PiroMunkie

[color=indigo][b]Geinudo:[/b] *sigh* What kind of Elemantal takes the form of such a pathetic little creature anyway? [i]What remained of the group turned their attention to Geinudo who was laying on the ground. He was tired. Tired of these childish games that this... bunny seemed to bring.[/i] [b]Siren:[/b] I believe... [i]it[/i] is the Elemental of Light.. [i]Geinudo inhaled deeply while shrugging his shoulders..[/i] [b]Geinudo:[/b] Light, eh? My opposite. Well I guess that explains enough. Light is such a horrid thing, one can't really expect much from it... [i]Shadow[/i], on the other hand, well one can't really compare... [i]Uthwine raised her eyebrow.[/i] [b]Uthwine:[/b] Arrogant much? [i]Geinudo let out a quick laugh, then sighed contently. Closing his eyes in wait for whatever was to happen next...[/color][/i]

[color=indigo][i]The aforementioned, ominous figure stopped his sprint some one hundred meters before the town. A lengthy trail of dust settled slowly to the ground behind him. The wind was only a cool, light caress by this time. It brought simple pleasure to anyone it touched. His eyes dialated once again, allowing his sight to focus in on things farther away. With this binocular vision, he scoped the content of the town. The town was relatively small. One couldn't imagine more than a five hundred count in population. In the center of the town was a tower that stretched above any other buildings and houses around it. Upon the top of this tower was a large disc or shallow bowl, and in this bowl a giant flame to luminate the town around it. The street were bare except for a few town drunks stumbling about the main roads. The darker side roads were empty, and obviously the easiest way for him to maneuver his way about without being noticed. He let his eyes go back to normal, and began his walk toward the town... Upon reaching the outskirts of the town he immediatly faded himself into the shadows. The town lacked a barrier or wall, so entry was simple. With an amazing display of speed, silence, and agility the figure dashed in and out of the darkness. He began to approach a well-lit main road from a shaded side road. Before he reached the end, a cast shadow of a person fell across his sight. He froze in place, waiting to see who this person was, and if they would just walk by. Slowly, but sure the person wobbled into view. It was an older, middle-aged man who seemed a bit disoriented. In the middle of the opening to the road he stopped to try and figure out where he was. He looked around, and into the side road. His eyes caught the presence of the figure. Then with slurred speech and a thick accent, the man spoke...[/i] [b]Man:[/b] Hello, scchur? [size=1][i]( sir )[/size] He stumbled into the road, walking towards this dark man that stood in the midst of the shadow. The figure did not move except making eye contact with this fool. The man was now right in front of the figure, looking at him and too dazed to notice how... 'different' this figure was.[/i] [b]Man:[/b] I scheemed.. to have loshed.. my way. Could you be a kkind fellow.. and hhhelp me a b-bit? [i]The figure stared at the man in silence as the man stared back up at him with ignorantly hopeful eyes. The figure then smiled a lie at the man. The man, thinking this figure was going to help him, smiled back with a slight chuckle. This chuckle was cut short by a gagging sound. The figure had wrapped an icy hand around the man's neck. The figure continued to smile, but now in a more sadistic manner. The man had his mouth wdie open in attempt to intake any air he could. The figure lifted the man single-handedly off the ground just so his feet were barely off the ground. He brought the man's face closer to his, and inhaled through his nostrils. The figure repulsively reared his head and extended his arm violently away from him still holding the man. The sickening stench of alcohol flared through his senses, stinging at his mind. This man could not prove satisfactory. The figure looked back towards the man who was now almost limp, and whose eyes were severely bloodshot. The figure looked at him with disappointment and tightened him grip quickly... snapping the man's neck. He dropped the lifeless body to the ground, and walked to the edge of the side road. Peeking out into the main road, there was no one to be seen. He stepped out and walked to the center, then continued walking down the road, deeper into the heart of the town. He walked around for a while. To no success on this road, he went back into the side roads. He stopped in the shadows and look up into the sky. The clouds were thin and sparse, the full moon was position rather high in the sky. It was approximatetly midnight... give or take an hour. So he had plenty of time to find what he was looking for. A strong gust flew through the town, then an empty sound made his ears perk. His eye and head darted around looking for the source of this noise, and then he saw it. On the second floor of a well constructed, wooden home the windows to a room were open. The tattered cloth that hang inside rolled in the breeze. The windows were open and lightly tapped against the side of the house. Intrigued, the figure ran towards the house and stopped right in front of it looking up towards the window. He stepped back about five paces, and then dashed toawrd the house again this time leaping unaturally high into the air and landing in the opening of the window. The cloth that acted as curtains still hung in his way. He reached forward with one hand an parted them out of the way. The moonlight shined brightly through. His eyes followed the light as it ran across the floor, then at the end of the room settled itself over a bed. There was someone there, sleeping, ignorant of his presence. Without a single sound, he lowered himself down from the window and walked across the floor to the left side of the bed. The covers were pulled up over the person's head. With gentle ease he removed them. To his pleasure, the his now looked upon a young woman, probably in her late teens or early twenties. She had long, curly golden-blonde hair, and fair skin. She wore loose pajamas, that in the moonlight