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McBeefâ„¢ · **01-14-2015, 03:34 PM**

All characters have goals, many of them unrealistic. What would it look like if your character suddenly was able to get everything they ask for? How would it turn out for them, where would they go from there?

Responses can be IC or OOC, here is mine

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Evangeline props herself up in her chair, eyes drooping as the meeting goes on and on, each representative going over the details of every law.

"The grain weights must be standardized, I propose we increase the number of inspectors to twenty-four." The hyur drones on about the details of grain measurements.

Things had been exciting after the revolution, the rush of victory, the building of a new society, however now...

"Citizen Primrose...? Citizen Primrose?" She blinks, groggily, "Ah yes, sorry, It all sounds very good representative, make it so."

The man nods, and the next representative begins, "The street sweepers union needs higher quality brooms!"

Evangeline tries to appear interested as she screams internally.

Steel Wolf · **01-14-2015, 03:55 PM**

The sound of the weapon entering the body was startling.

She'd killed dozens--hundreds before...but it was always surrounded by the clangor of battle. Shouts or screams or other noises. But in the throne chamber of the Garlean emperor, there was no such interruption. The room was dead silent, and so the thunk of her blade's weight, the wet, ichorous sound of flesh parting, the grunt and soft exhalation of a final breath...It all came to her ears clearly. Each sound as dull and loud and prominent and measured as footfalls in the snow of a quiet forest.

Now, it was quiet.

She stepped backwards, releasing the haft of the greatsword with a grunt of effort as her fingers had become frozen to the grip. Her chest heaved inside of her black armor, sweat running down her face and pooling at the gorget of the breastplate.

It was unheard of. A battle that would probably become the stuff of legend. An entire empire, felled by the blade of one woman....but all she could think of was her husband. And all she could see was disgust and horror in his face.

Steel crumpled to her knees, the sabatons clanking against the throne room floor, as she doubled over and wept.

TheLastCandle · **01-14-2015, 04:44 PM**

The stormy blue eyes that stared back at him seemed - madly, he thought - as reflections to the old elezen, like peering into a looking glass. Alas, it was not so. Gone was the strapping warrior of Gridania, lost to the sands of time and in his place - well, me. One corner of his timeworn lips curled, almost sardonically, at the unbidden thoughts. Of dragons and ixal, corrupt lords and would-be assassins; he had outlived them all. Had lived to see his children grown, free from the lives he and his wife had led so many cycles before. He reached out to touch the oil-based painting with long, deft fingers, following the strokes of the brush. When he brought his hand back to touch his own face, he had more than a few lines of his own to trace.

Yvelont tore his gaze away at the sound of footsteps approaching. He smiled to see his son, Arturioux, and smiled all the brighter at the sight of the bundle the younger man carried, coming into view as the proud grandfather drew near. "She has the look of your mother," he remarked in his gravelly voice as his fingers brushed the babe's cheek. Curious eyes of liquid gold stared up at him as the babe cooed in her father's arms.

"We've named her Melodie." Arturioux grinned brightly, rocking her in his loving arms. The old elezen fought back the tears that he felt welling up, instead chuckling.

"Ah, listen to her. A fine songbird she'll make, too," Yvelont murmured as he gingerly took the infant from his son's grasp. He looked up to give Arturioux a pointed glance, arching a single brow. "You will come to visit us, yes? Your mother will be quite jealous, back on the farm, to hear I saw her granddaughter without her present." But Arturioux was already chuckling and lifting a plaintive hand before the sentence had fully left his lips.

"Aye, father, you have my word--ah, do not eye me so gruffly! 'Tis a long road from Gridania to Owls' Nest." It was true, and Yvelont knew it, but he replied with a derisive snort anyway.

"Your mother and I," he began grandly, leveling his finger toward his son. "Used to travel the Highlands and back to the Twelveswood in raging blizzards and twelve feet of snow with naught but the clothes on our backs and a pair of stout longbows." He was fond of exaggeration and, above all else, of rattling his son's chain but he laughed aloud at the realization that it wasn't far from the truth.

