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[piecewise]

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

I'm just posting to say I like the title to this thing.

Reminds me of the beginning of Borges' "The Circular ruins"

"No one saw him disembark in the unanimous night, no one saw the bamboo canoe sink into the sacred mud, but in a few days there was no one who did not know that the taciturn man came from the South and that his home had been one of those numberless villages upstream in the deeply cleft side of the mountain, where the Zend language has not been contaminated by Greek and where leprosy is infrequent. What is certain is that the grey man kissed the mud, climbed up the bank with pushing aside (probably, without feeling) the blades which were lacerating his flesh, and crawled, nauseated and bloodstained, up to the circular enclosure crowned with a stone tiger or horse, which sometimes was the color of flame and now was that of ashes. This circle was a temple which had been devoured by ancient fires, profaned by the miasmal jungle, and whose god no longer received the homage of men. The stranger stretched himself out beneath the pedestal. He was awakened by the sun high overhead. He was not astonished to find that his wounds had healed; he closed his pallid eyes and slept, not through weakness of flesh but through determination of will. He knew that this temple was the place required for his invincible intent; he knew that the incessant trees had not succeeded in strangling the ruins of another propitious temple downstream which had once belonged to gods now burned and dead; he knew that his immediate obligation was to dream. Toward midnight he was awakened by the inconsolable shriek of a bird. Tracks of bare feet, some figs and a jug warned him that the men of the region had been spying respectfully on his sleep, soliciting his protection or afraid of his magic. He felt a chill of fear, and sought out a sepulchral niche in the dilapidated wall where he concealed himself among unfamiliar leaves.

The purpose which guided him was not impossible, though supernatural. He wanted to dream a man; he wanted to dream him in minute entirety and impose him on reality. This magic project had exhausted the entire expanse of his mind; if someone had asked him his name or to relate some event of his former life, he would not have been able to give an answer. This uninhabited, ruined temple suited him, for it is contained a minimum of visible world; the proximity of the workmen also suited him, for they took it upon themselves to provide for his frugal needs. The rice and fruit they brought him were nourishment enough for his body, which was consecrated to the sole task of sleeping and dreaming...."

[Nirur Torir]

((I am entirely too amused by trying to talk through poor translations.))

[Draignean]

((Translating back.... "Air. The philosophical questions, really. What's wrong with this, right? If this part for what is morally right? Although I think you can handle that? What do you think?"))

   Gordon sighed and rubbed his head. "What we have here," he muttered to himself, "is a failure to communicate..." Gordon sincerely doubted that the other enchanter had actually said what he thought he'd said, which meant that his language skills were more than a little rusty. Gordon shook his head and started over. Short sentences. ["I'm not saying that. Let us start from the beginning. Students will be affected. Must destroy. I want you to help me. I'll show you the Exchange to clean his name."]
   After Gordon finished, he repeated it in common, hoping that something more would get through. "I don't speak well. Let me start over. Student was hurt by something. I need to destroy it. I want you to help me. I will help clear your name in return."

[Tomcost]

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

I'm just posting to say I like the title to this thing.

Reminds me of the beginning of Borges' "The Circular ruins"

"No one saw him disembark in the unanimous night, no one saw the bamboo canoe sink into the sacred mud, but in a few days there was no one who did not know that the taciturn man came from the South and that his home had been one of those numberless villages upstream in the deeply cleft side of the mountain, where the Zend language has not been contaminated by Greek and where leprosy is infrequent. What is certain is that the grey man kissed the mud, climbed up the bank with pushing aside (probably, without feeling) the blades which were lacerating his flesh, and crawled, nauseated and bloodstained, up to the circular enclosure crowned with a stone tiger or horse, which sometimes was the color of flame and now was that of ashes. This circle was a temple which had been devoured by ancient fires, profaned by the miasmal jungle, and whose god no longer received the homage of men. The stranger stretched himself out beneath the pedestal. He was awakened by the sun high overhead. He was not astonished to find that his wounds had healed; he closed his pallid eyes and slept, not through weakness of flesh but through determination of will. He knew that this temple was the place required for his invincible intent; he knew that the incessant trees had not succeeded in strangling the ruins of another propitious temple downstream which had once belonged to gods now burned and dead; he knew that his immediate obligation was to dream. Toward midnight he was awakened by the inconsolable shriek of a bird. Tracks of bare feet, some figs and a jug warned him that the men of the region had been spying respectfully on his sleep, soliciting his protection or afraid of his magic. He felt a chill of fear, and sought out a sepulchral niche in the dilapidated wall where he concealed himself among unfamiliar leaves.