appeared a light blue color. Her shirt buttoned all of the way at the top. He leaned down over the woman and inhaled through his nostrils, like he did with the drunken man. This time he did not rear back. He smiled, and smiled widely. This woman was clean, no impurities about her. She was pure, absolutely pure. He rested his right hand right above her neck. He then moved his hand a bit lower, placing his index finger and thumb on either side of the top button of the woman's shirt. Slowly and efficiently he undid the button, and repeated this with the second button down. Carefully, he opened the collar of the shirt further to better expose her neck. Suddenly, the woman moved in her sleep. The figure froze in place, and waited until she stopped moving. By now she had turned herself on her side. Begin sure not to waken her, the figure lowered her to her back and open the collar again as it had been ruffled in her turning. Finally, he lowered his head down to the woman's neck. He open his mouth wide, baring his fangs that glistened in the moonlight. He closed his lips solidly down, then, in one quick bite, he pierced his teeth through the woman's flesh as her warm blood flowed into his mouth. Immediatley the woman woke up and let out a few cries and wimpers, none of which were all that loud. The figure pushed down on the woman's stomach with his right hand to stop her from arching her back and kicking, and placed his left hand softly on her forehead. The woman found this strangley calming, so did not move her head around as much. She just lay there... helpless. In the middle of it all, the figure heard a jiggling sound at the door of the room someone had obviously heard her first few cries. Without stopping what he was doing he looked up at the door. The handle was turning, and just a moment later, it was flung open... An adult man stepped in, presumably the woman's father. In his hand he carried a large knife with an eight inch blade. The first thing the father noticed was the open window. His daughter often left that open as she enjoyed the night breeze. He then glanced over at the bed in which his daughter lie content, and asleep. The covers were draped nicely over her and rest right below her jaw. Just before her father shrugged it off as just 'talking in her sleep' his eye caught an impurity on one of her pillows. He moved closer and crouched down beside the bed. It was some kind of stain.. He rubbed it with one of his fingers then brought it to his face. Whatever it was, it was fresh. He brought it to his mouth as he touched this substance to the tip of his tongue. He frightfully fell back onto his bottom as the knife he had slid across the floor. He got back up and grabbed the covers to his daughters bed and slowly drew them away. To his horror, there, below her neck was a pool of blood as it slowly dripped from two puncture wounds. [b]*click*[/b] The father whipped his head around to see that the door had shut. He stood up and walked towards the door, picking up his knife along the way. He grasped the handle and opened the door, peeking out. No one was there. He closed it again, and turned around. He fell back against the door in a quick fright. On the opposite side of his daughters bed stood the dark figure. His gaze was locked in with the father's watering eyes. His lips trembled as he spoke something ina foreign language..[/i] [b]Father:[/b] B-b...Âàìïèð..! * [i]The word regsitered in the figures head, it was the language that would come to be known as Russian. "Vampire!" was what the man had said. This made the figure smirk. Surely enough, he was a vampire. Darn proud of it as well. The vampire walked around the bed and toawrd the father who cowered back, pressing harder against the door. The vampire towered over the man as his shadow fell menacingly over him. The vampire grabbed the man by his hair and slowly pulled up, forcing the man to stand up all of the way. Even at full height, the father was much shorter than the vampire. With his free hand, the vampire grabbed the wrist of the arm in which was held the knife. He then let go of the father's hair and removed the knife from the man's hand. The father was frozen in place except for his hands with were blindly looking for something to use against this vampire who stood in front of him waving the knife back and forth in front of his face. The father found something and grabbed it, then quickly brought it up between the vampire and him. A wooden cross... The vampire was humored by this, and the father watched in horror as the vampire grabbed the cross in one hand, and broke it into several pieces. At the act of this, the light that filled the room darkened as thick clouds filled the sky once again. A familiar roll of thunder pounded in the distance. The vampire placed his hand over the father's mouth and forced the blade through the man's chest. A loud grunt ripped through the man's vocal chords, but this was drowned out by another clasp of thunder. The father fell to the floor, with his life hanging on by a thread. The figure moved back to the daughter, who was still sleeping in her bed. When the vampire placed his hand upon her forehead, the woman awoke almost as if by command. He pulled her collar away once more and continued where he left off as the thunder grew louder, and lightning flashed violently in the sky. When he had finished, the woman lay unconsciously on her bed, a small stain of blood on the sheets around her. Her father was now dead, still in the same place he was. The vampire leaped gracefully out of the window from where he came, and disappeared out of the town...[/i] * [size=1]Unless you have your broswer set to read Russian text, you won't see that correctly. It doesn't really matter, I just thought I'd let you know that's why it doesn't look like Russian...[/size][/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Crazy White Boy[/i] [B]God, I have to change this name sometime.[/b][/quote][color=indigo]Ahh, I can see it now... "Looney Caucasian Man". :p As one can see, Mr. Satan isn't that bad of a character. I'm thankful for him because, as CWB said, without him, there would be no Pan. :drool: Hehe...[/color]

