AFriendOfAFriend

22 here, turning 23 toward the end of the year. No formal training outside of standard English courses (or perhaps not so standard; my state has had a rather horrible track record for the last... um... ever), most of how I write is a result of reading an absurd amount and tweaking my style as I go/pick things up. Been roleplaying in one form or another for around ten years now.

((I've changed the title of this thread, and will be adding to it in an attempt to not spam the forums. The Lion will feature the stories of Montague Morne, a troubled layabout searching for answers. A warning for some mild violence, and vague spoilers which are hidden below. As always, comments and criticisms are welcome.)) Viola Lion Sleep has not come easily for a long, long time. Night falls near the same time each evening, and he with it. He bundles up against the cold, away from the others but close enough to feel the heat of the fire, leans against a wall or a tree or a rock or his pack. He does not like sleeping on his back, not since Carteneau. It takes too long to rise. The twilight hours are spent fighting wakefulness. He tries counting, but his numbers only go so high. He tries thinking of things - distracting, inconsequential, random. Then he tries thinking of nothing. Sometimes he will worm his way closer to the fire and read. Others he will leave as quietly as possible, walk and move and work in hopes that exhaustion will trump his insomnia. Others still he simply lies there, staring up at the old light blinking out in forever. On rare, wonderful occasions, he sleeps. It is fitful, fleeting, barely able to be called restful. He shifts and groans, breaks into cold sweats, mumbles quiet little pleas for the images dancing before his eyes not to be real. He awakes with quiet little gasps, eye wide and searching for some spectral enemy. Most times he looks up, expecting to see the sky burning around a giant, black dragon. He left part of himself on the Carteneau Fields; in return he has brought part of the battle back with him. It festers in his mind, eats into his dreams, haunts his memories. If he closes his eye he can still see it, hear it, smell it, taste it. Madness and death soaking the air around him. Just the thought makes him shake. He would complain, were he more inclined to do so. His time awake is slow torture, losing more of himself to exhaustion and delirium with each passing day. Sleep dredges up the dead and gone, things best left buried in the bleakest holes of memory and time. Between these two states he cannot recall when last he felt rested, normal. He cannot recall when last he felt like himself. ~ His dream tonight is even more unhelpful. Once more he stands upon the battlefield, Dalamud screaming down above the din of war. Tonight he plays spectator, a puppet tugged along by the strings of fate. The movements are rehearsed, he can repeat them in his sleep. Often he does. It does not take long to notice a discrepancy: He is facing the wrong way. The divergences spread from there. Garleans swarm around him like zealous, armored insects, but spare him little more than respectful nods. He tries to frown, the muscles will not respond. Before he can contemplate the strangeness of the moment a member of the God's Quiver enters his sight. He wants to be relieved - those archers had saved his life more than once, their presence always a good fortune. He wants to, but cannot, for the bowman has knocked an arrow and trained it between his eyes. He tries to shout, to question, but the words will not form. Instead he lifts an arm, bringing to bear a longsword with a barrel attached to the blunt edge of the blade. Seeing the weapon in his hands shocks him to the core - he had been on the receiving end of one five years ago. What was he doing wielding it? He feels his fingers squeeze down twice, each accompanied by a deafening crack and a jolt through his arm. The first blast tears the archer's bow in two, the second punches a hole in his throat. Horror builds in his chest. What has he just done? He wants to scream, cry, beg, deny. All he does is laugh. ~

Monty is Duskwight, but beyond cursory acknowledgement of his paler-than-usual skin he doesn't really identify as one. He was raised in an orphanage and had a fairly lonely childhood, but if that was some sort of discrimination he took no notice - he preferred his solitude anyway, so reason meant little to him. He grew up in Limsa Lominsa, working for a rather diverse logging company with a very open recruitment policy. For the most part he was treated simply as he was - an honest, if quiet and somewhat lazy worker who did as asked and never complained. When the company closed and he joined the Maelstrom his treatment was much the same: so long as he pulled his weight, no one had anything to say against him - or for him, for that matter. His race had very little to do with his upbringing, if anything at all.

My first day back will be spent grinding quests and missions to level 20, and rejoining the Maelstrom. I want my chocobo and coat back.

/jumps about waving like an idiot 'Bout time you showed up. Welcome to the madhouse. We have jackets.

