My Busy Books offer full-page illustrations, a story, 12 figurines, and a playmat that bring the characters to life and ignite your child's imagination. Mixed Media, 10 Pages Box dimensions: Save Convertible Playbook — Airport Save Children will love finding out about what happens at an airport. Then they can have fun folding out the terminal building and playmat to create their own adventures with the card press-outs.
Hardback Dimensions: Convert Playbook — Animal Hospital Save Children will love finding out about different aspects of a day in the life of a vet in the storybook. Then they can have fun folding out the hospital building and playmat to create their own adventures with the card press-outs. Including four colourful chalk sticks, this wipe-clean board book allows youngsters to enjoy Hoot's chalk games time and time again!
Board Book, 22 Pages Dimensions: Ready for School 4 Book Carrycase Save Each book is packed full of activities to help with all aspects of your child's school work! Perhaps we should mention that blast bombs can also be incredibly destructive in the hands of a novice user, and can make an otherwise-difficult fight almost impossible for a team.
Once a teammate starts using a blast bomb and knocking back enemies out of reach, I essentially stop attacking. I can see this being more useful for solo or duo use. My fav is the haze line with the freeze status ranking at the top. Pingzer wrote: Perhaps we should mention that blast bombs can also be incredibly destructive in the hands of a novice user, and can make an otherwise-difficult fight almost impossible for a team.
On the other hand, if the enemies are never anywhere near the epicenter, the epicenter is perfectly safe Similarly, this means it becomes really easy to just hit the guys that can't get knocked back, because now they're not surrounded by redshirts. True this. Speaking of, do the big lichens get knocked back with blast bombs? I've never paid that much attention while I persist with my scrapper-esque rage.
I know that I can shield-push fairly easy and the Avenger can KB a big lichen. Thanks for reminding me, Pingzer. I need to add a chunk to the Graviton bombs section. Specifically, that enemies with Dash-attacks or Teleport abilities Wolvers, Grievers can get out of the Graviton field, and the explosion knocks enemies in all directions, which can make things harder.
I'll make that change later. Pingzer wrote: Speaking of, do the big lichens get knocked back with blast bombs? They do get pushed back but are somewhat resistant. A full colony will go about double the distance of a timber. The most important and screwiest thing about using blast bombs is that once you plant, you run TOWARD the enemy as you're charging your next bomb in order to trigger the attack warmups for everything chasing you and then back off to not get hit.
If you do the opposite, things chase you past the bomb and will get blown towards you. This isn't normally a problem but bombs don't cancel attacks -- a la the third hit on the calibur line -- so it's possible to knock an attacking enemy into yourself and get hit. Ars-Bank status report I didn't post a report last week, because there wasn't much activity in the bank during that week. However, Eleven, Tyrt and Larsiny have donated enough items to make it worth refreshing the list.
Suffice to say that we have plenty. We are not likely to ever need 25 Magic Cloaks, for example. Any objections? Nek, I just sent a bunch of mats to Ars-Bank and requested some that I will need in return. Pingzer wrote: Enjoy the get-away. Going anywhere interesting? I'll be pretty pissed at that Icelandic volcano if its ash cloud ends up preventing my flight home on Saturday court12b wrote: They really need to put a warning label on the cutter series.
It struggles so much with so many monsters Mecha Knights, Retrodes, Devilites, Gremlins, Kats, Phantoms Zombies that the calibur line makes easy work of with the only monsters I feel it being strong against are wolvers, Gun Puppies and Lumbers.
Haze is a different matter, although their initial damage burst is classified as Elemental. Ideally, you want to do one of two things with a Haze-type bomb: Plant it in a central area, and kite enemies through it, or plant it so that it'll go off when specifically-targeted enemies will be close to the center.
That said, the utility of the different bombs is wildly different. Poison bombs are nearly useless if there's no enemy healers around but hugely powerful in Arenas that spawn healers ; Ice bombs can lock down enemies, making it much easier to fight them especially for Retrodes and Gun Puppies ; Fire Bombs have a larger damage radius.
Generally speaking, Damage bonuses are pointless on Haze-type bombs, as they only affect the initial burst of damage, which as mentioned before is very small. Go for Charge Time Reduction. I crafted a medium last night. Medium is enough for max CTR at level 10 with a set of Volcanic Bomber; should I sell this and hold out for Very High Max by itself at level 10 , or upgrade it already?