The purpose which guided him was not impossible, though supernatural. He wanted to dream a man; he wanted to dream him in minute entirety and impose him on reality. This magic project had exhausted the entire expanse of his mind; if someone had asked him his name or to relate some event of his former life, he would not have been able to give an answer. This uninhabited, ruined temple suited him, for it is contained a minimum of visible world; the proximity of the workmen also suited him, for they took it upon themselves to provide for his frugal needs. The rice and fruit they brought him were nourishment enough for his body, which was consecrated to the sole task of sleeping and dreaming...."

I read it, in its original language. Borges is native from my country.

[piecewise]

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

I'm just posting to say I like the title to this thing.

Reminds me of the beginning of Borges' "The Circular ruins"

"No one saw him disembark in the unanimous night, no one saw the bamboo canoe sink into the sacred mud, but in a few days there was no one who did not know that the taciturn man came from the South and that his home had been one of those numberless villages upstream in the deeply cleft side of the mountain, where the Zend language has not been contaminated by Greek and where leprosy is infrequent. What is certain is that the grey man kissed the mud, climbed up the bank with pushing aside (probably, without feeling) the blades which were lacerating his flesh, and crawled, nauseated and bloodstained, up to the circular enclosure crowned with a stone tiger or horse, which sometimes was the color of flame and now was that of ashes. This circle was a temple which had been devoured by ancient fires, profaned by the miasmal jungle, and whose god no longer received the homage of men. The stranger stretched himself out beneath the pedestal. He was awakened by the sun high overhead. He was not astonished to find that his wounds had healed; he closed his pallid eyes and slept, not through weakness of flesh but through determination of will. He knew that this temple was the place required for his invincible intent; he knew that the incessant trees had not succeeded in strangling the ruins of another propitious temple downstream which had once belonged to gods now burned and dead; he knew that his immediate obligation was to dream. Toward midnight he was awakened by the inconsolable shriek of a bird. Tracks of bare feet, some figs and a jug warned him that the men of the region had been spying respectfully on his sleep, soliciting his protection or afraid of his magic. He felt a chill of fear, and sought out a sepulchral niche in the dilapidated wall where he concealed himself among unfamiliar leaves.

The purpose which guided him was not impossible, though supernatural. He wanted to dream a man; he wanted to dream him in minute entirety and impose him on reality. This magic project had exhausted the entire expanse of his mind; if someone had asked him his name or to relate some event of his former life, he would not have been able to give an answer. This uninhabited, ruined temple suited him, for it is contained a minimum of visible world; the proximity of the workmen also suited him, for they took it upon themselves to provide for his frugal needs. The rice and fruit they brought him were nourishment enough for his body, which was consecrated to the sole task of sleeping and dreaming...."

I read it, in its original language. Borges is native from my country.

Lucky you. Borges was such a lovely fellow, it's a shame that the translations probably aren't great.

[Tomcost]

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

I'm just posting to say I like the title to this thing.

Reminds me of the beginning of Borges' "The Circular ruins"

