Maybe I should work on convincing Celest to raise me as VA, despite being only mildly effective in general...
I'd actually vote for you.
Everiine said: The reason population is low isn't because there are too many orgs. It's because so many facets of the game are outright broken and protected by those who benefit from it being that way. An overabundance of gimmicks (including game-breaking ones), artifacts that destroy any concept of balance, blatant pay-to-win features, and an obsession with convenience that makes few things actually worthwhile all contribute to the game's sad decline.
I'm on Skype with a few, but we just spend of time chit chatting and sharing hilarious gifs. Don't think I've used it for anything combat related save for showing logs and scratching my head over how that nub* killed me.
Yeah...i'd never mix my real life chatting with Lusternia...or real life anything with Lusternia. Keeping them separate is healthy, and I cant imagine it would be any good to have a stand-by emergency button that people can press to tell me to log in now for a text-game victory...
Yeah...i'd never mix my real life chatting with Lusternia...or real life anything with Lusternia. Keeping them separate is healthy, and I cant imagine it would be any good to have a stand-by emergency button that people can press to tell me to log in now for a text-game victory...
Who says that's why we chat on skype? That's pretty presumptuous. Socialising outside of Lusternia with friends you've made in Lusternia is suddenly a crime?
Viravain, Lady of the Thorns shouts, "And You would seize Me? Fool! I am the Glomdoring! I am the Wyrd, and beneath the cloak of Night, the shadows of the Silent stir!"
Oh, probably any of the bug/typo fixers can change actual typos in them. It's likely the typo just got buried.
Kind of. Some typos (and bugs) are in places that any of us can fix, whilst others are in the code itself. The latter sort - of which that bug was one - have a much smaller number of people that can solve them. Those typos are also much more likely to be less simple. This is why you will see some typos getting fixed instantly, whilst others can linger for some time.
Hopefully, though, you should see fewer typoed lucidian soon!
"Oh yeah, you're a naughty mayor, aren't you? Misfile that Form MA631-D. Comptroller Shevat's got a nice gemstone disc for you, but yer gonna have to beg for it."
You collapse to the ground and die as your body is no longer able to take the punishment.
You have been slain by Eritheyl.
Well that's a nice welcome back. Not getting rid of me that easily, though.
That's what happens when you roll a character intentionally to troll people.
Everiine said: The reason population is low isn't because there are too many orgs. It's because so many facets of the game are outright broken and protected by those who benefit from it being that way. An overabundance of gimmicks (including game-breaking ones), artifacts that destroy any concept of balance, blatant pay-to-win features, and an obsession with convenience that makes few things actually worthwhile all contribute to the game's sad decline.
@Eliron has either the best or worst timing. Sigh.
Can't it be both?
...That time with Tremula, much as I hate to bring it up again. I was sure @Stratas had to have sent you a message on skype or something. I got a message from you literally right when we started talking, after days of you being absent... it was disturbing.
"Chairwoman," Princess Setisoki states, holding up a hand in a gesture for her to stop and returning the cup. "That would be quite inappropriate. One of the males will serve me."
Comments
*defined as everyone but me
Skype with lusternians is pretty nice
Though I wouldn't mind being added to skype trains
Or Gaudiguch having one
Or the org I'm in having one when I alt
I'm in the loser skype group with Shedrin.
Total windbag
Just skip the middle man and give them your cell.
"Death of the Sparrowhawk", By Seditionist Kalnid (Page 1)
There was once a great tree seated within a grassy field. In this field
all manner of creatures thrived: in the roots of the tree lived a
serpent and by its trunk a wild hound kept its den. Atop the tree a
sparrowhawk perched, its watchful eye surveying all about it. The three
quarreled to no end, but on this day the hawk sat the highest.
There was, also, a songbird. With feathers like oil under starlight and
music like fresh fruit, it wished that all would hear its song, and so
sought the highest bough. But with the sparrowhawk seated there, with
its beak made for war, the songbird could carry no claim. And so days
passed, as the serpent consumed the sparrowhawk's eggs, the hound bit
the heads from the serpent's spawn, and the sparrowhawk drove the hound
from his prey.
One day there came hobbling into the field a bedraggled crow, wings
broken and feathers torn. Its cries carried the clamor of broken bells,
wielded with such determination and creating such horrendous noise that
any listening would descend into fury to silence them or insanity when
they could not. The crow was discontent, dreaming of better than the
carrion it fed upon, and sought a higher branch. It saw the songbird,
feathers black as its own, and between the two a plan emerged cased in
eggshell.
As the sparrowhawk sat within the tree, it spied the crow upon the
ground, cawing as was its tendency. Down the sparrowhawk flew, driven to
silence it as all creatures would be. The two of them met, talons
against talons, as the crow continued its infernal screeches. Soon
enough, serpant and hound emerged from the shadows of the tree, just as
intent on the crow's silence as the sparrowhawk was, and fang and claw
joined talon and beak.
The crow, learned as it was in living in filth, was the more experienced
of the birds in writhing in the dirt and soon found an escape, hobbling
off to continue its miserable life. But the sparrowhawk was caught,
trapped by wrath due another. On that day it died, but not before it had
torn from the tree the very branch upon which it had perched. Some say
they have seen the spectre of the bird, wearing the feathers the mad
crow shed that day and living in a grove where shadows are cast by
darkness. But only the poor of mind would choose to visit such a place,
and what they speak is nonsense through and through.
So did the songbird climb to the top of the great tree, to spread its
song across the field below, only to discover that the tree too was not
enough, and so the songbird climbed higher still. Into the sky it went
and so disappeared. The crow, for its part, continued its life upon the
ground, for in truth it had never desired more, but instead was content
to caw to any who would listen, and indeed to many who were not.