Arturioux wore the patient smile of one who was used to such japes and merely shook his head. "I suppose our generation, my dear father, is simply not made of stuff as stern as you and Mother." His lips twisted in the way that Yvelont knew meant he was struggling to hold back a laugh. The older elezen snorted again and turned his attention back to his granddaughter.

Only because you don't have to be, he thought as his arms gently wrapped the girl in a protective embrace. And thank the Twelve for that.

Caspar · **01-14-2015, 06:05 PM**

OOC:

It'd look something like the ending of that cheesy Jet Li movie "The One." Except the pyramid she is on is food.

Kage · **01-14-2015, 06:23 PM**

OOC:

Kage wants peace amongst his friends and most importantly to -be- at peace with them. This includes Franz (and Frhanz'ir), Roen, Ruru, etc.

It would also most likely see him taking up, once more, an active role of sorts with people. Rather than him hoping his life would be at peace by just being a business man of sorts, he'd probably be more in a Free Paladin role again. Putting him in probably a company of mercenaries and sellswords or just Paladins trying to do the good they can.

Aaron · **01-14-2015, 07:04 PM**

OOC

Aaron would want two things over all else.Â

1 - A pair of blades that can cut through anything. Alas that will never happen lol

2 - Stalemate Odin in a fight.Â

These aren't achievable but they're used as motivation for him. But if he could get those accomplished he'd die a happy man.

Gegenji · **01-15-2015, 09:08 AM**

"Ah, an unattended Chocobo!" the dastardly man noted with a fiendish smile, his lips curling up into a grin. "I'll steal it! NO ONE WILL EVER KNOW!"

The spindly Midlander pulled at his mustache in a most dastardly fashion as he approached the honey-feathered bird. The Chocobo seemed to sense the man's intent, if not understand his words, and struggled to escape. Alas, her reins were tied to the post and made such egress horrendously difficult.

"Halt, evildoer!"

"Bu-wuuuuuh!?" the mean mustachioed Midlander grunted in dramatic alarm, whirling about to face to source of the sound. Atop a nearby boulder, the Thanalan sun glimmering brilliantly behind him, was the great hero Chachanji Gegenji. The light caught perfectly on his pure white armor, on the tabard that marked him as a Free Paladin, and framed the long ivory ears of his rabbit-themed helmet.

With a great leap, the Lalafellan Legend leapt down from the rock, the sun seeming to be in just the right place to still give him a divine-looking halo as he landed with a great puff of dust kicked up by his landing. He landed kneeling, but smoothly rose to his feet and pointed an armor finger at the Midlander. The man, suitably enough, cowered and retreated back a step.

"Mr. Badman, cease your terrible ways at once!" Chachanji demanded, his other hand moving to rest calmly on his scabbard. "Or else you must face me."

"Ah! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" came the Hyur's wailing reply, prostrating himself before the much shorter Lalafell as if he were some golden idol. "I'll mend my ways! I'll... I'll go help orphans! And puppies! And puppy orphans!"

"See that you do," the youngest Gegenji stated firmly. Bowing and scraping, the would-be Chocobo-napper retreated away to seek parent-less puppies to tend to them and aid them in finding a proper home. Chachanji watched him go with those brilliant violet eyes of his, before turning his righteous gaze upon the sun itself.

"Good job, Sun."

The two fist-bumped.

"No problem, dude."

It was about this point that Chachan rolled over some in his sleep, smiling widely to himself. He almost indecipherably muttered about how cool the sun was being for helping him out on the pose, and then rolled over into a more comfortable position. He quieted down soon after, leaving the room at the Hourglass silent once more.

Gran just gave his owner a weird look from the foot of the bed, shrugged his porcine little shoulders, and settled back down to sleep.

~*~

Truly Chachan's perfect world is the best world. Where else can you get to fistbump the Sun?

Berrod Armstrong · **01-15-2015, 12:00 PM**

((I don't want to spoil with EVERYTHING, but it's been suggested I give a peek of the sort of things Berrod wants and what he does to get them.))

