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Cyrain

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About Cyrain
 
 
 
  1. While i have not finished the WoT series (i still have not even cracked Memory of Light, might be time to reread and finish), I absolutely love them, and even have a tattoo from WoT on my calf (Daes Dae'mar). My friend and I spent many hours trying to cast a WoT show or movie, and with the overwhelming success of LotR, we were hopeful that WoT might get the same treatment... and then GoT launched and we were once again excited that a fantasy series was doing so well, and once again had a vague hope that it might mean WoT would finally become a series. With the launch of The Shanara Chronicles, I realized that it would likely NEVER be done to satisfaction on any broadcast or cable station, and so would require the budget and depth of a Game of Thrones type show on premium cable like HBO or Showtime. And then, i realized... there's a very good chance that no matter who creates and produces it, I'll probably hate it. I've never watched GoT or read the books. And after the Fellowship, i never picked up LotR again (And likely never will, flare up with my best friend, who is a die hard LotR fanatic, caused me to vow never to pick them up or finish them ever again), and I think that was the saving grace for both series (if i manage to sit and watch more GoT after the first episode). I don't know the stories, or in the case of Harry Potter, I'm not as invested in them, so I'm able to sit back and enjoy what they are able to do with the material and enjoy it for what it is. I'm terrified that I would simply hate any big (or small) screen adaptation of WoT. Of course, if they make it, if it exists... of course I'll watch it. P.S. Though he's a bit too old, and wrong color eyes, I always liked Cillian Murphy for Mat.
  2. Slice

    I can’t bring myself to send it to the one I want, so I’ll just leave it here. I broke in two to ease the longing To stop the gnawing Of hope into my soul. In two a thousand brittle shards My shattered heart bled And none can bear it. Three empty wholes rest here Where eyes and heart once dwell And now drip tears of hollow hope Into the void of silent doubt. What kind of worth can you have When the white line shackles tie you to the bed? What dreams resurrect, when buried in the crimson comfort, A cold steel kiss to send you to sleep and wake the sighing darkness. Goodnight mama... a breath against the heart, there and gone Each step heavier toward the rising dawn And again to bed, where white line shackles whisper sweet promises to call you home.
  3. Yada yada yada

    That's very true, and makes me feel like a bigger dick than I already was, but sometimes... I don't know, just have to wonder if people realize what they're getting up in arms about.
  4. Yada yada yada

    I don't generally debate people because, well, generally people are awful. You lot are lovely, so while I'd be exceedingly nervous due to self-conditioning, I could possibly post in here every now and then. BUT (butt? hmmm) I just need one small moment to say ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?! This is a general, blanket statement for most of the 'hot button' topics. (In the world/US at large, not necessarily here on this forum specifically) I understand that some of the hot topics being debated in the world are extremely important and hit very close to home for a lot of people, and I don't mean to be insensitive to what people are dealing with or going through, or what their personal struggles have been. I just look at everything that is going on in the world, all the things that are monumentally more important, and can't help but think "REALLY?? are we REALLY this concerned about THIS right now??" Anyway... that's my small rant for the day. If you need me, I'll be in the corner, hiding from and denying any such post in a 'debate' thread.
  5. logging out issue is back

    did it again just now, 10:18am EST, Chrome browser
  6. Soda- Nothing but Thieves
  7. logging out issue is back

    Just happened to me, 7:40am EST, using Chrome. Seems just forum page this time. edit: Seems to happen once or twice, then is fine. weird.
  8. Snapshot Stories

    another with Cyra and Logan first meeting.... cause the Goddess wanted it. :3
  9. Beginning