[color=indigo]Mr. Satan is actually a rather significant character to the series. If Crazy White Boy ever finds this topic, I'm sure he'll go into why, lol. He seems to be his biggest fan.[/color]

[color=indigo][size=1]Continued from before...[/size] [i]... This... 'man' was deathly to the eye. Dark and ominous clouds loomed overhead as he walked slowly to the edge of the bluff. A menacing sight to behold. His hair, long and as black as coal, waved softly in the light, cold, and occasional breezes that hit him from the right. Several strands of hair lay strewn about on his face; he did not bother to move them out of the way. A faint roll of thunder clasped in the distance. He looked to the sky with his paled faced that appeared slightly malnourished and his cold, blue eyes containing a hint of a bloody red, and grinned haughtily as if to taunt the sky. The wind began to pick up. What few leaves there were blew about, and the air was filled with the rustling of those leaves who remained on their roots. A second boom of thunder roared through the heavens, this time louder, and closer, as if to condescend upon the 'man'. A stronger gust of wind brushed swiftly by the side. In this happening, the man let loose a prideful hiss to what was above. His teeth exposed to the world. His protruding and pointed canines seemed to gleam despite the lack of light. Whatever this... thing... was, it crouched quickly; followed by a direct leap up and out into the air off the edge of the bluff. He hung in the air for some time as the force of Earth slowly began to make its effect. As he began to plummet earthward, an upward current of air caught the black cloak that shrouded the body of this person. The corners of this shroud felt the cold touch of his pal hands as he grapsed them tightly. The air shoved the rest of the shroud skyward, but was forced to stop as the figure held the ends in his hands. This 'parachute' effect slowed his decent to the ground. A slight glimmer drags attention to his right side at his waist. There was sheathed a mighty blade. The tattered and faded leather on the handle showed that was something of an antique. The luster of the butt and hand guard was lacking. He finally hit the ground. The impact was relatively harsh as the ground below crumbled, but this presence seemed unaffected. He stood up and drooped his shroud over him once again, masking his dark, buttoned, collared shirt, and faded black pants. All that showed now was his head, hands, and beaten shoes which were as plain as the times. Standing upright he gazed into the distance. His pupils dialated as his sight penetrated the darkeness. Slowly he rotated his head toward the right. Paused. Then rotated it back toward the left. A faint light shimmered in the far. It shone too solidly to be some kind of natural light. There was a town. Where there is a town there are people, and where there are people there is... a meal. An open mouthed and toothy smile stretched its way across this figure's face. His tongue slid across his blue-violet lips. A meal, it seems, it exactly what was needed. Without hesitation, the figured dashed off with uncanny speed and swiftness toward the town. His pupils now retracted back to normal, he could no longer see the light he saw before. It didn't matter anymore. A warm and succulent scent inflamed his senses. He just had to follow his nose...[/i][/color]