-----------------------------------

The dark haired midlander stood before him, red-faced and tear stained. Gods, she was even pretty when she cried. There were equal parts sadness and anger in her gaze, and every muscle in her body spoke of a desperate want to strike.

Berrod remained with his arms folded, glaring right back in defiant poise, purposely towering over her to stake a claim on his position. His face was set to the meanest mug he could imagine as he spoke to her.

"...never figured ya'd go fer somethin' so buggerin' low. Shoulda known. Dirt attracts dirt, I guess. Dirty Ginny an' her dirty man." The smirk on his face was foul.

Ginny for all her strength had sprung fresh tears. He could see her heart break, and bit down on the inside of his cheek to keep himself on course. "Better'n me, I guess. Lowest kinda dirt."

"Berry," She finally managed in an almost breathless wheeze. "You don't mean that."

"I mean every word."

I don't.

"Yer a slut, an' I can't stand the sight o'ya. Stringin' me along an' never givin' up nothin'. Don't hang 'round me and tug on my nuts while you got a man ta take care of."

I know ya feel somethin'. Being around me'llcomplicate things. Be there for 'im.

"So get outta my face, an' don't come near me 'gain. Nah -- nah, m'serious, Gin. You so much as come near me an' yer gonna get the back o'my hand. Don't even care."

It's fer yer own good. Please go. Hurry up. I don't wanna cry where y'can see.

"Why're y'even standin' here gawkin' at me? Get."

Please, please, please.

It didn't take long. She turned and ran, trailing horrid sobs. As she vanished around the corner, Berrod moved a hand to rub along the opposing forearm. He felt cold. He was trembling. It was no secret that he and Ginny had been getting close. It was no secret that he wanted her -- and wanted her badly. Unfortunately, it was no secret that she was to be engaged to her longtime sweetheart -- that whats-his-name from the miner's guild. Berrod hated the man on principle -- but he was a good fellow, despite his low status in Ul'Dah's society.Â

Berrod knew himself. If they stayed around any longer he would make a move, and risk destroying everything she had built with whats-his-name for the sake of a committment he knew he couldn't keep. It was better this way. She'd hurt for a while. She'd resent him forever, maybe. But Whats-his-name could fix that. He would stop Ginny's hurt, and maybe support her resentment. All the better. Much better than Berrod hogging her like a jealous bastard only to break her heart.

Because the one thing he wanted beyond having her for himself, was for her to be happy. The fact that he was able to quietly cry there in the cold streetlight was testament enough to that fact.

Telluride · **01-15-2015, 12:47 PM**

The green room was ornately decorated, and massive for its type - it was more a lounge all its own than the simple backstage room that other theatres had, and for good reason - he'd demanded it that way. It was his, now, after all. His troupe had been giving command performances for nearly a decade now, and while he was rather older than when he'd first left the flock behind, his energy remained, his skill with voice and fingers lingered, and his dreams were no less vibrant now that they were real, and tangible, and partially in the form of his own performance hall, rather than rolling fancies just before daybreak.

He inclined forward in the ornate leather chair; it was a unique design crafted for him by one of his longtime companions and, once-upon-a-time, his employer, back when he made ends meet by guarding scholars and diggers with bowskills instead of lyrics. He liked the chair - it still reminded him of her. Yet, the arms draped across his back were not hers, but those of a pale, red-haired Roegadyn; the lass was sculpted well but petite for her kind, yet that simply put her at eye level, when standing, to the seasoned bard, and that made her everything that could still stir him after so many cycles on the road. Of course, the similarly well-rounded and dark-skinned Keeper Miqo'te at his right hand - his master stage technician and handywoman - occupied just as high an opinion in his mind, and while in his youth, he had been rather mistrustful of their race, it had taken only the good will and affections of a few of them for him to overcome that early prejudice, and find delights in their kind as he did with the taller races' women.

Yet his attentions were more focused, now, at the newest pledge to the troupe before him, a leggy lass with big dreams of her own, a big heart, and even bigger... need to work on her poise, if truth be told.

"A little to the left, love - stand where we marked, now turn... Twelve, you're a lovely one, yes, but if you slump like that, you look bored, and what do I keep telling you?"

