ill intent, instead, it seemed like an attempted form of long range communication. I believe that it was improperly done, causing your collapse.

Why me?

I know not. Only that it was specifically drawn to you, yet you were not the intended receiver.

Very well.

My aid is thus, to repair your mind, my advice is thus, to stay thy course.

The Voice's presence withdrew, leaving Magus alone in the void, in the silence, he could hear a distant voice singing.

Wait! What about the Twin?

The Voice rumbled in what might have been laughter.

You know all that you need to know.

And it faded out.

Damn...damn it all. Just comes in and goes out at their leisure, cryptic as always. Ferrin thought, his reasoning functions restored. He pondered what was said, and the implications thereof. Great, more on my plate. Just what I need. He thought. But he could feel his excitement rising at the prospect of an adventure. A bright light shone through the void, and Ferrin felt himself drift toward it.

Well, at least I will not be bored.

Ferrin Astra

Mors Vincent Omni


Fifth day of the Grand Magic Games
7:30 a.m.


Ferrin woke to pain.

Given how his week was going, and how this day was looking to turn out, it was par the course.

Ferrin groaned as he sat up, his face half covered in dust, and the morning sun's rays hit him in he eyes. "Ow...note to self, spending the night face down in the dirt is torture on the body." He said. Despite that, he was feeling oddly refreshed, in mind and body. The brief aches vanished quickly, and Ferrin realized that the collection of wounds and bruises he had accumulated over the last few days had healed to scars, or disappeared. He sprung to his feet in a burst of energy. He stretched a few times, and rolled his head. "Well, what do you know, maybe sleeping face down in the dirt is good for the body." Although he knew the real reason.

He strode out onto the street, and took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. A smile split his scarred face. For the first time since coming to this time, he felt...calm, and centered. His mind was cleared and his spirits high. He looked at his mechanical arm. Honor, huh? He thought, and he began walking.

Strangely, he didn't feel hungry either, but he knew he had to eat. Magical healing may dampen appetite, but his body still needed the nutrients. He pulled out a wrapped sandwich he had made...one...no two nights ago, and started tearing into it. It was gone quickly, and Ferrin let out a contented sigh. He then pulled out a canteen of water, and drank.

His needs taken care of, he started walking in a direction, letting his feet take him wherever. I "know all that I need to know"...obviously that mean that I have all the pieces of the puzzle, I just need to put them together... He thought for a moment, before finally coming to a conclusion. I have nothing. He was distracted by a loud voice, coming from several places at once.

"Well, here we are! The last day of the games, anyone can win today! Last constestant or team standing earns their guild just enough points to secure a win! Today, will be, Pandemonion! An all out battle, with the city as your field, but do try and not destroy it. Most buildings are protect, but still! You have five minutes! Plan as you will, but on the bell....you will begin!'

Ah, of course. The Grand Magic Games. Ferrin had been so wrapped up in this business, that he had forgotten the original reason he had come. To watch the Games, and perhaps join a guild.

Although, he had reservations about the second part.

He hadn't been keeping up with them, so he took a brief moment to check the scores on a nearby lacrima vision, inside a bar. It looked like a close game, it could be anyone's win. He dearly wanted to stay and watch, but his friend and perhaps the whole city was in danger, and he was, possibly, the only one who could stop it.
Err...more importantly

Eh-hem

Soooo some shit happed, and is still happening, but now I should be able to be more active.
Woooo a blood bath!!


What kind of soap would you use...?
Hi...what going on with all of you?
Alright, going to try and finish my post. But first...

<Snipped quote by Crimson Raven>

So fluffy...


No. no.

Like this:

@Silver Fox

Aw...now I'm down... how about a little somehting to lighten the mood?



Be entertained...

Be very entertained...
@Silver Fox

Thank you for sharing, it must be difficult for you...

I'm fearfuly bracing myself for something like this. I have a 14 year old dog whom we have had for 13 of those years. I'm 16, so this dog had been around for almost as long as I can remember. She is obviously getting old, her mussel and face is streaked with white, and she has gained a lot of weight. She still runs, and plays, but after she has been still for awhile and gets up, she gets ups stiffly and slowly. She may some possible health issues, and we don't have the money to take her to the vet right now.

On top of that, we have a cat (who is lying beside me as I type this.) who is almost the same age, and starting to show it too.

*sigh*

And just two months ago, one of my cats ran away and has not come back.
<Snipped quote by Lunarlors34>

I didn't say what exactly happened here, just that I wasn't doing really well mostly and sorry I wasn't replying. My profile status pretty much explains what happened.

There's several details I could say as that event happened, though even now it's hard to stomach just remembering

And thank you for liking the little cinnamon roll kitty. We both appreciate it.


Pets dying, especially close ones like cats and dogs, is very hard. I understand exactly what you are going through.

I've always loved my pets very much. I remember when I was really young, I had a guinea pig, named Speedy Houdini (because he knew how to escape of the cage, and we would have to chase him around to catch him. That lil' guy could move) I loved him so much, when he died one day, my family held a little funeral for him just to help me deal with it. I remember that I cried the whole time. We buried him in the roots of a tree out back, and my dad hung up a homebuilt swing in honor of him. We no longer live there, but to my knowledge, that swing is still there.

I've had many pets since then, and I can remember every one of their names, what they looked like, and how they acted.

I suppose my point, while cliche, is this: He may no longer be alive, but you still have your memories of him, so he will always be with you.
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