[color=indigo]Here's a little bit from an interview in a magazine, interviewing the VA for Majin Buu, Josh Martin. [b]Q:[/b] Where or how did you come up with the voice of your character? [b]Josh Martin:[/b] (signing Majin Buu cards) They told me cute and evil. So I did Pillsbury Doughboy and Psycho. Kind helps explains why the dub Majin Buu sounds the way he does..[/color]

[color=indigo]Galvatron: Please try to work on your post quality. It's a bit hard to read what you type. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ [i]Upon a high bluff in the horizon of northwestern Asia, the sun began to set, forcing the blue-gray sky into shades of orange and yellow. Deeper, and more contrasting, cast shadows were thrown from the scarce trees and brush that grew in a scattered and unorganized manner. The foliage in this area were very barren and dry despite the relatively nice weather. The dirt was hard, dry, and cracked. The colors in the sky had by now transformed into deeper shades of pink and red, with purple strongly seen in the distance. As the light began to fade, shadows faded just as it did. The darkness creeped of the edge of the bluff and crawled along its surface like a predator to its prey. Soon enough, the entire bluff was engulfed in one shadow. A cold, stiff air brushed across the flat pushing the dust into waves. It died down, and all was still.... It was like this for a few moments. Something began to disturb the tranquility. A small area began to push up from underneath. In an instant, a single hand shot up. Chunks of the earth flew into the air, and a small cloud of dirt erupted like a volcanoe then settled slwoly to the ground again. The reach over at the wrist to get a grip in the surface. About two feet away, another hand emerged from the earth. The tensity in them increased as the began to push down as if to push something else up. The ground between the two hands bulged, and slowly crumbled. A man, or so it seemed, ascended from below. Stepping out and away from the hole, he didn't even bother to brush himself off.[/i][/color] [size=1]I'll continue tomorrow. I'm about to be kicked offline.[/size]

[color=indigo][i]Geinudo stood silently a few paces back from the rest watching the mindless and childish antics of this sickening display of immaturity. If he had a stomach, then it would be churning. This display was almost too much for him to watch. He turned away and walked by himself around the group in a slow, yet menacing, manner. As he passed through shaded areas, any part of him not in direct light faded, making Geinudo appear transparent. When he had completed a full circle around the group, he stopped, and faced them once again. Nothing had seemed to change, and things were beginning to bore him. Merely to amuse himself, he touched the orb of his staff to the ground. The shadow mist seemed to soak into the earth. Projections from the black mass squirmed on their own like tentacles. Strecthing to grab any light they could so that they may strangle it all, coverting it to the nothing that they were. When Geinudo had finished, the dark mass was stood still; no longer attempting to take over more light. Without effort, he moved it along the ground and began to condense it. The more dense it became, the darker it became as well. He stopped when it became only about two feet in diameter. It then began to protrude from the ground in a liquid-like fashion. As it did such, it began to take form. A single extension parted on either side. Another shorter, but wider extension on the top. Features began to mold, and what little color there was began to show. Soon, it began to become solid, and texture was added. When all was finished. A live replica of Geinudo stood in fron to him, exactly alike in everyway. The copy approached the origin. A 'dead' stare ensued. It started off lightly, both smirking at the other. It quickly became more intense. The origin discreetly smashed the butt of his staff to the ground. The sharp noise threw off the copy's concentration as it blinked.[/i] [b]Geinudo:[/b] HA! [i]The copy gave a face of shock realizing it had been tricked.[/i] [i]Geinudo:[/i] Bah, you are a sly one... [b]Geinudo:[/b] You and I are one in the same. You should have seen it coming. [i]The origin smirked, and before the copy could speak it began to notice that it was regressing back into the mist. It started slowly, then moved faster. The cloud enveloped him as he then began to slowly, and deeply, inhale. When the last of it had returned to its creator, Geinudo let out a contented sigh. Some time had seemed to pass. He glanced at the group. Some seemed to be quickly losing interesting what had been going on. Geinudo then let out a sigh of boredom...[/i] [size=1]In case you can't tell... I'm bored, lol.[/size][/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Transtic Nerve[/i] [B]You always see children doing weird stupid things, well imagine them with the power to destroy earth. Exactly. He becomes more fearsome now, despite his attitude and appearance.[/B][/QUOTE][color=indigo]This is probably the main reason I've grown accustomed to liking Buu. It is always more frightening when there is no motive. When you actually see the magnitude of his power then you'll see this. When I downloaded a clip of 'Kid' Buu performing that one Genocide attack of his, that's when I really noticed how powerful Buu really is. It's really kind of scary if you think about something like that happening in real life.[/color]

