Current
...why is my youtube feed full of Jordan Peterson videos? I've never watched any of his shit
2
likes
7 yrs ago
I'll top the bill! I'll overkill! I have to find the will to carry on with the show! On with the show!
7 yrs ago
@Metadude Well, why not. If it works, it works.
2
likes
7 yrs ago
You also gotta remember partisan jokes only work for those on your side. Like if I make afor joke about the bloody Union, I'll get the support of my Northern friends but push away those Union folks.
1
like
7 yrs ago
Ja, uff da. Ække godt det der
Bio
If you can keep your head when all about you Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too; If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies, Or being hated, don’t give way to hating, And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster And treat those two impostors just the same; If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, And lose, and start again at your beginnings And never breathe a word about your loss; If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew To serve your turn long after they are gone, And so hold on when there is nothing in you Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch, If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, If all men count with you, but none too much; If you can fill the unforgiving minute With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
Name: Ellynorah Weimbleus Title: Princess of Etruria, Daughter of High King Elbronn Age: 19 Class: Troubadour Sexuality: Lesbian Home: Aquleia, capital of Etruria
Equipment: Heal Staff, Vulnerary Economy: 500
Personality: There are many words one can use to describe the Princess of Etruria. Self-centered, arrogant, crude, even perverted are amongst the few words that describe her the best. One could excuse her heavy princess complex by the simple fact that she is indeed a princess, but that's about as far as it goes. For in her world, she is not only a princess, but even a Goddess. Her self-worship is so terrible that the very King of Bern used her name in his speech, now referred to as the "Words of Venom" by the Etrurian elite, as an example of how terrible the world outside his borders actually is. She expects everyone to grovel in the dust when she walks into the room, and desires their high praise like a desert prowler desires water.
Ellynorah's life has led up to it however, as the Crown Prince, her older brother, has cared for her with fang and claw. Protected her from harm, groomed her self-absorbed persona delicately. And in turn, she considers her older brother as one amongst the few that could stand her equal.
She was early on recruited into the St. Elimine's chruch and rather short after she was thrown out, even the tolerable Priestesses couldn't handle her personality. She was simply not cut out to be one of them, despite her extreme talents in the arts, for she was in her eyes too good for the common man. And it didn't help that she is extremely terrfied of blood. It helped even less that she seemed to fall in love with the many different female practicians, and peeped on them in the wardrobes.
All in all, she's a person that wears her emotions as clothes, incredibly transparent and open to her feelings. Mostly. She won't praise no one, unless they first praise her. But claiming her to be transparent is still true, for she holds few kind words for others.
Another issue she grew up with is that during her puberty she grew a rather... indecent care for her own mother. In her presence, her personality is in a completely different manner, submissive and caring much like how people seek from their princesses and wives. Rumours of her incestuous crush to her own mother is a popular gossip subject amongst the Etrurian elite.
And within the heart of her heart, all she truly wants is someone to claim her. Though she is ignorant to this.
"The fuck do you want, Marshall?" The regal voice muttered with a definite hint of annoyance. Indeed, the Princess' glare was lingering on his armored frame with a seething venom, as if the few seconds she's not allowed to gawp at her own perfection in the mirror was enough to cause a wrathful fury. And perhaps it was, for the annointed knight seemed to shuffle lightly under the weight of her glare, nevermind the 40 kilos of armor he wore. "O-oh, Y-your Eminence, please. Your father req-" the man began, only to be cut short by her words, "What was that? Is that how you talk to the beautiful, wonderful Princess standing in front of you? Where's the praise, you old oaf?"
The Marshal coughed lightly, as if attempting to peer off. "M-my deepest apologies, Your Grace. The Heart and Soul of Etruria, Princess Ellynorah, my beloved Mistress, your father request an audience with you. If you'd be willing to bless him with your stunning presence?" He said, though a sour hint of sarcasm was noted. She didn't catch it, luckily, and instead nodded with satisfaction, "Well, why didn't you say so? Is Mother there?"
Alignment: In every sense of the word, she falls into a Chaotic Neutral type of alignment.
Simple description: Ellynorah favors clothing that enhances her forms and persona, when in town she wears overly exquisite dresses with beautiful brodery, usually green and white in color. Tight in the correct places, loose in the others, she seems to be in an eternal prom when in her home. Out travelling, however, she favors light clothing that might reveal a little skin, though generally out of comfort on horseback. Though she does love the prying eyes when dressed like this. Her light clothing consists of a tight, soft red top which reveals her long, nimble and soft arms fully, and a rather short, red and white striped skirt that ends just above her knees. Her legs are covered by long socks in the same color of her skirt.
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,
Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,
And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:
If you can dream—and not make dreams your master;
If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it,
And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!
<div style="white-space:pre-wrap;">If you can keep your head when all about you <br> Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, <br>If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,<br> But make allowance for their doubting too; <br>If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,<br> Or being lied about, don’t deal in lies,<br>Or being hated, don’t give way to hating,<br> And yet don’t look too good, nor talk too wise:<br><br>If you can dream—and not make dreams your master; <br> If you can think—and not make thoughts your aim; <br>If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster<br> And treat those two impostors just the same; <br>If you can bear to hear the truth you’ve spoken<br> Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,<br>Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,<br> And stoop and build ’em up with worn-out tools:<br><br>If you can make one heap of all your winnings<br> And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,<br>And lose, and start again at your beginnings<br> And never breathe a word about your loss;<br>If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew<br> To serve your turn long after they are gone, <br>And so hold on when there is nothing in you<br> Except the Will which says to them: ‘Hold on!’<br><br>If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, <br> Or walk with Kings—nor lose the common touch,<br>If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,<br> If all men count with you, but none too much;<br>If you can fill the unforgiving minute<br> With sixty seconds’ worth of distance run, <br>Yours is the Earth and everything that’s in it, <br> And—which is more—you’ll be a Man, my son!</div>