I think haze bombs are the one of the most listed items in the AH. There are a few pages of just UV items, so selling may be difficult with so much competition. It seems I make rash decisions around am, I should try to log before then. So is that a "sell it," a "don't sell it," or a "dammit, why couldn't you have mentioned this before I spent 60k?
I've got a Gran Faust recipe sitting in my inventory if anyone is interested. Although I may just make another Faust. Arbelac: I'm sorely tempted, but I need to farm some more first. I put some UV Wolver gear and Haze Bombs into the gbank last night, but I don't remember what it was off the top of my head.
It sounds like you want to hold out for the best. Although I don't think I saved any money doing so, just my time. Pingzer wrote: I would say sell unless a guildy needs. I'll check AH and see if any guildy wants it at a discount, then sell it if nobody wants it. Probably these are the only things we'll add for now, as we're really trying to focus on gameplay. You'll still need to push "search" when the tab is first loaded or if you've entered search text in which case you can press enter.
If you're offline then you'll get the mail as before. The only thing I'm unsure about is the last one. It might be easy to miss the chat message. I thought about always sending the mail and only attaching the crowns if you are offline, but it seemed from the other thread as if people would prefer just the chat. Anyone want it for 25k? For should he come not by the road, and come not by the hill And come not by the far seaway, yet come he surely will— Close all the roads of all the world, love's road is open still!
My heart is light with singing though they pity me my fate And drop their merry voices as they pass the garden gate For love that finds a way to come, can find a way to wait!
Upon the road there is a Passer-By Who, pausing, beckons one of us—and lo! Quickly he goes, nor stays to tell us why. One day I shall look up and see him there Beckoning me, and with the Passer-By I, too, shall take the road—I wonder where?
I cannot move in my place, I am chained and still; I pray that the moon pause not By my window-sill. I have hidden my face in my hair And my eyes are veiled— Not even a star must know How my lips have paled— Was ever a night so quick 'Neath a moon so round? I hear the earth as it turns— And my heart's low sound! Youth's ill wedded with despair; Ringless hand and robe of grey Mock the charms which they declare. I would wear a grass green dress, Dew pearls for my gems—no less Now can comfort me.
When from out the rain-wet mold Kingcups borrow of its gold Sweet and sweet 'twill be. The tired lines Etch her white face with look so wholly pure I tremble—dare I speak to her of aught? Yet her lips Part on a word whose honey she doth taste And fears to lose by uttering too soon.
I know the word; its meaning is plain writ In the wide eyes she turns upon the Child. I dare not speak. No word of mine could find Its way into a soul close sealed with God And busy with the thousand mysteries Revealed to every mother. The soft hair Veiling her placid brow is all unbound, Ungentle hands are mine but, trained by love, She might conceive them gentle—yet, I pause— I'll not disturb her thought.
What meant those men, Far-famed and wise, who came to see the Child? Their gifts lie by forgotten, though the Babe Smiled on the shining treasure in his hands. Those tiny hands like crumpled bits of gauze Their sayings were mysterious to me. What King? The thing disturbs me much! I'll ask—but no. The breathless shepherds, too; Plain men, blank-eyed with awe, in broken speech Stumbling some strange, glad tale of midnight sky A-shine with angel wings!
And at their word Again the mother smiled, as one who sees No wonder but what well might happen since A child is born to her. Are mothers so? And are they prone to dream the careless earth And distant heaven wait upon their joy? I'll speak to her. What is that in her look Which answers me—yet leaves me wondering still, With wonder so like rapture that I seem Caught up a breathless second into Heaven?
She turns deep eyes upon me, and she smiles, Always she smiles! Ah, Mary! I dare not dream, save that the mystery Is not yet given. She nestled to me, and I kept her near and warm, surprised to find The arms that held my babe so close were opened wider to her kind. I hid her safe within my heart. She left the door ajar and all the world came flocking through. She needed me. I learned to know the royal joy that service brings, She was so helpless that I grew to love all little helpless things.