[color=indigo]DragonBall GT is very real. There are only sixty-some episodes but they do in fact exist. If you ever here about a supposed "DragonBall AF" or anything else, just know that that is fake. You can see the topic stuck at the top for more on that. I'm merely closing this topic because it is a simple question that has been answered many times already.[/color]

[color=indigo][b]Name:[/b] Malick XVI ([i]mal-isk'[/i]) [b]Race:[/b] Vampire [b]Age:[/b] [i]???[/i] [b]Weapons:[/b][list] [*][b]Blade of Malick:[/b] A mere sword created at the hands of his greatest ancestor, Malick I. Despite the different metals present in itself, the sword was forged as one object. A soft, but sturdy leather is fused to the handle. The handle itself is lengthened so it can be used with either one or two hands. The blade is exactly 1.3716 meters in length and 3.81 centimeters in width, and rumored unbreakable. The edge is lined with the blood of each descendent who has weilded it. Any living thing that is cut by the blade will feel the pain Malick XVI's ancestors did when they were killed. The slightest wound could send one into brutalizing agony. [/list][b]Alignment:[/b] The Force of Reckoning [b]Bio:[/b] Born somewhere in the northwestern area of what is now Russia, Malick XVI was born in a poor family. He was an only child, with his father, Malick XV; a secrective man who held a night job, and his mother, Borshia, who seemed to be just your common housewife. They lived in a run-down, wooden house with all the windows boarded over, blocking any light from passing through. They were all able to see fine without the light he found suprising. As a young boy, Malick XVI lived thinking he was just part of a normal family. He never had any outside interaction, so he never knew what was to be considered "normal". His father often told him stories and legends about is ancestors, and where he came from, but never explaining the full truth of what he was. When Malick XVI came to be of the age around twelve or thirteen, puberty began to kick in, but not in the way it would a normal boy. The first thing he noticed was his teeth. His canines seemed to grow longer than the rest. Next, his strength, as it had seemed to have multiplied beyond anything he thought possible at his age. Then came that he noticed his finger nails grew to a point. His skin became pale, his eyes developed a red tint, he no longer slept during the night, his cravings for things raw overwhelmed him, and he began to find himself sensitive to natural light. His father, Malick XV, then decided to tell his son of his real roots. He was a vampire. Ignorant of what this was, Malick XVI's father had to explain to him, what it was exactly. Malick XVI became curious and began asking more about their family history. His father explained that his family has existed as long as time itself, but it wasn't until Malick I that there family actually began making a name for themselves. He then reminded his son of the legend of the [i]Blade of Malick[/i]. The legend was true, the sword was forged by Malick I. It was with this sword that the Malick name was founded upon. Malick I gathered a small army of his kind, and waged a war on the local villagers. Many people died, both human and vampire alike. More man than vampire. Near the end of the battle, his father explained, Malick I stumbled over the dead body of the first man he killed, and ended up impaled upon his own creation. Villagers quickly gathered around and set him on fire with their torches. He died soon enough. His son, Jifsk, was enraged and slaughtered all that took part in killing his father. He fed on their blood until their veins were dry. He then took the sword from his father's charred body, and changed his name to Malick II. With each generation, their family's hatred for humans grew larger as each ancestor ended up dying at the hands of them. This story gave Malick XVI pride in his family, and a developed hatred for those 'humans' his father spoke of. When Malick XVI reached the age of fifteen, his father began taking him out during the night, and showing him what he 'did' for a living. Together they ravaged their neighbors who lived farther away. Causing random acts of destruction on their property, killing and stealing their livestock. It went on like this for years. Every so often, the villagers would gather a small group and try to defend themselves, but to no avail... until one fateful day. By now, Malick was about twenty-three years of age. It was late morning leading into the afternoon. Malick, his father, and his mother were all asleep. A sudden crashing noise jolted his father awake. He went out of his room to see what it was, and to his horror the villagers had decided to attack at the home. Malick XVI was shook awake by his father. This news of the villagers invading their home stirred a rage in Malick as he followed his father out to where a majority of the villagers were gathered. He smelled smoke, and then saw the flames from which it came. Despite their home begin on fire, they fought within. It was hard to see anything. After about fifteen minutes Malick took refuge against a wall to rest for a brief moment. His eyes darted around the room and he saw his father fighting off a dozen men with something. Looking closer he saw the legendary Blade of Malick. He cheered his father on as he stood up, but then the worst happened. One villager, armed with a lead pipe swung at his father as his father swung at him. The blade ricocheted off the pipe and came back at his father slicing into his neck, stopping three-fourths of the way through. Malick XVI screamed in pain at the sight. He ran over quickly and removed the blade from his father's neck and in one swift move, decapitated the men around him. He bent down to his father who was not yet dead, but couldn't speak. All that could be heard from his father was the sound of blood gurgling over his severed wind pipe. Malick had no other choice but to spare his father a slow death. With that, he snapped his father's neck. This dramatic moment was cut short my a scream from a woman. Malick peered through the flames as a couple villagers dragged his mother, who was bound by ropes, towards the door. Too shocked to react, Malick could do nothing but watch as they burst open the door and throw his mother outside. She immediatly began to fry in the sunlight, and it wasn't long before she was no more. Malick no longer knew of what to do. He stood in the doorway just out of reach of the light. He looked at the area where his mother was, which was now nothing but ashes. He then looked over to his father's body, now starting to be engulfed by the flames. Everything was lost. He had nothing to live for any longer, and in desperation and loss of hope he charged outside killing as many of the men as he could while he began to burst into flame. One man drove a pitchfork-like tool through him and pinned him to his house. What the people found odd is that Malick XVI's body did not burn, but he did indeed die. When all was over, Malick XVI's body was all that remained. In fear of it ressurecting, the people buried him in the sword far beneath the earth. After that all seemed peaceful until a year later, on the anniversary of that day. Suddenly, people of the village began to mysteriously die, and livestock disappeared...[/color]