Monty, pre-Calamity: [video=youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gApD6c58JXk Monty, post-Calamity: [video=youtube]

I took it as a two-way street. The Duskwight are scorned, but moreso because they are scornful of others. The Wildwood look down on them for being bandits - not all of them are, obviously, but it's a reasonable fear/hatred. With respect to the Hyur, their conflict came from the Elezen being the once-rulers of Eorzea and taking umbrage at the 'invaders.' That has since been resolved, according to what I can find, and doesn't hold much bearing. I suppose I should reword: The Duskwight are not racist so much as prejudiced. They themselves look down upon city-dwellers, which is what caused their split from the Wildwood in the first place. They started the whole cycle, and perpetuated it by deciding to take instead of build and grow. If they are suffering their own existence it is because they chose to be that way - no one forced them to live in caves, they wanted to. There are no Duskwight in Gridania because they, to put it crudely, gave the Gridanians the finger and called all Elezen who stayed there traitors to their own race. Neither the Wildwood nor the Duskwight are correct in their assumptions or hatreds, but both have similarly dug their own holes. I don't think it's a case of everyone picking on the Duskwights for no reason. You're only the underdog if your intentions were good in the first place. As far as the orphanage goes: Perhaps you're right, I hadn't thought of that.

I believe it would have to depend on your character. How they were raised, what experiences they've had, et cetera and so on. My character, for example, is a Duskwight Elezen, but was not raised by/with his kind. He grew up in an orphanage, and as such does not identify with the Duskwight, nor have any of their prejudices. Aside: I've always heard Hard RP as referring to very strict, serious, lore-abiding roleplay. In this case the lore is the Duskwight are, in effect, racist - and so your character must be if you play one. Same with being either a Nunh or Tia for the male Seekers of the Sun, you're a breeder or you're trying to be. Some like to stick with established facts and play off of them, while others believe in tweaking things to fit their personal story or style of play.

Hello, my name is AFriendOfAFriend. -Hi, Mouthful.- I'm a longtime roleplayer of many forms, though it has been some time since my last drink experience. I'm younger than I feel, older than I look, and enjoy reading and writing to an unhealthy degree. I've been looking forward to FFXIV for years now; though financial troubles and horrible reviews kept me from 1.0, my time in the beta has proven it well worth the wait. I'll be maining GLA and MRD, so if ever you have need for a squishy shield made of meat please don't hesitate to ask. The RPC seems like a standup group, and I'm happy to be a part of it. I look forward to getting to know you all and your characters.

I. Basic Info Characters: Montague Morne Primary character: Montague Morne Linkshells: N/A Primary RP linkshell: N/A II. RP Style Amount of RP (light, medium, heavy): Medium-heavy. I like to stay in-character when possible, but have no problems with switching to OOC. We roleplayers are not just the characters we play, and I enjoy interacting with the folks behind them. Views on RP combat and injuries: Until the implementation of a PVP system, I believe combat is best left to lotting. Can't really argue with random chance. As far as injuries go, I have nothing against them as long as they aren't permanently crippling. With white magic whisking away almost everything short of death, I see no problem with deep cuts and broken bones. Amputations/beheadings/stabbing vital organs, however, would be a bit of a no-no. Views on IC romance: I fully encourage it. These characters are people, each capable of complex emotions. It should be decided between the players how the relationship progresses, and one should always take care not to take things too far - either in or out of character. I've seen RP romances blossom into real ones, but I've also seen my share of unrequited crushes and ruined friendships. Communication is key. Views on non-romantic RP (family ties, etc): Again, fully encouraged, but try to warn whomever your new family member or bestest buddy is ahead of time. My character not knowing he has a long-lost-relation is all well and good, but when I don't know about it there's a bit of a problem. Views on lore: Learn the lore. Love the lore. The lore is your friend. The lore is the groundwork on which to base your own stories. That being said, the lore is not gospel, and may be bent as needed - though not outright broken. Views on chat functions (/say, /linkshell, etc): With the exception of perhaps /shout, all functions can be used for both in and out of character chat and actions. I tend to use ((text)) to denote anything OOC, with most everything else being from the character's mouth. III. Other Info Country: USA Timezone: EST(GMT-5) Contact info: PM, or message me in-game [align=center][glow=blue]~Special announcements can be found in the posts below~[/glow][/align]

I'll volunteer services as a guard. Montague Morne, former private third class of the Maelstrom and veteran of the Battle of Carteneau Fields. I've been trying to think of a way to get him back into the more adventurous side of life, and this seems like a nice opportunity. If you need any more information feel free to ask.

[Edit] Slight change of plan, we'll be unable to make it. Oh, well, there's always Phase 4.

An interesting way to get into your character's head. I've been having some trouble hammering out the finer details of his personality, so this helped immensely. The answers are IC, given as though in an interview. Warning for some mild language.