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 (1.23 / day)
- VMs: 2
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Username history
- Crimson Raven 11 yrs ago
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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
Shove a little fan service into this RP, there we go.
Fans? What fans?
We are nearing 7,000 IC posts and 51,000 OOC. Wow.
Oh. And 150 Character Sheet posts, but most of those are inactive, some are by the same person, and others contain multiple characters.
Maybe we should take a head count of how many of us are active, and how many characters we have each...
Oh. And 150 Character Sheet posts, but most of those are inactive, some are by the same person, and others contain multiple characters.
Maybe we should take a head count of how many of us are active, and how many characters we have each...
<Snipped quote by Crimson Raven>
Actually I guess this would go for anyone. But since Ferrin has a sensitive connection with ethernano, he will probably go crazy since the place is extremely with concentrated Ethernano. Making it really dangerous for any living thing that tries to enter the area. Actually, I believe you mention that Ferrin is able to create a mental barrier that helps block out such things, right? But then again, how long could Ferrin hold that mental barrier and if being close enough would have an effect on him.
Hmmm...interesting thought.
He is extremely sensitive (and growing more so hehe). With proper concentration, he could hold out more or less indefinitely, but he world be severely hampered if he tried using any form of magic. If his mental barrier fell, his reaction would depend mostly on the type of ethernano, say it was used in some form of evil magic, his sanity would deteriorate and negative emeotioms like paranoia, fear, and anger would set in. If it was just pure ethernano he would suffer severe migraines that would hamper his ability to think clearly, eventually leading to a loss of consciousness. If it was luner energy, he would have delusions and hallucinate. Ect.
Interesting to note, he would be able to survive in normaly deadly levels of ethernano, because his magic is basically working with raw ethernano and his body is used to higher concentrations of it.
@Crimson Raven
Just as a little note, 100 jewels is about $1.
Also, cool post. The more I hear Ferrin, ethernano, and his sensitivity to it, the more it makes me curious about an interaction with a character that I have plan later. Mostly for curiosity to see how Ferrin reacts lol
Oops, values were wrong XD
Thanks for the compliment. :D Ferrin has been such a fun character for me, the more I write about him, the more real he feels.
No idea how he will react, but chances are it will be funny.
Edit: Man, I should proofread my posts more often. I found typos everywhere. >.>
Ferrin Astra
Mors Vincent Omni
Finale, Part 1
Ferrin still had no answers. He was out of time, out of leads, and out of allies. He was walking down the street, deep in thought, trying to piece together the infuriatingly little information he had, but his thoughts were all over the place. I need to find so somewhere quiet where I can think... A savory smell drifted across his nose. ...or drink. With a flourish, he turned on his heel and followed his nose. It lead him to a storefront with wide-open double doors, and a prominent sign that bore large friendly letters that proudly proclaimed that the restaurant was open. Ferrin difted in, floating on the intoxicating smell. Inside, there were booths lining the walls on three sides of the room, the fourth side had a countertop bar lined with bar stools. The center of the floor was filled with tables. Tucked into a corner was a piano and stuffed behind it was the piano player, playing a jaunty tune. At regular intervals lining the place were magic screens showcasing the Grand Magic Games so far. Laugher and drinks were spilled with equal frequency while chatter flooded the room.
It was a happy place.
Ferrin paused in the doorway, suddenly overcome with memories of a place quite like this. Of course, here you didn't have to worry too much about knowing when to duck. Ferrin stopped that train of thought immediately. "Getting dammned maudlin." He muttered. Then the delicious smell overwhelmed him again, and he found himself making his way over the the bar. He sat down and stared at the source of the smell, a clean kettle hanging over a heating lacrima.
The bartender was a tall, muscular, dark haired woman who looked like she could drink a man under a table or put him there. She had long since noticed the extra tall stranger in a white coat, and one hand tucked into a pocket. It could have been her acute business instincts honed by years of experience that told her that the man was after something...or it could be the way the man was staring lustfully at the fresh pot of coffee that had just been made. Either way, the bartender moved over to greet Ferrin. "Ho' there, hon. I'd ask what you want, but I've got a pretty good idea." She quipped as she busied himself with poring a mug of coffee. "You are in luck, as I just made a fresh pot." She set the mug in front of Ferrin. "Anything to go in it? Sugar? Creamer?"
