Edit: If we've not moved on to the last phase of the creation by GMT+0 12.00 pm on Saturday 6 June (today), I will write a summary post and skip to Turn 2

That's in 12 hours or so, correct?

GMT is my mortal enemy. If Undasis has anything to say about it, that will never come into existence.
I know it's needed to measure time, due to the way the Earth rotates, but it's still annoying.

YOU COULD HAVE JUST SAID YES!

Anyway, if I were you I'd give people a few more hours than that, if it is needed.

It's not really a matter of time, I just don't want to be forcing an introduction which most find boring. If the players would much prefer to get on with creating and growing, then this part is irrelevant. It was mainly meant to be a way of introducing the characters to the RP, each other, and introducing Fate and Invictus. All that's done now.

I've really liked this introduction either way, so it hasn't been an entirely wasted effort on your part, @Kho xD

My color overheated twice during my writing so, I don't mind if we skip xD If not I'll post something after this BuzzFeed videos ^,^

Ninja!

[Edit: Computer* o.O]

Haha, I would post the summary right now, but I said I'll give it till 12.00 pm and I'll stick by that. Might as well start working on it though

Anyone willing to share a favourite poem of theirs with this poem-lover?

A personal favourite of mine (out of more than I can count):

Ozymandias - Percy Bysshe Shelley

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: `Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear --
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.'

BAMM!

"Identity"

by Julio Noboa Polanco

Let them be as flowers,
always watered, fed, guarded, admired,
but harnessed to a pot of dirt.

I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed,
clinging on cliffs, like an eagle
wind-wavering above high, jagged rocks.

To have broken through the surface of stone,
to live, to feel exposed to the madness
of the vast, eternal sky.
To be swayed by the breezes of an ancient sea,
carrying my soul, my seed,
beyond the mountains of time or into the abyss of the bizarre.

I'd rather be unseen, and if
then shunned by everyone,
than to be a pleasant-smelling flower,
growing in clusters in the fertile valley,
where they're praised, handled, and plucked
by greedy, human hands.

I'd rather smell of musty, green stench
than of sweet, fragrant lilac.
If I could stand alone, strong and free,
I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed.

THIS POEM IS SO HARDCORE!!

Mine, said the stone,
mine is the hour.
I crush the scissors,
such is my power.
Stronger than wishes,
my power, alone.

Mine, said the paper,
mine are the words
that smother the stone
with imagined birds,
reams of them, flown
from the mind of the shaper.

Mine, said the scissors,
mine all the knives
gashing through paper’s
ethereal lives;
nothing’s so proper
as tattering wishes.

As stone crushes scissors,
as paper snuffs stone
and scissors cut paper,
all end alone.
So heap up your paper
and scissor your wishes
and uproot the stone
from the top of the hill.
They all end alone
as you will, you will.

Anyone willing to share a favourite poem of theirs with this poem-lover?

I'm so glad you asked that when I just so happen to have a 1000-page book on Edgar Allan Poe in arm's reach.

My favorite poem for the past few years:

"From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—"

-Alone, by Edgar Allan Poe

'If I could stand alone, strong and free,
I'd rather be a tall, ugly weed.'

Identity; that fluid, fickle thing. The outsider; free and lonely.

'They all end alone
as you will, you will.'

Don't we all, siiggh

'And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—'

Another of my favourites. And one of my favourite quotes. I guess am obsessed with loneliness - weird that all these poems discuss it...

"Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.'"

Edit: Think I need some alone time siighh. Night all (or morning, so damn late)

I come back after a couple hours and people are now spouting nonsense. What is this sorcery?

I come back after a couple hours and people are now spouting nonsense. What is this sorcery?

This is what you get for leaving. Without our forge-master we all fell into deep, dark depression and became amateur poets.

Anyone willing to share a favourite poem of theirs with this poem-lover?

In the greenest of our valleys
By good angels tenanted,
Once a fair and stately palace—
Radiant palace—reared its head.
In the monarch Thought’s dominion,
It stood there!
Never seraph spread a pinion
Over fabric half so fair!

Banners yellow, glorious, golden,
On its roof did float and flow
(This—all this—was in the olden
Time long ago)
And every gentle air that dallied,
In that sweet day,
Along the ramparts plumed and pallid,
A wingèd odor went away.

Wanderers in that happy valley,
Through two luminous windows, saw
Spirits moving musically
To a lute’s well-tunèd law,
Round about a throne where, sitting,
Porphyrogene!
In state his glory well befitting,
The ruler of the realm was seen.

And all with pearl and ruby glowing
Was the fair palace door,
Through which came flowing, flowing, flowing
And sparkling evermore,
A troop of Echoes, whose sweet duty
Was but to sing,
In voices of surpassing beauty,
The wit and wisdom of their king.

But evil things, in robes of sorrow,
Assailed the monarch’s high estate;
(Ah, let us mourn!—for never morrow
Shall dawn upon him, desolate!)
And round about his home the glory
That blushed and bloomed
Is but a dim-remembered story
Of the old time entombed.

And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody;
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh—but smile no more.

-Haunted Palace, Edgar Allen Poe

@Rtron

Edgar Allan Poe is, by far, one of the best American poets.

Poet, yes. But I can't stand his books for some reason.

They bore me to death.

Poet, yes. But I can't stand his books for some reason.

They bore me to death.

You don't like his stories?

Not even The Tell-Tale Heart? There's something chilling about a story told from the perspective of a clearly delusional murderer who is, the whole time, trying to convince the reader he's not insane by describing how clever he was in his killing.

But, yeah, he can be a bit over-descreptive. He once spent like two pages describing just how depressing a house was, before finally saying it was like coming down from a drug high
---

Now, people, let's get those posts up! You only have until 9 more hours, and the Kraken is not a patient man beast slug-squid-octopus-thing!

I wish I was a glow worm
A glow worm's never glum
Cos how can you be grumpy
When the sun shines out your bum?