索引串[ ﾟωﾟ]
#820752
>>Po.641075
+Norco = w&w
可惜
+Norco = w&w
可惜
#821066
>>Po.798080
[ゝ∀･]
[ゝ∀･]
#821076
>>Po.777833
……690，原来我已经忘了。
……690，原来我已经忘了。
#821078
……谁知道，五年，八年，十七年。
#821080
不打逆转5的理由和不看权游5的理由是一样的。
#821088
所以要记录。但毕竟是数据垃圾，便再一次放在了岛上，即使又沉了，也没必要找回。有点好奇当初的想法。吧里历史回帖也只有水和潜水，记起来的存在大概率失真。
虽然一点也不可惜。
7 (0~9)关于年底那件事，最后问一次骰娘。
虽然一点也不可惜。
7 (0~9)关于年底那件事，最后问一次骰娘。
#821090
请在白天决策。
#821092
#821102
day101
day100
day0
day1
day100
day0
day1
#821105
>>Po.821090
差不多得了。
差不多得了。
#821108
>>Po.821107
They draw you in and as you press down on his body you can feel Yourself twisting falling into those eyes falling into infinity
They draw you in and as you press down on his body you can feel Yourself twisting falling into those eyes falling into infinity
#821109
>>Po.691124
#821115
>>Po.821092
：1、用软件把电吉他声去掉 和网上那些消音伴奏一样 音质感人；2、自己用音源做伴奏提取人声再混音
音质棒但是你得会扒带；3、找一个GTP谱导出为MIDI文件再拖到宿主里挂上音源 后期混音修改midi音符力度人性化什么的 自己对照原曲再做补充
顺便把原曲人声提取出来；4、国外很多网站有无吉他伴奏
：1、用软件把电吉他声去掉 和网上那些消音伴奏一样 音质感人；2、自己用音源做伴奏提取人声再混音
音质棒但是你得会扒带；3、找一个GTP谱导出为MIDI文件再拖到宿主里挂上音源 后期混音修改midi音符力度人性化什么的 自己对照原曲再做补充
顺便把原曲人声提取出来；4、国外很多网站有无吉他伴奏
#821118
>>Po.821105
别他妈犹豫了，明天就填。
别他妈犹豫了，明天就填。
#821648
|ー` ]网页链接
#821719
>>Po.783648
The wound, Tyrion thought, remembering a sudden flash of bright silver that seemed to pass just below his eyes. “This is like to sting some,” the maester warned as he wet a cloth with wine that smelled of crushed herbs. It did more than sting. It traced a line of fire all the way across Tyrion’s face, and twisted a burning poker up his nose. His fingers clawed the bedclothes and he sucked in his breath, but somehow he managed not to scream. The maester was clucking like an old hen. “It would have been wiser to leave the mask in place until the flesh had knit, my lord. Still, it looks clean, good, good. When we found you down in that cellar among the dead and dying, your wounds were filthy. One of your ribs was broken, doubtless you can feel it, the blow of some mace perhaps, or a fall, it’s hard to say. And you took an arrow in the arm, there where it joins the shoulder. It showed signs of mortification, and for a time I feared you might lose the limb, but we treated it with boiling wine and maggots, and now it seems to be healing clean…”
“Name,” Tyrion breathed up at him. “Name.”
The maester blinked. “Why, you are Tyrion Lannister, my lord. Brother to the queen. Do you remember the battle? Sometimes with head wounds—”
“Your name.” His throat was raw, and his tongue had forgotten how to shape the words.
“I am Maester Ballabar.”
“Ballabar,” Tyrion repeated. “Bring me. Looking glass.”
“My lord,” the maester said, “I would not counsel… that might be, ah, unwise, as it were… your wound…”
“Bring it,” he had to say. His mouth was stiff and sore, as if a punch had split his lip. “And drink. Wine. No poppy.”
The maester rose flush-faced and hurried off. He came back with a flagon of pale amber wine and a small silvered looking glass in an ornate golden frame. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he poured half a cup of wine and held it to Tyrion’s swollen lips. The trickle went down cool, though he could hardly taste it. “More,” he said when the cup was empty. Maester Ballabar poured again. By the end of the second cup, Tyrion Lannister felt strong enough to face his face.
He turned over the glass, and did not know whether he ought to laugh or cry. The gash was long and crooked, starting a hair under his left eye and ending on the right side of his jaw. Three-quarters of his nose was gone, and a chunk of his lip. Someone had sewn the torn flesh together with catgut, and their clumsy stitches were still in place across the seam of raw, red, half-healed flesh. “Pretty,” he croaked, flinging the glass aside.
The wound, Tyrion thought, remembering a sudden flash of bright silver that seemed to pass just below his eyes. “This is like to sting some,” the maester warned as he wet a cloth with wine that smelled of crushed herbs. It did more than sting. It traced a line of fire all the way across Tyrion’s face, and twisted a burning poker up his nose. His fingers clawed the bedclothes and he sucked in his breath, but somehow he managed not to scream. The maester was clucking like an old hen. “It would have been wiser to leave the mask in place until the flesh had knit, my lord. Still, it looks clean, good, good. When we found you down in that cellar among the dead and dying, your wounds were filthy. One of your ribs was broken, doubtless you can feel it, the blow of some mace perhaps, or a fall, it’s hard to say. And you took an arrow in the arm, there where it joins the shoulder. It showed signs of mortification, and for a time I feared you might lose the limb, but we treated it with boiling wine and maggots, and now it seems to be healing clean…”
“Name,” Tyrion breathed up at him. “Name.”
The maester blinked. “Why, you are Tyrion Lannister, my lord. Brother to the queen. Do you remember the battle? Sometimes with head wounds—”
“Your name.” His throat was raw, and his tongue had forgotten how to shape the words.
“I am Maester Ballabar.”
“Ballabar,” Tyrion repeated. “Bring me. Looking glass.”
“My lord,” the maester said, “I would not counsel… that might be, ah, unwise, as it were… your wound…”
“Bring it,” he had to say. His mouth was stiff and sore, as if a punch had split his lip. “And drink. Wine. No poppy.”
The maester rose flush-faced and hurried off. He came back with a flagon of pale amber wine and a small silvered looking glass in an ornate golden frame. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he poured half a cup of wine and held it to Tyrion’s swollen lips. The trickle went down cool, though he could hardly taste it. “More,” he said when the cup was empty. Maester Ballabar poured again. By the end of the second cup, Tyrion Lannister felt strong enough to face his face.
He turned over the glass, and did not know whether he ought to laugh or cry. The gash was long and crooked, starting a hair under his left eye and ending on the right side of his jaw. Three-quarters of his nose was gone, and a chunk of his lip. Someone had sewn the torn flesh together with catgut, and their clumsy stitches were still in place across the seam of raw, red, half-healed flesh. “Pretty,” he croaked, flinging the glass aside.
#821720
网页传不上图--也懒得因为摩尔纹传文件
#821881
>>Po.135133
呃，本来以为只是换代理商？
算啦，反正也好几年没上线过了。
至多不过炉石传说。
我的暗夜精灵鸟德。
我的视力。[ ﾟωﾟ]
所以说可千万别删数据啊。
呃，本来以为只是换代理商？
算啦，反正也好几年没上线过了。
至多不过炉石传说。
我的暗夜精灵鸟德。
我的视力。[ ﾟωﾟ]
所以说可千万别删数据啊。