She trusted me, and I who ne'er had trusted, save in self, grew cold With panic lest this precious life should know no stronger, surer hold. She lay and smiled and in her eyes I watched my narrow world grow broad, Within her tiny, crumpled hand I touched the mighty hand of God! Across the field a path is set— Sing, sweet Mary, Green shadow in a golden net— The tears of night have left it wet. Sing low, the barley and the corn! The mother calls with mother-fear— Hush, sweet Mary!
Another sound is in His ear, A sound he cannot choose but hear— Hush, hush, the barley and the corn! Far and still far—through years yet dim List, sweet Mary! From o'er the waking earth's green rim Another Springtime calleth Him!
Bend low, the barley and the corn! Know, by thy heart's prophetic pain, That one day thou shalt call in vain— Moan, moan, the barley and the corn! O mother! While love still holds what love must yield Hide well the path across the field! A son he left who, like his sire, strove High place to win;— Worn out, he died and, dying, left no trace That he had been. He also left a son, who, without care Or planning how, Bore the fair letters of a deathless fame Upon his brow. Lord of your kingdom Of murmurous sound.
Hear the grass growing Sweet for the mowing; Hear the stars sing As they travel around— Grass blade and star dust, You, I, and all of us, One with the cause of us, Deep underground! Murmur not, sleeper! Yours is the key To all things that were and To all things that be— While the lark's trilling, While the grain's filling, Laugh with the wind At Life's Riddle-me-ree!
How you were born of it? Why was the thorn of it? Where the new morn of it? Yours is the Key! Sleep deeper, brother! Sleep and forget Red lips that trembled Eyes that were wet— [Page 63] Though love be weeping, Turn to your sleeping, Life has no giving That death need regret. Here at the end of all Hear the Beginning call, Life's but death's seneschal— Sleep and forget!
Pass, friend, upon your way! I may not heed; Too swift the hours; too sweet, too brief the day: Only one life, one spring, one perfect May— I crush each moment, with its sweets to stay Life's joyous greed! The wind is roaming by Across the heath— The Wind's a tell-tale and will bear your sigh To dim the smiling gladness of the sky [Page 65] Or kill the spring's first violets that lie In purple sheath— "If you must call, call low!
A chill Strikes through the sun upon the window sill— I know you now —I follow where you will, O tyrant Death! I give you Death, O child—a boon more great— That, when your Rose has withered and 'tis late, You may pass out and, smiling, close the gate!
One opened long ago, and I A vagrant soul, slipped through, Bewildered and forgetting all The wider world I knew. I love the Town, the narrow ways, The common, yellow sun, The handclasp and the jesting and The work that must be done! I shun the other gate that stands Beyond the crowded mart— I need but glance that way to feel Cold fingers on my heart!
It stands alone and somberly Within a shaded place, And every man who turns that way Has quiet on his face. And every man must rise and leave His pleasant homely door To vanish through this silent gate And enter in no more— [Page 68] Yet—once—I saw its opening throw A brighter light about And glimpsed strange glory on the brow Of someone passing out!
I wonder if Outside may be One fair and great demesne Where both gates open, careless of The Town that lies between? O wind, here's one who would travel with you To the far bourne you alone may know— There would I seek what some one is hiding, There would I find where my longings go! To some deep calm would I drift and nestle Close to the heart of the Great Surprise. O strong wind, do you laugh to see us? We are so little and oh, so wise!
They looked but could not see. He strove, but uselessly— The very clouds which veiled the heaven they sought Hid from his eyes the hearts of them he taught! One golden day when dawn shall blush to noon And noon incline to dark, and, oversoon, My joy lie buried 'neath a rounded moon. Only a day—it's worth you scarce could tell From other days; but in my life 'twill dwell An oasis with palm trees and a well!
For you the long day is for song And the night is for sleep— With never a sunrise too soon Or a midnight too deep! For you every pool is the sky, Breaking clouds chasing through,— A heaven so instant and near That you bathe in its blue! So busy, so strong and so glad, So care-free and young, So tingling with life to be lived And with songs to be sung, O little brown bird!
The long road and the dark shore, pools with stars aflame, The ache in my heart's core, the hope I dare not name— Ah, me, but the night's long—and every night the same! He whistled a tune which he called his own, "It's a fine new tune, that tune! In his pack he carried a crust of bread, And he drank from his hands at a brook hard by; "Spring water is wonderful cool," he said, "And wonderful soft is the summer sky! Of the world's roads I am weary— You, with song so brave and cheery, Happy troubadour must be On the way to Arcady?
