Why do people say bad things about Embers of Rage? :: Tales of Maj'Eyal General Discussion
Robert G Page Jan Timur Shamatov Aug Your Green Eyes. This conjuring source flairs outward rising through the outworn canvas leading it to embers dancing away along a fizzled plane for what was despair inscribed in this meaningful dereliction. Yes decay follows me, unto everywhere will there be the silent breezes to carry me past the concrete terrain into nothingness. I find myself to live this over, until the advent of air drowns these lungs to knowing again, to know exactly what it means to breathe again.
I see no reason for such things as unrealistic as they may seem likely for me to occur in this living. Until overturned. In its most rawest.
The Green Ember Sequel
This was inspired by a remarkable composer, as I recalled a dream before, along with the yearning of trying to expose my underlying expansion of myself with my current understanding of things. Even so, every tone encapsulates the listener with resonance. Spectrum Orange. It's beginning As my day matured into the tangerine sun.
Familiar feelings effortlessly conjured as the same old tales were spun. Some came in hues of marmalade Traces of citrus that left in haste.
Initial sweetness on the palate that would fade Only making way for a bitter aftertaste. A jolt-like sensation that spoke Intense and unmistakable in nature. Like glowing embers engulfed in latent flames and smoke.
Several bore the colours and scent of marigold Boasting of orange petals whimsically waving to the clouds Whispering hints of rumours from days of old, Days of when mine was the only silent face in a boisterous crowd. The ones forged in bronze were few and hardly said. Like the only compelling excerpt embedded within infinite chapters.
Hidden words in plain sight strung together boldly in red. Rubies cast carelessly in the swiftest of rivers It is beginning I'd bide the sands of time as it slips away into forever Xavier Paolo Josh Mandreza Mar Apollo Hayden Aug Dying Embers. Fading is a light once so bright it warmed our bodies in the bitterness of winter. Now what's left is ashes of a love story that can never be told. So cold its difficult to even remember. Dim lights from embers slowly fade; we have become that change. In time; out of sight and out of mind, we'll be ashes in the wind.
Having Learned from a faded love, that'll never be felt again. Skaidrum Sep We're Only Mortal. Fire doesn't last forever, Leonie. Tammy M Darby Jan All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws Section c 3 of the U. Copyright Act, 17 U. S c 3 , Tammy M. Darby Dec. I loved looking at airplanes when I was looking to buy my first plane.
The exploration of the different models was incredibly interesting, and the stories that I stumbled across along the way helped to enlighten me about the challenges and, at times, the outright perils of ownership. This Centurion had seen its fair share of battles with the winds and weather, with a battered paint job and an interior that was fair. Still, it was retractable, and had a high performance engine. I looked it over carefully, and then decided to wait. There was a fairly neat circle burned into the surface of the cowling, a circle in which the paint had been pretty much removed from the skin of the aircraft.
Naturally inquisitive, I checked with my instructor to see what had happened. It seems he was in a hurry, and having flown the plane just yesterday, he came to the airport and went for another ride. In this case, a bird set up a very nice, fairly large nest between the left forward and mid cylinder of this nice engine.
The bird used its usual nesting techniques, bringing in everything from bits of paper, to small twigs, to plastic it had found blowing in the wind.
The nest was sturdy, and would have done a great job holding the eggs … as opposed to frying them. When he started the plane, the cylinders heated up.
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As the temperatures of the cylinders increased they reached the ignition point of the nesting materials. The owner shut down the engine, and quickly climbed out with the fire extinguisher, but it was too late — once the nest started burning, it burned a nice spot into the paint, and then went out. Look inside the cowling holes with a flashlight, and look for any signs of winged visitors.