Riddles

Jeajea

First Post
It can be said:
To be gold is to be good;
To be stone is to be nothing;
To be glass is to be fragile;
To be cold is to be cruel.
Unmetaphored,

What am I?

(Submitted by Gene)

---

You can see nothing else
When you look in my face,
I will look you in the eye
And I will never lie.

What am I?

(Submitted by Bhryn)

---

I have feathers white as snow,
There is nothing I don't know.
All you have to do is ask me,
And I will tell you so!

Who am I?

(Submitted by Lyrana)

---

((Here after, riddles have answers. To see the answers, scroll down to the relevant post, or highlight the blank bit after that "what am I?". For IC purposes, it's magical invisible ink that appears when you ask it to. ))

Clear as crystal, sapphire blue,
Green or brown or other hue,
Soft as silk, hard as stone,
Many are the forms it's known.
Too much is bad, too little, worse:
What is the answer to this verse?

Water (Submitted by Kat, answered by Bhryn)

---

I am the black child of a white father;
I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me,
And at once my birth I am dissolved into air

What am I?

Smoke (Submitted by Jeajea, answered by Kat)

---


Old mother twitchett has but one eye,
And a long tail which she can let fly;
And every time she goes over a gap,
She leaves a bit of her tail in a trap

What is she?

Needle and Thread (Submitted by Jeajea, answered by Kat)

---


'Twas in heaven pronounced, and 'twas muttered in hell,
An echo caught faintly the sound as it fell;
On the confines of Oerth 'twas permitted to rest,
And in the depths of the ocean its presence confessed;
'Twill be found in the sphere when 'tis riven asunder,
Be seen in the lightning and heard in the thunder.
'Twas allotted to man with his earliest breath,
Attends him at birth, and awaits him in death,
Presides o'er his happiness, honour, and health,
Is the prop of his house, and the end of his wealth.
In the heaps of the miser 'tis hoarded with care,
But is sure to be lost on the prodigal heir.
It begins every hope, every wish it must bound,
With the husbandman toils, and with monarchs is crowned.
Without it the soldier, the seaman may roam,
But woe to the wretch who expels it from home!
In the whispers of conscience its voice will be found,
Nor e'en in the whirlwind of passion be drowned.
'Twill not soften the heart; but though deaf be the ear,
It will make it acutely and instantly hear.
Yet in shade let it rest, like a delicate flower,
Ah...breathe on it softly, - it dies in an hour.

What is it?

The letter 'H' (Submitted by Jeajea, answered by Bhryn)

---

Ten gold go to the first to answer each correctly.

~Jeajea, Self-Proclaimed RiddleMaster
 

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Kathryn_aka_Kat

First Post
And no fair trying to web-search the answers, hmmm?

Kat offers an answer to the second one said.
"The eye's on a needle, the tail is the thread"
"That's caught as it sews" is what you are told,
And she smiles at you sweetly and pockets the gold.
 

Jeajea

First Post
Needle and thread, correct. The prize is yours.

~Jeajea, Lone RiddleMaster

(( And yes, no web-searching, please! It's all for fun... ))
 

B

Bhryn Astairre

Guest
Plants her return easily with a laugh, "Oh that's an old one!"

~ The Letter H for the last riddle... ~

Bhryn xx
 

Kathryn_aka_Kat

First Post
Hehe, I hadn't figured it out myself and I'd certainly grant it to her if these were my riddles, but given Bhryn's answer I'd say it's more the "H" sound, not the letter itself:

"And the depths of the ocean its presence confessed;..."

and

"In the whispers of conscience its voice will be found,
Nor e'en in the whirlwind of passion be drowned...."
 

B

Bhryn Astairre

Guest
Kat> Jea used this riddle some time back.

I just have a fairly good memory for his riddles.

~ B xx
 

V

Vixen_Veanson

Guest
Bhryn... isn't the whole point of the riddle to figure out the riddle?

Here's one for you, Jea.

"I have feathers white as snow,
There is nothing I don't know.
All you have to do is ask me,
And I will tell you so!"

I love you both, and until someone figures out the riddle, Jea does the cooking.

Lyrana
 

G

Gene_Kynes

Guest
Gene quietly manifests into the Material, almost all color drained from his appearence...himself seeminglu caught in a black-and-white photograph.

Too much time in Shade. Bad habit.

Leaving his black paper enscribed with silver writing impaled upon a small, psuedoexistant needle, Gene is gone as quickly as he came.

His paper reads:

I am the black child of a white father;
I give birth to tears of mourning in pupils that meet me,
And at once my birth I am dissolved into air

What am I?


Words, sentences read aloud.

And I too, have one to contribute.

It can be said:
To be gold is to be good;
To be stone is to be nothing;
To be glass is to be fragile;
To be cold is to be cruel.
Unmetaphored, what am I?
 

B

Bhryn Astairre

Guest
Scribes a quick reply under that one:

Gold is melted, and stone easily shattered. Glass can be strongest, when coldest melts faster. A heart is your answer.

How about then, to keep it flowing and repay:

You can see nothing else
When you look in my face,
I will look you in the eye
And I will never lie.


~ Bhryn xx
 

G

Gene_Kynes

Guest
Another gathering of sahde in a corner near the tavern. A smirk blossming into a dark smile, a chuckle, another note, another fading away.

This is only a preliminary guess; forgive any blatant ignorance.

Then, written beneath that note is: "The Truth"
 

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