Haunting is your verse and airy With the grace and gleam of faery— Dweller you must surely be In the land of Arcady? Some sweet bourne your haste confesses— Know you paths no other guesses? Does your gaze, so far away, See the road to Arcady? In the Lover's eyes there gleamed Radiance of all things dreamed— "Nay, detain me not," he cried "I am hasting to my bride; What have roads to do with me, Love's at home in Arcady! The vapor rises, silver-eyed, Leaving the dew-wet clover, With groping, mist-white hands outspread To greet the sky, her lover.
Ripples the brook, a thread of sound Close-woven through the quiet, Blending the jarring tones that day Would stir to noisy riot. And all the glory seems so near A common man may win it— When every earth-bound lakelet holds A million stars within it. A common man, who in the day Lifts not his eyes above him, Roaming the fields of even through May find a God to love him! I love my love for she is like the mirror of the moon, A sweet, small moon but newly come to birth So full of heaven is she, so close to earth, So versed in holy spell and magic rune.
I love my love. O words that be too feeble and too few! I love my love! Somewhere—far away— Spring awoke to-day From the depth of dream. Through the air bestirred Pulse of winging bird, Through the air bestirred Laugh of hidden stream. On the world's cold lips Fell warm finger-tips; On the world's cold lips Woke the glow and gleam! Spring awoke to-day! Somewhere—far away— Spring awoke to-day From the depth of dream! Somewhere out there in the country There's a brook that's overflowing, And a quaker pussy-willow Sews grey velvet on her gown; Rushes whisper to each other That marsh marigolds are showing, And those saucy crocus fellows— But I'm glad that I'm in town.
Long ago, when we were younger, How those little things enthralled us; King-birds nesting in the hedges, Baby field-mice soft as down, Muskrats in the sun-warmed shallows— Strange how all these voices called us! When's the next train out of town? Thus in a certain lovely pomp We leave the Summer lying— These are her funeral banners, this The pageantry of dying!
The music that we almost hear Is wafted from her passing bier— The singing and the sighing! With the wind it swells, with the wind 'twill sink, Dying at last by the sea's dim brink. By mortal hands the bell was hung By mortal hands 'tis never swung. When the moon's at full and the long tide creeps It rings o'er the town that the deep sea keeps— The town of Ys, that, unafraid, Cursed God's good bells for the noise they made, Cursed them well and pulled them down From every belfry in the town!
For that sin of pride and that pride of sin, Deathly and soft, a Doom stole in. It sucked through the stone, it stole through the street, It rose in the hall, silent and fleet; Soundless it swept through the market-place Folding the town in a chill embrace; No ruth it knew, it heard no call, Sinner and saint it gathered them all, [Page 83] Gathered them all, while over them The bells they had cursed tolled requiem.
Do you hear the bell? When the full moon rides It rings o'er the town that the deep sea hides! Dead they seem to be— Dead years! We sigh and cover them with mould, But though the vagrant wind blow hot, blow cold, No hint of life beneath the dust we see; Then comes the magic hour when we are old, And lo!
Strange spectral blooms in spectral plots aglow! Here a great rose and here a ragged tare; And here pale, scentless blossoms without name, Robbed to enrich this poppy formed of flame; Here springs some hearts'ease, scattered unaware; Here, hawthorn-bloom to show the way Love came; Here, asphodel, to image Love's despair!
When I am old and master of the spell To raise these garden ghosts of memory, My feet will turn aside from common ways, [Page 85] Where common flowers mark the common days, To one green plot; and there I know will be Fairest of all O perfect beyond praise!
The year you gave, beloved, your rosemary. Shall I hear Love pass In the wind that sighs through the poplar tree? Shall I follow his passing over the grass By the prisoned scents which his footsteps free?
Shall I wake one day to a sky all blue And meet with Spring in a crowded street? Shall I open a door and, looking through, Find, on a sudden, the world more sweet? How shall I know? His face I may not see— Are angel hands more tender than a mother's hands may be? And does he smile to hear the song an angel stole from me? The wise King said, "He cannot come but I will go to him!
And did you think to cheat, with words, the jealous seraphim? All fullness waits the baby eyes that never looked on dearth— The mystery of death usurps the mystery of birth!
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