Grantaire

This is basically how I end up picturing BZPower.But what I would do if BZPower existed as a physical place? I'd probably be that native of the SS forum trying to start a church in CoT.

Onua, Pohatu, and Kopaka are the only Nuva I can stand.I also don't really have a problem with Kiina as portrayed in TLR.

No, I like to know who people are. Too easy to misuse....

Reviewed Who Am I?.

Who am I?Can I condemn this man to slaveryPretend I do not feel his agonyThis innocent who bears my faceWho goes to judgement in my placeSorry, but that was what started playing in my head when I saw the title. So now I'm listening to it repeatedly while reviewing.Where was I? Oh, yes. Official SSCC review, that thing.I quite enjoyed this story, honestly. The writing style was not overly complex or eloquent, but it painted a good picture of the scene; and although you never described Death besides mentioning the hood I got a very good impression of her. The drug lord and Garcia were well sketched out as well: I can't find nitpicks, for although they were not extremely described, the very nature of the story did not allow for such.The plot was quite simple, really, at face value: random vigilante tries to take out a druglord and gets killed. The twist with lady death was definitely good, and especially with her change of heart. Overall the plot was understandable and quite captivating. The setting and atmosphere were also very good. I can't really find anything to nitpick here.I could not find any grammar mistakes, really, so this section is pointless. Good job with the grammar.Overall, this was a very good story. Although I personally am not too fond of the portrayal of Death you have here, you portrayed here well, so I must objectively admit you did a good job. As I said before, I have no problems either with the grammar, the characters, or the plot. Good work.

This is another story I wrote in the style of stories such as Within Temptation and An Assassin’s Reflection: basically going with an image of either scenery or action, and writing a story based on that, usually only encompassing a single scene. So if you want to know the backstory for this… Good luck, because I don’t know it. Same thing goes for the country or time period (okay, time period is easy to guess technology-wise). Great credit for inspiration goes to the song Concrete Angel. It is a seriously epic song, and I suggest it to everyone reading this. Beneath the glory of every war there is the drudgery of evil; beneath the glories of the decorated soldier is the terror-etched face of the civilians of sacked cities and razed village: the underdwellers and victims of all wars. The night sky was brilliantly clear in the country, like the inside of a globe, dotted with stars. It was warm in the early autumn, the air filled with that smell that marked the brilliant picture of yellow-gold surroundings so well. The road was old and narrow, a single car could hardly travel along it, and the surface was pockmarked and rutted with age. Hardly a few feet of clear ground—grass covered in a light layer of leaves—separated the way from the thick forest surrounding it. On both sides were high embankments, and above them the dark boles of the silent trees looked down upon the boy as he half ran, half stumbled along. To him, the dreamy atmosphere of the lovely night was utterly lost, his eyes bearing the hunted look of an animal. His ragged sneakers padded softly on the pavement, but he heard it not. At every footfall the heavy tramping of boots replaced his steps in his mind. His breath became the terse shouted orders, the sound of jingling equipment. His uncut dark hair fell across his eyes partly, shrouding the world from him, leaving his memories better entrance as his senses were blocked. The world around him was burning, the world about what filled with screaming. The boy scrambled about disoriented, trying to grab the nearest possessions in his ragged tent. Smoke filled the air, and the sound of guns rang out constantly. Spurred by blind terror he fled the tent, rushing into the main grounds of the sprawling camp built into the beautiful countryside. In the war torn land, refugee camps like these were all too common, as was the practice of burning them. He began running towards the edge of the forest, so temptingly close. Behind him he could hear screams and shouts, while in front of him there was only silence, deceptive silence. He twisted around to look back, and could see others running in the same direction. And behind them… He paled more—if that was possible—and pushed himself more, even as shots rang out closer, the more ordered forms of soldiers shooting down the stragglers without mercy; ahead the calming dark of the forest yawned larger, in sharp contrast to the horror behind. The boy was gasping for breath as he stumbled about the first tree-boles, a carpet of leaves replacing the grass and dirt of before. His headlong rush ceased at length almost ten minutes when he collapsed, utterly spent, but free. His running cleared the hair partly, and the boy snapped back to the present, reaching with a hand to wipe tears and hair alike out of his face. It was then that he paused like a rabbit realizing a human was watching it: the small road he was on was behind him, but where he stood was on a main road it had joined to. He looked ways, and at the right started back, eyes wide with terror. Voices he heard coming from the dim shape of a check point. Running feet he heard, their booted clump drowning out his as he turned and fled, stumbling even more as exhaustion overcame the spurt of terror. Gun shots rang out, a bullet hit the pavement next to him, and he cried out silently as the next entered his leg: his stumbling became a fall, preserving his life as another bullet flew over his prone form. But even as he dragged himself off the ground into a crouch, he saw the black figures of his hunters in front of him, and his eyes closed in surrender as another shot rang out. Another body enters a faceless grave, a fragment of rock caustically stuck above. Another corpse rots beneath the splendor of the Autumn night, blighting invisibly the beauty of nature.

Actually, they do: search for the banned members group, you get about five results. Hapori Dume isn't in it.

So a friend posted the lyrics of the aforementioned song online, and I got a nostalgia blast: specifically because it reminded me of a hauntingly amazing story I had read years ago: Tahu's Concrete Angel, by Saya. And now I don't have to warn of an archive link! It's really good to see improvements like this happening. But that aside, that story is epic. Just saying.