[color=indigo]::wipes a tear from his eye:: Golden, Flash. Pure gold. There's still one thing that bothers me though, and I've mentioned it to you(Flash) before. A [i]long[/i] time ago. Back when we were fighting the androids. We never killed their creator. I remember distinctly that him and either Aestus or Azrael were fighting, and then whoever it was that was fighting just started helping the others. The person who created the androids just disappeared... we just kind of forgot about him... I still can't help but wonder whatever became of him... Maybe something are better left unanswered. I do agree with Warlock, it has been a blast bring a part of this and working with all of you. This RPG is surely one for the archives, may it be kept in loving memory. Perhaps we will meet again in some RPG sometime... somewhere. Until then, I bid you all adieu. ::tips hat and disappears::[/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by AnimeLover[/i] [B][color=red]If we were to be taken away of our intellect, then we would not even know what existence [i]is[/i], therefore we wouldn't truly exist since we could't say we did. This thread really gets you thinking...[/color][/B][/QUOTE][color=indigo]People are a curious breed, and when you have no intellect, you have more to be curious about. The more things you are curious about, and that you figure out, the more intellect you regain. So the question of whether or not they exist would come about eventually. Maybe not right away, but it would come around. It's pretty much an inevitable thought, and we'd end up right back where we started... more or less.[/color]

