You guys probably should set up a discord to chat with while we weather this storm. I have one set up for each of my RPs, or some way to chat outside of the forum so that's going okay.
We...have one though.
We have had one for awhile now.
Crimson Raven
Member
*Rolls a Nat 1*
STATUS: 'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. 4 yrs ago
- Last Seen: 4 yrs ago
- Joined: 10 yrs ago
- Posts: 5009 (1.44 / day)
- VMs: 2
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Username history
- Crimson Raven 10 yrs ago
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Latest 10 profile visitors:
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Danyel
Status
Recent Statuses
4 yrs ago
Current
'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.
4 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
4 yrs ago
Existence continues.
4 yrs ago
So much I want to do, so little time...
1
like
4 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
We...have one though.
We have had one for awhile now.
Hype Train is leaving the station
Choo choo!
Choo choo!
Yeah that happened. ^.^
Now that the guild is up again, at least for the time being, I’ll get back to work on my character sheet
Now that the guild is up again, at least for the time being, I’ll get back to work on my character sheet
I feel this is appropriate:
Look, its moving
Look, its moving
Ferrin Astra
Ferrin's muscles tensed and twitched. He nearly threw his assalaint before he relized it was just Patrick. Ferrin breathed deply and slowly let it out, feeling adrenaline pumping through his veins. He nearly hurt someone again because of his power. *Get a grip, Ferrin.*
Ferrin looked back to Patrick with smile on his scarred face. "Thank you for your kind words. But I am fine. I will find a way, and this world can not stop me." He tunred forward, chin up and back straight, radiating confidence. "And for future reference, do not grab me from behind again, I almost tossed your ass into a wall. Ferrin chuckled as her turned to go and lifted an arm in a gesture of farewell. "I'm going to go freshen up, I just go back from a job and I want to at least take a bath and get a bite to eat before I head out to Tenrou."
He seemed back to his old self again.
@Caits
Sweet guild, how I have missed you.
Gotta put up my IC post
Gotta put up my IC post
Ferrin Astra
Interacting with: Time Lord
Ferrin looked down, a shadow covered his face.
“I can not stop living in the past, Patrick. Everything I worked for is there. Everything care about is there. My...my family is there.” He murmured. “They are always on my mind, consuming my every moment. Even in sleep can I remember them.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I suspect you know how I ended up in this time, but did I ever tell you in your future? ...I have a child. My wife was pregnant when I last saw her.” He looked at Patrick, his eyes full of pain. “I am a father, Patrick. A father. And I abandoned my child. I was careless and overconfident, prideful. And for my pride my child has grown up without their daddy.” Ferrin clenched his jaw. “Hell if I know why I am telling you this. For some reason you are easy to talk to. You slip past my guard, and I hate that. I feel like I should know you. Maybe that is because I will, or did, or already do. Did you know? I saw book somewhere once, on conjugating time-travel verbs, Dr. Dan Streetmentioner’s Time Traveller’s Handbook of 1001 Tense Formations. The shop owner told me that no one has ever gotten past the ‘Future Semi-Conditionally Modified Subinverted Plagal Past Subjunctive Intentional’ before giving up, and so the copy he had was blank past that particular chapter.” Ferrin rambled to himself, as if he had forgotten Patrick was there. “Or maybe I just need to tell someone. That island is a reminder of my past. Going there would feel like accepting it is dead and I must move on. If I stay, maybe I can hold on to the lie that I can go back that I can undo my mistake and see my family, my guild and my blood, again.”
As he spoke, invisible magic gathered around him. It began to rise from his body is a clear, glowing silver mist. It seethed and surged the longer he spoke, puffing out with every breath. Around him, little spontaneous anomalies occurred. Ice creeped over the stone at his feet, which begain to crack as if prssed by a great force. Electrical sparks leapt from his metal arm. The water in the canal ripped away from him. Flame danced around head, the was a pop and the smell of burnt hair could be faintly smelled. The wind stirred and swirled around him.
Ferrin aruptly seemed to realize what he was saying and the storm of magic gathered around him. His eye twiched and anger crossed his face, followed by shame, which was quickly smothered and turned into an impassioned mask. With an irritated flick of his hand, the storm stilled. “I have said too much.” He walked away, wrestling with his emotions and his magic. He had said too much, too soon. He technically barely knew the man and yet...
I need to calm down. That was the point of coming out here in the first place. Damn Patrick for coming by and ruining that. I need to stay in control. Control is the only thing I have left to me. Calm, Magus. Remember your lessons...
@Caits
Ferrin Astra
Interacting with: Time Lord
Ferrin turned and raised an eyebrow at the shorter man. “A pretty speach, but I am not going to talk. I’ll be keeping my cards close to my chest, thank you.” But then his expression softened and he looked out over the water again. There was a boat drifting down, propelled by a man with a pole. The same sight he had seen many times before. He didn’t mean to dwell on it, but it was hard not to, surrounded by such familiar sights. Maybe he shouldn’t have come back.
“While I have you here” Ferrin began in a lighhearted tone. But he paused and hesitated, then sighed. “While you are here, I want to ask you something.” He said with a subdued voice. “What do you think, of Phoenix Wing? Will I...was I happy here?”
@Caits
Around, the guild seems to be having issues on my end
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