The raven-haired girl, of tall Midland stock and lithe form, put her finger in her mouth, letting her form go nearly limp in place, obviously using the Little Girl tactic in her defense. Clever, he thought, but as cliche'd as the rest of you.

"Enthusiasm, my dear, enthusiasm!" He lifted a finger. "When you are before the audience, you are their everything. You are all twelve gods at once, you are their dreams made flesh, you are the epitome' of desire and delight. Everything about you must convey that, meld it, twist it, make it your own, and mold it into the show! If any part of you is bored, or unengaged, then you are committing the worst sin of our craft - you are reminding the viewers that you are a mere person, love, and while that is what we are off the stage, when you stand up there, you have -got- to put your entire will into making sure that Menphina herself would turn green with envy at seeing you. Do you understand?"

The winsome girl nodded, bobbing her long raven hair, and adjusted her pose, taking in a breath and holding it.

He'd seen the performance enough times for his attention to drift, and whispered up to the Roe above him.

"Have the Second String monitor the rehearsals tomorrow, love, and pack your things, especially your harp and that fetching cobalt blue ensemble of yours. We're taking another walkabout, while you and I still have the youth and drive to enjoy every...little...part of it. Baderon's reserved us a room for when we're done." He punctuated the last few words with a trio of soft caresses to her cheek.

The rakish Roe winked, and sashayed off to find the troupe's second-in-command.

Nathan himself took a moment to let his gaze linger on the old, worn but still flamboyant hat that hung over the green room's door. It was not his; it had belonged to a woman long lost, who would be eternally older than he, yet whose memory kept him young and whose example had made him what he was - a showman, to the end. His voice was but a whisper among the steps of the midland girl's rehearsal dance.

"You'll always be the First String, ma'am. I only hope I have been a worthy steward. Say hello to mother for me."

TheLastCandle · **01-15-2015, 01:17 PM**

Already posted my "serious" reply, but this would be pretty cool, too:

[Image: Nunchucks_Yo_by_Azraelsama.jpg]

Velaena · **01-15-2015, 01:40 PM**

Victorique looked around her home, her younger brother played with expertly crafted toys on the floor and her father sat reading a book by the fire. She had given them a better life and one that they deserved. She should have been happy, so why wasn't she?Â

"What's wrong dear?" her father asked, as father's are wont to do when they see their daughters pacing like Victorique. She smiled weakly "Nothing father, I'm just thinking."Â
Her father placed his bookmark in between the thick pages of his book and set it down carefully on the table in front of him. "You're so much like your mother Victorique. She couldn't sit still either." Victorique smiled at him in earnest, tears welling in her eyes. "You see, when your mother finally settled down with me she was restless. Always pacing and trying to occupy herself. She even tried to learn to sew, tried her garments out on me... Can you imagine your mother sewing?! I swear I have more pin pricks than actual wounds!" They laughed together, but that brief respite from her troubles was far too fleeting. It was true that Victorique had what she wanted now, she had become a full fledged bard and given her family a home and a place in the world. They became respected members of society and felt the pride flow through them. Victorique chided herself, That should have been enough! she thought. Â What more could I possibly want? I have everything...Â But Victorique didn't have everything, although you could hardly say she knew that she wanted it until now.

On her adventures she had come across many things, great cities and fearsome enemies. she had formed unbreakable bonds with her friends and would always keep them close to her heart. Victorique had also come across so many wonderful people who had managed to find love, even in the choas of the Seventh Umbral Era. She hadn't realised it at first but Victorique was somewhat envious of these people. As a Duskwight she had always face a sort of prejudice, though she always found solace with her Free Company and the people that looked past her appearance. Despite the solace though she was never able to form any romantic bonds.Â

Victorique now realised that being like her mother was not simply becoming a bard, but settling down and perhaps being a mother herself one day...