[color=indigo]I enjoy watching DragonBall. It may not have the [i]intense[/i] fighting and display of super power that DragonBall Z or GT has, but for the lack of that they make up with humor. It may be more childish humor, but it is humor none-the-less. You can't really expect something more 'mature' from a twelve year old boy who has never set foot outside his home island before. It is also just good to see how everything got started between Kakarot and all of his friends that he has in DragonBall Z (Bulma, Tien, Yamucha, Krillen, etc.).[/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Mnemolth [/i] [B]Huh?? Are the SIMs real? I would have thought not. If a computer randomly creates 'us' based on a complex set of algorithms (ie no interaction from a 'user'), and drops 'us' in a 'world' made by it, then of course 'we' can interact with the 'world'. But it doesn't make the world 'real'. It doesn't make us 'real'. There is no dirt, no hole, no blood, no trees, no animals, none of these things exist. They are merely constructs of a computer program. The only thing we can be sure of is our consciousness. Whether that is a result of complex computer algorithms, or an evolution based on 'real' physical structures, we KNOW it is there because we think.[/B][/QUOTE][color=indigo]After actually taking the time to make sense of anything you type, I'm beginning to see your point. If I think too deep into your point, I start to think in a theological sense, which I'm trying to avoid in this topic. It is just too easy of a way out to think that things exist because something 'greater' put them there, and we believe they are real because we have been programmed to. I do like your comparison to the SIMs, though. That actually made things start to make sense. Though, I can see why our ideas clash. I am explaining how I think things are from a person perspective, and you seem to be doing it from a "bird's eye view", I guess would be a way to put it. In historic comparison, I would probably be from the Enlightenment, and you from.. I'd say the Romanticist Age (what came after the Enlightenment). You seem to be a rather intelligent person, so I will assume you know what those ages are about... I think I just made sense, lol... Not quite too sure, though. I've done too much thinking for one day.[/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Mnemolth [/i] [B]If you dig a hole, you dig a hole, but how do you know the hole is real, and as a consequence how do you know you are real? If you step in the hole you will no doubt fall inside it, but that doesn't make it any more real.[/B][/QUOTE][color=indigo]Dig a hole, dig a hole, dig a whole... lol. A little [i]Ed, Edd, & Eddy[/i] for you all. Anyway, from what I understand of that, your are saying that if you were to dig a hole, you can say that you affected something, but you can't prove that it was something you affected? I can understand that, but more so that if one was to dig a hole, they can they they affected something, but they [i]have to prove[/i] they affected something. One could do this by filling the hole back up, and stepping in the area where the hole was. If they don't fall, then then hole would have been real, because they were able to change the way something exists. Things that are not real, don't change. So if they filled the hole, and still fell into that area, then it wouldn't be real. That event defies all sense of reality. I would go on, but I'm being rushed off the computer.[/color]

[color=indigo]This is quite an interesting topic. Often have I read the ever famous quote: "I think, therefore I am." That has been debated in saying that people can think, and that might prove that [i]you[/i] exist, but what of other things around you? If they don't exist, than how can you be absolutely sure that you are? This leads into Cera's statement "I doubt, therefore I might be." (a golden statement, if I do say so myself... do I say so?? lol..) So then James and Rico bring up that you can prove that you, and other things exist, because we can affect the other. This can lead into the statement that "Life is pain." So if we can feel pain, then surely we have to be alive. Perhaps this is why mankind is violent in nature. We fight to prove that we exist, because in fighting others must be hurt whether it be a phsyical, mental, or emotional pain. Still, this can only prove that things that can actually move and think are real. So what about inanimate objects? Like a tree. A tree, as far as we know, cannot think. It cannot move unless it is moved. In a sense, a tree is merely a complex machine. It is made up of a countless number of cells, and cells have a nucleus - the equivalent of a brain. A nucleus can only perform that one cell's function. The cells of a leaf work to absorb sunlight and carbon dioxide to keep themselves from dying. In return, they release oxygen. What happens to the oxygen? We inhale it. The leaves on the tree help us live, and since those leaves impacted our being, then those leave do exist. The bark of a tree works as a shell to protect the wood beneath it. If someone were to throw a rock at a tree, it would hit the bark. The bark takes the damage, and the wood beneath it stays the same. The bark has affected the wood by allowing it not to be damaged. So the bark does exist. The wood is sturdy, which allows it to reach up high. It's height allows the trees leaves to absorb the proper amount of sunlight to make them work properly. So the wood affects the leaves by helping them live. So the wood does exist. The roots of a tree dig into the ground, giving the the tree a solid base to stand upon. It also absorbs water and nutrients from the earth around it. This gives the wood and bark its life, the wood gives the leaves life, and the leaves help give us life. So the tree, as a whole, must exist. Every part of it has its purpose. In conclusion, if it can affect and be affected, then it does exist.[/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Kneeko Artilles[/i] [B]I DID SAY IT WAS 1 BILLION!![/B][/QUOTE][color=indigo]I was referring to Foredaddy. No need to get all frustrated-like.[/color]

[color=indigo]Let's keep this clean guys. No need for such things..[/color]

