Reforging the Iron Blooded (ooc welcome!) - Printable Version +- Hydaelyn Role-Players (https://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/mybb18) +-- Forum: Role-Play (https://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/mybb18/forumdisplay.php?fid=27) +--- Forum: Town Square (IC) (https://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/mybb18/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: Reforging the Iron Blooded (ooc welcome!) (/showthread.php?tid=5232)

Reforging the Iron Blooded (ooc welcome!) - Nomine - 10-24-2013 He certainly knew better, but he had been feeling right sorry for himself as of late.  Linette being taken away, Rivi being injured, and a part of him that he thought long since buried creeping back up was a bit much to take in.  His work with the Misericorde was ruthless and brutal, certainly, but his participation was efficient, but merciful if he could afford it to any Garleans they came across.  No, that wasn't what had been the most damaging to his current state of mind... It was how he had treated Rivi.  She had been a proper arse herself of course, but he was callous, cold and hateful and he couldn't help but imagine how disappointed his son would have been if he had saw it.  A pretty pathetic representation of the 'Hero of the Realm' he always talked himself up to be.  Guilt and self-loathing were always fine drinking companions, and tonight in his room at the Mizzenmast Inn, why he'd gone through more than one bottle. Such drinking companions can only sustain oneself for only so long, and after he grew tired of their company, he finally came to a proper drunken conclusion.  That he could only move forward!  And to move forward, he had to continue training, studying, and bettering himself in every skill he could, not to mention being a better man.  His current situation provided some limitations of course.   The first being that he was very thoroughly intoxicated, and certainly couldn't read.  That is to say that he could, his time with the Arcanists of Limsa Lominsa had afforded him a very thorough education.  More specifically, when he tried to read, the letters and shapes simply would not cooperate, and took to fighting and fidgeting amongst themselves, often blurring together to form a completely indecipherable hodgepodge that he was -convinced- a miquo'te named Mr. Bandersnatch had snuck into his Grimoire.  Clearly this was utter nonsense as Mr. Bandersnatch was an upstanding historian of the Baldescion scholars, of whom he had never met. The second reason being that he could not find his pants.  Rather, he could not find what he thought was his pants.  When studying was out of the question, he resolved to exit his room and train, in his excitement, he grabbed his pants, mistaking them for a shirt, and tore them in half in an effort to get them over his shoulders and arms.  Eventually he found the legitimate articles of clothing, (save the pants of course) and stomped around his room in a billowy shirt, a pair of boots, and completely naked from waist down, demanding that whatever Kobald stole his trousers show itself immediately, assuring it that in fact, his pants would not fit the Primal Titan, and insisting that he would have to wear the shoddy loincloth he last saw him in. Naturally, no such Kobald existed. Tonight. It is important to note that on three separate occasions, Jeris has indeed had trousers stolen by the Kobalds of La Noscea who grew quite jealous at how magnificently he could pull off a pair of pants.  I mean honestly, have you seen him?  He's got the thighs for it. Nevertheless, with no resolution in sight he set upon what he saw as the only art he could reasonable refine in the confines of his room: Alchemy. It didn't hurt that he ran out of ale about this time and figured it was as good a time as any to perfect his signature recipe for his own brew.  Now, normally, alchemy is an art of precision and careful calculation.  The fact that he was both entirely too enthusiastic, -and- was unable to read any of the labels on his ingredients should have been a clear indicator that this was a bad idea, but Jeris Guillford is not a man who heeds warnings. Or common sense. Or reason in many cases. Perhaps it was the hand of the divine that guided him.  Perhaps it was his mind intuitively creating something incredible and wondrous which there could have been quite a market for!  Or, perhaps it was the fact that instead of adding an onze of Clove oil, he added the entire damned bottle of Growth formula Beta that caused his Alembic to expand, warp, and fissure, spraying him down with Eorzea's first ever MIRACLE HAIR GROWTH ELIXIR OF WONDER™. The concoction was rather impressive.  His exposure had caused such a rapid reaction, that when he began to gather his wits (somewhat) and pull himself up to a mirror, curious as to what injury he had sustained, that he mistook himself for a giant Spriggan, let out a girlish shriek, and while trying to cover his longsword so to speak, he slipped in a puddle of the alchemical mixture, and promptly fell out the window and into the cool ocean waves below. The next morning, once the residents of Costa Del Sol had calmed down from the initial response of "Black Seaweed Monster" rising out of the deep, a sober Jeris Guillford managed to call in a favor or two and quickly dealt with his....situation.  Much to his surprise (after hours of grooming) not only had his hair grown to quite ludicrous amounts, but the gray had been pushed out to the very edges, leaving him with naught a speck, but the jet black color he sported before it had crept in early in his life. With the praise and approval of his new look the courtesans who undertook the lofty task of such a grooming had given, he strode back into Limsa Lominsa with an overflowing well of confidence and a renewed sense of self-worth. And a speedo on loan.  ((and that's how I justify my Fantasia potion icly, boom!)) RE: Reforging the Iron Blooded (ooc welcome!) - Xydane - 10-24-2013 An awesome read which gave me a good laugh! Looking forward to reading more stories! xD