"No one saw him disembark in the unanimous night, no one saw the bamboo canoe sink into the sacred mud, but in a few days there was no one who did not know that the taciturn man came from the South and that his home had been one of those numberless villages upstream in the deeply cleft side of the mountain, where the Zend language has not been contaminated by Greek and where leprosy is infrequent. What is certain is that the grey man kissed the mud, climbed up the bank with pushing aside (probably, without feeling) the blades which were lacerating his flesh, and crawled, nauseated and bloodstained, up to the circular enclosure crowned with a stone tiger or horse, which sometimes was the color of flame and now was that of ashes. This circle was a temple which had been devoured by ancient fires, profaned by the miasmal jungle, and whose god no longer received the homage of men. The stranger stretched himself out beneath the pedestal. He was awakened by the sun high overhead. He was not astonished to find that his wounds had healed; he closed his pallid eyes and slept, not through weakness of flesh but through determination of will. He knew that this temple was the place required for his invincible intent; he knew that the incessant trees had not succeeded in strangling the ruins of another propitious temple downstream which had once belonged to gods now burned and dead; he knew that his immediate obligation was to dream. Toward midnight he was awakened by the inconsolable shriek of a bird. Tracks of bare feet, some figs and a jug warned him that the men of the region had been spying respectfully on his sleep, soliciting his protection or afraid of his magic. He felt a chill of fear, and sought out a sepulchral niche in the dilapidated wall where he concealed himself among unfamiliar leaves.

The purpose which guided him was not impossible, though supernatural. He wanted to dream a man; he wanted to dream him in minute entirety and impose him on reality. This magic project had exhausted the entire expanse of his mind; if someone had asked him his name or to relate some event of his former life, he would not have been able to give an answer. This uninhabited, ruined temple suited him, for it is contained a minimum of visible world; the proximity of the workmen also suited him, for they took it upon themselves to provide for his frugal needs. The rice and fruit they brought him were nourishment enough for his body, which was consecrated to the sole task of sleeping and dreaming...."

I read it, in its original language. Borges is native from my country.

Lucky you. Borges was such a lovely fellow, it's a shame that the translations probably aren't great.

I would translate it for you, but the result would probably be even worse than the other translations.

[Fniff]

"Oh... Well, Why don't you say something? Let's start." Zedas smiled and nodded.
Assist Gordon in his things. Meanwhile, try to score a nice house. Being under arrest isn't very nice. House arrest is fine, though! Attempt to search for plants with interesting features in the local area that might be worthwhile for growing and exporting/using locally.

[Lenglon]

((the status still says Unen's equipment is damaged, why?))

[Draignean]

Gordon grimaced at Zedas. "Your common is a lot better than I thought it was."

Build stone Golems forms in three distinct varieties, Workers, Defenders, and Hunter-Killers. Workers are humanoid in shape and size, simply designed to provide extra labor around the camp. Work on these last. Defenders are larger than humans at around seven foot, with round sentinel heads, and carrying heavy stone shields and mauls. Work on these next to last. Hunter-Killers are significantly taller than humans at approximately 13 feet tall, with three exceptionally long strider legs designed for great speed in spite of their material.The head is monoptic, designed for easy use in fly-by-magic controls. Three arms, two ending in heavy chisel points for combat, and third tucked close to the chest, acting as a grasper when necessary.

Have the thanaturge work on imbuing the creations with life, if he acquiesces. Preferably the ability to lay dormant for long periods of time, gaining energy from ambient sources such as heat and sunlight, and then animating upon command.

Get Milly to do a relatively simple divination for me; If I wanted to have Zedas' parole moved under my personal supervision, who would I talk to, and what would be the best thing to say?

[Aseaheru]

All you silly buggers done now? Yes? Can I get back to plotting now?

[Tiruin]

[ARGH SORRY DX]

This month will focus on house construction and the synthesis of readily available yet durable materials for common use! Ari decides to work on the construction of settler housing and aid in overseeing the design and planning to assure quality.

If there is still time, she heads over to Unen and helps with the work--putting a bit of time into geological/underearth scanning tool creation.

[Lenglon]

...

[Execute/Dumbo.exe]

It's fine, he probably haven't forgotten about it, remember the antagonists, they may take a while to agree on something and there have been an interestingg influx of addictive games lately.

Starbound, don't cha know.

[Nirur Torir]

My bird person duel wields a sticky-flare mine grenade launcher and a sword. This is the best game of 2013.

[Execute/Dumbo.exe]

Don't get too attached, massive amounts of updates go on, I like the florals best however, I just beat the

Spoiler (click to show/hide)

UFO with the penguins in it, can't wait for when they implement all the quests, what do you do with the wizard scrolls? My mushroom head floran has been wearing one for a while now, I must bid a ready goodbye soon because an update has changed something I need a new character for.