[color=indigo]This is the first time I've ever seen someone say Kakarot's final powerlevel is one trillion. It has always been one billion for me, and the vast majority of people I've talked to about it have said one billion as well, the rest didn't really know/care.[/color]

[color=indigo]Heck, why not? Lol, Sounds interesting enough... Ken seems to have a good idea (*GASP!* Ken has a good idea?!?!): Name: TBA Desired Races: Vampire or Archangel Weapon: TBA Alignment: TBA [size=1]On a sidenote to Ken: I just now took the time to click on the banner in your sig... I must say, I fell out of my chair laughing, lol. Very nice..[/size][/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Deus_Ex_Machina[/i] [COLOR=darkblue][b]Why? because if you love your religion completely, then all the other loves come from it, after all, the most important commandment is: "Love your neighbour as yourself" where 'your neighbour' is effectively anyone and everyone.[/b][/COLOR][/QUOTE][color=indigo]I always found that quote rather interesting: "Love thy neighbor as yourself." Hrmmm.. well what if someone hates themself? That doesn't give them the right to bring spite and malice to their "neighbor", but it still happens anyway: "The rotten apple spoils his companion." So love for one's self still seems to reign supreme here.[/color]

[QUOTE][i]Originally posted by Semjaza Azazel [/i] [B]Think about it really... Imagine if someone that emobodies [i]nothing[/i] about your favorite music (in this case punk) randomly becomes popular and claims she is playing that said music. That's what is happening here. There is nothing punk about Avril. She doesn't sing it, she doesn't really act it... Instead we have a girl "co-writes" her songs (apparently with lyricists, which is a problem in itself when dealing with punk), gives them these stupid mispelled names and does everything she can to come off as punk to people that don't know any better. For me it has nothing to do with me liking or not liking her songs, it has to do with her basically forcing herself into a "punk" image so she can fit in with this recent punk fad where any poppy sounding punk type band does well. I don't care about her actual songs one way or the other, but the fact is she, and other groups like her who are forcing themself into something they shouldn't be in, are what's wrong with music in general right now. It takes the spotlight off of bands that should actually have it. I have no idea if that's how PiroMunkie feels, but that's my thought on it.[/b][/quote][color=indigo]That pretty much encompasses a vast majority of my views. If I look at it really generally it encompasses all of them. Earlier tonight I was out with some of my more 'not-so-punk' friends, they like her music for some odd reason, and were obviously unaware of my undying hatred for her. So yeah, her song came on the radio and they decided to turn up the volume rather loud. I about crushed my skull trying to drown out the noise. If that hadn't had switched the station when they did I probably would have hit something as hard as I could just so I could focus on my hand hurting more than anything else. I'm still trying to recover from that...[/color][quote][b] The fact that a thread on AFI falls off the face of the earth at OB, and this is like the what? The 105345234 thread on Avril here...further proves that what she, and her label, are doing is working.[/B][/QUOTE][color=indigo]I know! The AFI thread didn't even make a second page. Such trash... I didn't really expect a lot of people to know who they are, but still..[/color]

[color=indigo]Hrmm... I'll be keeping my eye on this topic. It seems to be going well enough so far, but the moment it turns to spam I'm going to close it. -.[size=4][b]O[/b][/size] (

[color=indigo][b]1. Your favorite kind of music:[/b] Punk/Hardcore/Ska... some metal, some rock, some goth... [b]2. Your favorite singer/band/song group:[/b] AFI or the Mighty Mighty Bosstones [b]3. Your favorite song:[/b] Anything by the two aforementioned bands. [b]4. Your least favorite kind of music:[/b] Pop, Country [b]5. Your least favorite singer:[/b] The dreaded "A" word of whose name I will not utter. [b]6. Your least favorite song:[/b] Anything by the "A" word. [b]7. Any songs you wrote:[/b] n/a [b]8. What the name of your band will be if you answered #7:[/b] n/a [b]9. Would you rather be a singer or a songwriter?[/b] Songwriter, then I can keep the original works to myself turning down any offers to buy them. I'll show the world a thing or two.. [b]10. Which songs are you the best at singing:[/b] As much as I wish I could mimic Davey... I can't. That guy sings on his own octive, lol. I'm best at singing anything I put the time into memorizing... as long as I'm within its vocal range.[/color]