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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
A useful Note: Balthier's Haki is not yet developed enough to turn things black, but it is enough to null devil fruit invincibility.
Balthier D. Sydney
Docks
Balthier arrived at the docks in time to watch Caitlyn pick a fight with Lexi nowhere to be found. He also saw her opponent, the loud-mouthed aggressive man from the bar, zip from the ship to the docks in an instant. He narrowed his eyes, catching the flash of light. Another devil fruit eater. And an unknown quantity. Great. He hated unknowns. He turned his eyes to the ship. Oddly shaped, the vessel had drawn his attention the first time he had visited the docks. The tub looked big and awkward. Nothing like the trim lines, sleek hull, and graceful sails of his Nidhogg. It was a barge, if nothing else. But, it reminded him of a sea bird floating on the waves. The bird floated just fine, but it was really made for the skies.
Strange as it was, he dismissed it for the time being. His priority here was to keep those two fool girls from killing themselves, preferably without taking on a whole pirate crew.
But if that's what it took...
Balthier was a practical sort. He didn't go charging in screaming bloody murder, or issuing bold challenges. No, the former captain calmly pulled a pistol from the inside of his cloak, sighted on the man who faced down Caitlyn with keen eyes, imbued the bullet with as much haki as he could muster, and gently squeezed the trigger. Once. Twice.
The gun's roar rolled across the dock, sending more people into fright.
@ladyonyx04@King Cosmos@Reflection@KillBox
Hm...make an entrance now, or wait for things to really get going...?
Akane Yurei
Akane sat behind her desk in her plush, blossom-decorated chair, throwing a fit.
“...but why is there still paperwork! In this day and age! PAPER! WORK!” She was shouting. “Mariiiisaaaa, my hand hurts!” She complained.
Marisa, the unlucky one to get assigned as Akane’s secretary, sighed and wondered, not for the first time how this woman ever made it into the top brass. She pushed up her glasses and called through the open door, from the other room. “You know why. Some of this is classified material. A piece of paper is much easier to keep track of, and dispose of, then digital bits and bytes. ...ma’am.” The last word came out with all the professionalism the woman could muster. Which made it more pointed than mere snark.
The white haired woman pouted. “Ooh. You know how much I hate being called ‘ma’am’. It makes me feel old.”
“Yes ma’am. Please let me get back to work.”
Yeah but...” She sniffed and gazed mournfully upon the piles of paper that covered her desk. “There’s so much. Electronics make signing so much easier. And this is so old fashioned. Why don’t we just carve things on tablets of stone instead?!”
“Because they don’t stack well. Speaking of stacks.”
WHAM!
A stack of papers hit her desk with a vindictive thud.
“Here’s another.”
“Nooooo...” Akane wailed.
Boom.
A jarring concussive thud shuddered through the facility. Some plaster fell the the ceiling and a stack of papers fell over.
Both women instinctively looked up. “Another GMG?” Akane asked, suddenly serious.
Her secretary still gazed at the ceiling. “Indeed. There’s been more and more lately. Damn monsters.”
Inwardly Akane sighed. Outwardly, just she looked concerned. “Do you know which one?”
“Hm...I think the chatter on the line said it was the one we call Terrorkeet.”
Akane nearly dropped her pen. Yeshua?! What was that fool girl doing? Ooh just you wait. I’m going to give you a thorough haranguing when I next see you. She should know better than to cause trouble, especially here! But...she wasn’t normally the violent sort. Was something amiss?
Well. The answer was moot. There was nothing she could do right now, buried under work.
She sighed, and laid back in her chair. “Aww. I guess that means all the clothing shops will be closed. So inconvenient...”
Marisa rolled her eyes at her boss and coughed. “Well, if that’s all, I have work of my own to get done. By your leave, ma’am.” She turned to the door.
“Hey, Marisa?”
She stopped and turned around slowly.
Akane gave her a winsome smile. ”Could you be a dear and get me some tea? Doughnuts too, please?”
A slow sigh. “Yes ma’am.” She left, closing the door.
After she left, Akane relaxed. That should take a little while. She felt bad for putting Marisa through so much. The secretary was rather cute, maybe Akane could do something for her to make it up. But, such things where necessary. Now she could actually get some work done.
She flexed her fingers and picked up the pen. Then she started filling out forms at with superhuman speed. Her pen and eyes flicked across the page after page, comprehending and writing at an astonishing rate.
Being a Kitsune had its perks.
Ten minutes later, Marisa came back with coffee and doughnuts in hand. She unlocked the door and found Akane fast asleep on the desk, pen in hand, poised to write. To her left was a significant amount of paperwork, done. Although, there was still an inch-high stack on the right.
“Sleeping on the job. Only you.” She shook her head and set the food down. She leaned over and nudged her boss. “Hey, wakey wakey.”
With a little cajoling, and a shot of caffeine, Akane was back to work, only complaining a little and mostly under her breath. Marisa also went back to her work, boss placated. Though, she couldn’t blame her. The surge in GMG attacks had everyone working overtime, and this newest one only promised more work. Marisa settled in and put her boss’s idiosyncrasies out of her head.
Awesome. Now, let's see about a post...
@Crimson Raven
So long as she's not recklessly throwing herself in combat, which shouldn't be the case for someone in her position, the sword and mask being used for self-defense and keeping her powers hidden is fine then.
As for the earlier point about possession, I'm willing to accept it if you put a hard time limit as you mentioned. Seeing as it's a power that needs cooperation to even pull off IC, I doubt it'll happen much anyway. Do that, and she should be good to go.
Oh, possession is not for against-player-use. Waaaaaaay too many potential issues there. NPCs only, if ever.
List:
-Change forms and names around
-Add hard limits to possession
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