Ow, the importing of the old notepad gave me a ton of '<br />' things, but I easily solved that by copying the notes from the old forum and replacing the glitchy ones. Aside from that, great to see this back, thanks!

I used to have the aura of Zarayna Foireann, a short toa of sonics/iron with armor either mottled green-brown, or silver and grey, with a bow and wristblades. It varied a bit. He had a tendency to be annoying (as some BZPers can attest) and made far too many jokes.Now he has transformed into plain Zarayna/Zarayna: The Quiet Light, who I haven't really thought out. All I know is that he has a great helm, takes things too seriously at times, uses literalism as his favorite form of humor, debates almost constantly, and uses deep philosophic terms. He is also incredibly stubborn, writes and talks about Templar, and I really have no idea what he looks like so I'm going to go with the robed knight look for now. His weapons change between a longsword and a flanged or spiked mace.

The big difference is that gum usually is quite disgusting by then, and no teacher in his right mind would want to touch it. Both of these I second to some extent, and from what I understand the word filter and the advertizing policy are high on the list of things to be changed.

Higher jumping, although greater balance might also be good.

Because the tracker feature is plain awesome.

Reviewed Coming of the Toa.

Honestly, I'm not sure what to say about this story. It sounds like a comedy, and yet it still is an epic. And neither in a good way.First, EXPAND. I will repeat this again to emphasize how important it is: EXPAND. There. I think I exemplified my position well: each chapter is a paragraph, and not too long of one at that. And while chapters of a paragraph can sometimes be acceptable, the ones you have seriously, seriously needed expanding. For instance, the first chapter: Here's where you introduce all of the characters, you give far too little description; you seem intent upon giving the physical abilities that it really feels flat. Next, I would advise instead of you jammed together style of formatting the words you try something like this: Next, the plot. I'll admit, I'm a little confused. What is the plot? I had to kind of guess, but I arrived at the conclusion that it was about some great being rebel or other having to save Kongu and a group of human sounding matoran. Let's analyze the flaws there: First, where in the storyline is this? It sounds like a videogame to me, in many ways, but it's obvious that this takes place during the Voya Nui saga, before Kongu became a Toa Mahri. That creates a ton of inconsistencies that need to be worked out: where are they in the first place, where are the rest of the Inika? Things like that.Characters. Okay, here I almost feel like the plot was better. Matoran with human names? I'm sorry, but Yanny sounds far more native to the Bionicle world than Richard or Oscar. Please, this sounds like some comedy posted in the wrong place; make the characters realistic!Grammar would have to be hard for me to critique properly, due to the extent of the errors. Use past or present tense, not both please. You got word filter'd. I advise just using 'dolt' there. Their. Care to mention why he said this?But yeah, my conclusion is that this needs a complete rewriting. Give us some backstory, better format and don't make everything so darn sudden! You told an entire story in 11 ultra short chapters. That's -not- good.

Well, if you think about it, that axe is so massive it'd spend most of the time dragging on the ground...

I'm getting addicted to Les Mis music. I mean, more than I was.

Well, I'm certainly looking forward to seeing whatever this is. An Issues tab? Sounds issuresting.

The ECC won't let me go.Oh, and Ambage has me firmly fettered.ONE YEAR MORENEXT YEAR I WILL BE SITEs AWAYAND YET WITH HERE MY LIFE HAS STARTEDJust because Les Mis song butchery.

Which was caused by the person on fire throwing gasoline around and hugging people. Same end result.

That explains the smell of gasoline and burned flesh lingering around me blog. Anyone have a few spare air fresheners?

And on that lovely note, I think I shall enclose this entry within walls of stone and living thorns, so that none save the great mods themselves may foray in to comment.

Is that cat gasping or licking the window?

Good Lord, what did I just wade into? Let me put this in context: whenever I read something that I view as heretical, or even writing refutation such a belief, I periodically stop in the middle of things, and with burning eyes fixed on heaven either verbally or mentally refute the entire thing. If the writing is particularly irksome, I will seriously loath and utterly detest it. Anyways, after I read through all these comments I'll probably just roll my eyes and lock the thing. Also, hyperbole is awesome. I like dryly overstating things: it would probably take an entire book by Dawkins to make me feel sick to my stomach. One excerpt will just leave me with a bad taste in my intellect. Also guys, I am used to reading opposing viewpoints, anything from Protestant tracts to people arguing for machine rationality, or denying the existence of the self. I just really don't like Dawkins.

The doom I sought to avert has come upon me; my philosophy teacher assigned us readings from Richard Dawkins. Here's hoping I don't throw up halfway through them. NOTE: The very fact that I am in a philosophy class, and have been since September infers quite strongly that i have read a number of works I disagree with as much as I disagree with Dawkins. I have. I read works that I disagree with, from Protestant writings to those of atheists. It's not precisely Dawkins' views that set me off as much As a general overall feeling; it's non-discursive. I had the same problem with a few other articles, so I'll probably end up skimming it, best policy. And yes guys, I like making dry overstatements. What I don't like is forgetting that I'm not speaking IRL, so people can't understand how I'm saying what I'm saying. Also no, my philosophy teacher is quite good, and I both respect and agree with his views. Just sayin'.