Parvacake · **01-15-2015, 07:45 PM**

For Lili, to get everything she wanted would be too much to type out but I'm sure I'll work on a story master post in the future for it Smile

Until then, here's the OOC list:

Gets her airships.
Her daughters are cured of the disease they inherited from their father.
Zaiaku dies (he's probably the only person she's ever genuinely despised in her life)
Marries Locke (which is already underway!)
Gets her house in the Mist (already underway!)
Gets consistent and stable work for the Society members.
Helps Locke find a cure for his own ailment.
Finds a peaceful resolution with Ghislan.
Adopts Nanapo.
Increase company relations for the Society with other free companies.

Kurt S. · **01-18-2015, 04:29 AM**

I would act out everything but for Kurt alone so imma edit this later, for now I'll list it all down.

- Finally get a house on the Mist, a small house on the Mist.

- Help make Nako'li Chalahko the kingpin of the Ul'dahn markets, thereby making the YTC a strong name in the circles of trade, acquisition and redistribution of goods.

- Help Lady Xiaoli Vorgan solve the current issues surrounding Tatyana Vorgan. Like all of them get an axe to the head.

- Finally propose to his girl.

- Mastery in the way of the warrior so as not to shame that certain Hellsguard tribe.Â

- Mastery of the arcanima so he can finally prove Adeya Evenar wrong.Â

- Open up his own restaurant in Limsa or Ul'dah or both.Â

- Mastery in the art of cooking, woodworking and weaving.

- Become a gentleman.Â (still needs outfit and pose)

Dante Abigor · **01-19-2015, 09:42 PM**

-OOC:

If Dante suddenly had everything that he had ever wanted, he would awaken in the corpse of the enemy he had used as shelter for the night, cooking the rest of the meat for breakfast. Stretching out after his delicious meal, he would look over his somewhat safe camp atop a mountain towards the burnt and smoking earth spread out below him in a vast wasteland, covered in the loud and endless ravagings of ongoing war, everyone below fighting for supremacy.

Turning his head to the distance, he would see a vision of a completely separated land across the sea, where technology and innovation mixed with peace and harmony, farming and family building clearly the order of the day, all energy given to progress and stability.

Sitting to realize that his goals of reaching an absolutely free world rid of the poisonous lies that he saw as its corruption, he would ultimately descend into the battlefield, waiting patiently for either whomever would eventually best him, or his body finally tiring of endless bloodshed in favor of peace.

Spethah · **01-21-2015, 05:15 AM**

You did it.Â

You finally did it.Â

It took an entire tavern and a few spears, but you did it. Hah, the songs of this day are going to be sung for ages. No really, ages. Eras on eras on maybe more if the Ishgardian bastards stay the same. But that does not matter to you ri-Right hand, not left. You use the same hand as the other when shaking you doofus. Gosh you're so out of it right now.

Is the adrenaline still rushing through? Are your feet still shaking in excitement after lunging yourself like a complete lunatic at the beast? You didn't even flinch the moment fire blazed onto your chest, those legs of your persisted through the march of death. Death and destruction. Lunge and slash. Feet heavy, then light and quick. The ever changing dance of death you weaved like the tailor that sew the very shirt you wear. I would say this fight was better than the last. I mean they are giving you something for it that isn't a load of insults and an attempt of arrest for ruining tradition. Trying to die over something stupid is not traditional, fighting and winning is.Â

And you showed them that. Oh how you showed them the real meaning of hono-Look at him in the eyes. Don't tell me you're exhausted! You already had four bells of sleep, that's more than enough. Well yes they did rush the entire ceremony after you nearly threatened to turn them into a pin cushion, still drunk in rage and adrenaline. That however is your fault, don't look to anyone else. Besides, fretting over that is small talk to what is going on. I mean look, they're saluting to you. YOU. A giant beast of a woman for doing something you go nuts over. For doing something you already done before and lived to tell the darn tell. You killed a dragon, Renas, and they realise your strength upon watching. Now they give what you deserved ages ago. You got your name. Your title. Your proof of power. Now, wear it with pride. Wear it, knowing that those who dare question will shake in fear.Â

Wear it and know that you are a Dragoon.Â
----

For Gentle: He gets his little house in the forest and he becomes lumberjack and have the many fun.

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