"No thank you, ma'am." Ferrin replied, his manners ingrained in him during his childhood coming out. The bartender nodded approvingly. Coffee was best drunk black as a devil's heart.
"How much?"
"2000 jewel." ($20)
"Two hundred jewel! Thats-" The bartender cut him off with a wave of her hand.
"Robbery, right? Well try it before you say that. This here is the best coffee in all of Crocus. Besides, it come with free refills."
Ferrin gave her a suspicious look, before shrugging. "I'll take your word for it." He lifted the mug, and took a cautious sniff, the stream ticking his nose. It smelled amazing, at least. He lifted it to his lips, blew to cool it, and then took a sip. Surely the bartender was exaggerating, it couldn't be that goo---
The liquid hit his taste buds, and he was in love.
Dark, rich, full of flavor, just the right temperature. Liquid nirvana.
The bartender smiled.
After a sip, Ferrin's eyes went wide. He took a look at it, and then took a much larger sip.
"Whoa." Was all he could manage. He dug a one hundred jewel note out of his pocket and passed it to her. "My compliments. It is excellent."
The bartender nodded as she accepted the payment. "You enjoy. I'd love to talk, but I have other customers to attend to, but I'll be back with a refill." She said the last part with a wiry smile.
Ferrin rose his mug to her in a mock toast. "You read my mind." He said.
She left him alone with his thoughts.
Ferric nursed his coffee while he mulled over the recent developments. He knew that the Twin had been kidnapped (no pun intended) and that fact alone made him want to leap out of his seat and run around blowing up stuff until he found them.
But that probably wouldn't help.
He took a deep breath to calm himself. [color=silver][i]I need to think clearly.[/color][/i] He told himself. Lay out the facts:
First, There is some plot to wreck havoc in Crocus using the Grand Magic Games as a cover up. Or possibly a battery.
Second, The person behind this is a necromancer of some kind. He or she is careful and clever, although prone to opportunistic and rash decisions.
Third, The Twin had something to do with them, a prisoner that escaped. They also said they were under a curse, a magic called "Law of Retrogression" from what I know about this magic, the caster has to be in control of their emotions or else it will wear off
That made him pause. He drank some coffee.
Strange. The person that attacked us earlier seemed to be prone to emotions...that could mean that they have an underling with that ability, or they are a pawn of something else. Disturbing thought.
Ferrin raised his mug to take another sip of coffee. Nothing. He blinked, confused and then he peered into the empty depths of his mug, not quite sure where the rest of it had gone. He looked up and there was another mug, full to the brim with the dark liquid ambrosia. He took an appreciative swig.
Based on points one and two, and with the knowledge I gained from the library, I can conclude they are trying to resurrect the ancient dragons that a long time ago were slaughtered here. As far as I know, something like that would take massive...no an astrological concentration of ethernano. To gather that, they must be using a magic circle and a ritual of some kind. Crocus is a natural magical wellspring, and all of the wizards here generate huge amounts of power. A magic circle over the city would be able to gather and channel that magic...
"Of course!" Ferrin shouted, popping up off his seat like a madman, knocking it over in the process. His mind was racing with excitement and caffeine. He knew how to find this necromancer, and if he could find them, he could stop them. He drained the last of his coffee in one huge gulp, then he grabbed a fistful of money, and slammed it down. "I have got to go, thanks for the coffee." He said, hurriedly. Then he dashed out the door, took a right turn and ran at a dead sprint. Behind him, at the bar, the bartender picked up the jewel and counted them. "Hey! Wait, this is way too much!" She called after Ferrin, but he was long gone.
Going to do a two part post wrapping up Ferrin's little sub-plot cause I'm a little undecided about what to do next.
Working on other posts now.
ITS ENDING
Oh great.
I gotta hurry up on mine...
So we GMs have decided the Grand Magic Games have run long enough and have come up with a solution to end them so we might move forwards with things again. However, this has resulted in no clear winner for the Games. As the initial idea was mine, I apologize for the lack of a winner but we have been going on this arc for almost a year and every one has other things that need to be done IC soon.
If you want, I can give you an idea I have to that end.
<Snipped quote by Crimson Raven>
I have no idea whether that was directed at Ferrin or Nolan. xD
Both. Valak is good at that. XD
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