    Cause I told the Goddess that i would Cyra couldn't breathe. She could feel the heavy intake of air, feel the gasping pull of breath into her lungs, but there was no relief. Could you suffocate from heartbreak? Her mind struggled valiantly against something her heart already knew. NO! They LOVED me! They did! I'm their daughter, they can't just stop caring! There's some kind of mistake, they must have thought she was someone else! They can't have meant her. Her father loved her, he would not have disowned her! They couldn't... The thoughts slowed as she clutched at her chest, wondering if tearing it open would help her lungs get the air they so desperately desired. She made it to the far back field, where the wilderness had reclaimed part of the stone fence and an old drainage ditch created a protective alcove, before the wracking sobs shuddered through her. When you don't open your eyes, time can't catch you, right? The next morning dawned grey, and with an encouraging prod from one of the shepherds, she stood, feeling hollow, empty, but not yet shattered. When her conscious thoughts stuttered to a halt, her body took over, taking the steps necessary for survival while she struggled with an identity she could no longer claim. The body required food, water, and protection from the elements to survive. The coins she had left could be stretched for sustenance in the days ahead, and water was always plentiful, but the winter would be cold and the winds bitter, and it was with that thought that her feet turned south, toward warmer climes and easier days. The first few weeks passed without incident, skin darkening, toughening against the sun, wind and rain in equal measures. Without the drive to strengthen herself, she became ever more lean, subsisting on what little she needed to put one foot in front of the other, making the few coins she had last well past when they should have run out. When even they, too, ran dry, she took to stealing, an apple or two from the orchards she passed, a few eggs from some unsupervised chickens, only ever enough to get her by. By the start of the fourth week, like coming out of a fog, she started to recognize the looks of mingled disgust and pity in the faces of the farmers and villagers she passed on the road. With the intrusion of distant memory, dripping like hot vitriol on the cold stone of her numb heart, she now knew what, in her childhood, she hadn't grasped: shame. She had not taken back her life, her freedom, to become a beggar on the streets, scrambling for scraps of food. Enough. I am who I've always been, and I will be what I choose. With a little twinge of regret at the need, she went to the far end of the village where the laundry was done and let her sticky fingers gather a sliver of soap and a fresh towel, hesitating a moment before also risking the theft of fresh, if careworn clothes. With the utmost care, she trims her shaggy, disheveled locks, letting the river carry them away as she works to scrub the old from her skin, along with the grime from weeks on the road. Making herself as presentable as possible, she slips into the first pub she finds, the thick scent of stale alcohol, leather, unwashed bodies and the strong spice of a midday meal marking the building as clear as the bright orange sign above the door. The room was raucous, a little surprising for the middle of the day, with a large group of men in one corner talking and laughing loudly as they downed a substantial meal, along with equally substantial amounts of ale. Turning her back on the group, she addresses herself to the woman behind the counter “Excuse me, ma'am, I'm in a bit of a tight spot, and I was hoping you might know of anyone in the area needing another pair of hands, or a strong back? A couple days of food and lodging is all I'm really looking for...” The place, and the smell, made Cyra twitchy. After months without being confined in any way, being indoors, with only one visible exit and more men than she knew she could defend against, she was a bit jumpy. Flinching a little at a particularly loud bellow from the man in the corner, her fingertips brush over the handle of her knife as she made a concerted effort to ignore the rest of the room. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ “Oy! Lad! We need refills over here!” Logan, with his sable hair and piercing grey eyes, was not a man much used to being ignored. When Cyra continued her conversation, and consequently ignored him completely, he finally stood and made his way over to what he took to be the serving boy. Listing a little from the two strong drinks he had already consumed, he was nonetheless steady enough when he reached her to stand straight. “Hey! I'm talking to you boy! Are you really going to treat a loyal, payin-,” As he was speaking, he finally reached out and gripped her upper arm tightly, his large hand easily wrapping around the painfully thin arm, turning the 'serving boy' around to force an acknowledgment. He only got so far in his tirade before wide green eyes met his stormy grey, and like a punch in the gut, realized his error. In fact, it was so much like a punch in the gut, it took a moment for him to understand that he was actually wheezing from a jab just under his ribs, and another moment too long to realize that her hand was now somewhere a bit more intimate, and holding a blade where an ill-timed sneeze might give him a bit too much extra room in his pants. “Do not touch me,” she said in a low growl, the usual cadence of her voice marred by a hoarseness that spoke more to long disuse than the hollowness her eyes might suggest. His hand springing free of her arm, she slowly straightened, still holding his gaze with her crystal eyes, he caught but a glimpse of black between her fingers, there and gone so fast, he wasn't sure it had truly been there. Taking a step back, giving him a short nod and a brief, assessing look, she turned and practically fled the pub, leaving him slack-jawed, a half-formed apology on his lips. When Kesney finally stepped up and clapped a hand to his shoulder, Logan could do little but give a bemused grin, a small shake of the head, and a lingering glance to the closed door before returning to his comrades, with drinks in hand. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Outside the pub, Cyra leaned against the wall, her face had gone a sickly pale beneath the tan, breathing hard as the magnitude of what she had done came over her. Not only had she threatened an armed man almost twice her size, she had run away from a potential source of income and food. If he wasn't angry enough to come after her, she still couldn't show her face there again, after embarrassing herself. Besides, the thought of running into him again made her cheeks flare red, and sent her looking for a different pub where she might manage to go unnoticed.
  10. Research project help?

    So, looking at the societal expectations of women after loss of an infant? Specifically what... like, if there was amount of time that was acceptable to grieve, expected to get back on the horse so to say, expectations of dress and decorum. Or possibly what the loss said about woman and how the community viewed the individual. Or possibly what the religious implications were. I'd imagine focusing on that time frame would look more at miscarriage and stillbirth, or maybe compare those to the grief or views should the child survive birth, but pass away after some time had passed. Or what the overall impact of infant mortality meant for woman expected to bear children to their husbands, and what the stress such knowledge would have on woman, and whether how they handle that stress and the societal pressure would have an effect on time spent grieving a loss (ok, this would probably be rather difficult, searching for correlations in a not-modern time period). I don't really know, i'm just throwing things out in the void at this point lol
  11. logging out issue is back

    Same, using Chrome, 4:30pm EST when i click on Forum in the top menu bar. Still takes me to Forum page, but looks like i'm logged out and nothing updated. Also happens when I click on Blogs from the top menu bar.
  12. Snapshot Stories

    I'll try to work on finishing up another little thing tonight, with couple of new characters. Have to see how it goes.
  13. Snapshot Stories

    I have a story that deals more with an incident of Jonathan's past, but would require a lot of explanation about the races in the world my friend created and would require explaining other things and would snowball into trying to explain everything about this universe my friend created. And i don't feel right sharing his work in that way.
  14. Gaming

    Of course you are Patch 4.1 was released for Final Fantasy XIV, which made me remember that I still haven't finished the main story for 4.0, so i've been trying to get through that. I also have Tales of Berseria to work on.
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