Edda

Hello hello, welcome! And yes, Balmung is one of those servers that is notoriously difficult to make a new character on. Some make a character on another server and transfer over later (costs $$$), some wait until the ungodly hours of the morning for a chance (EST) though it's not always guaranteed, and I have heard of an e-mail service that alerts you when the server opens up! Either way, just keep trying and you will find your way here!

Awwwww yis. GLAM AS FUGG - the plebs be hatin'. I love it booski thank you so much!!! :love::love::love: Eternal hearts!

Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight... We'll see. IDK bout you dude but almost every NPC from Ishgard has been kind of a douche (though Alphinaud surely gives them all a run for their money), so it wouldn't be too surprising, systematic or not.

It's a good thing I don't disagree with you. You're still not making any reasonable points in relation to the actual conversation, though. Wait, I'm confused now... just what are you arguing then? That there is no racism in Ishgard, right? Or that... we can't assume there is because there's no proof, or whatever? I feel like you are backtracking somewhere...

We just finished with this discussion, I think, wherein it was established that correlation != causation. So may I screencap and post this for when it doesn't happen? Yes, and so will I. I will be sure to necro this thread and PM you when it happens, because it will. If not in 3.0, then 3.1, and so on and so forth. If it doesn't happen by 4.0 I'll give you like a million gil or something. I've quoted two separate occasions from the official forums where Fern said that there is a quest in 3.0 dealing with a cross-race offspring/couple/something ( and the differences they experiences implied or so) Then I guess it's a good thing for Kayllen I'm not demanding any gil for this bet.

We just finished with this discussion, I think, wherein it was established that correlation != causation. So may I screencap and post this for when it doesn't happen? Yes, and so will I. I will be sure to necro this thread and PM you when it happens, because it will. If not in 3.0, then 3.1, and so on and so forth. If it doesn't happen by 4.0 I'll give you like a million gil or something.

If there's gay sex in Ishgard, there's definitely racism. Calling it now that there will be some side-quests in the city that involve some disenfranchised 1st/2nd generation lalafell/miqo'te being shit on by some holier-than-thou Elezen knights. Feel free to screencap this post for when it happens so you can be like "Wow Edda was right."

•If you tell a shitty random how to do their job correctly so they can stop sucking major ass and they actually start doing it, rob a liquor store.

I'm a Basement Exterminator that's been a bit down on his luck, so somewhere between 5 and 6... I-I'm not an NPC though, we swears! We swears it on the precious.

Holy shit these threads today. Makin' some waves. If it's apparent some of us have so much of a problem with how other people roleplay, maybe we should focus our combined energies into petitioning Square Enix to remove the cap on our blacklists.

That's fine. Us NPCs have made it this far on our own, I think we'll be just fine. Just don't whine when we in turn treat you like a ridiculous, delusional asshat that believes themselves to be bad fanfic-tier levels of powerful. Not that there's anything wrong with playing an amped-up, powerful character, but I think I could do without that high-and-mighty attitude, thanks.

Sadly the materia you produce from spiritbonding is completely random. HQ gear only increases the rate at which gear bonds, not the rank or type materia you get. Spiritbonding, especially if you can craft your own gear is generally the cheapest way to get your own materia if you need it. Either way, for the top of the line melds, you are looking at either a lot of time, a lot of money, or both. As for the best melds for bard, as it is with any damage class, Crit and Det are your number one gunners. Skill speed is really not all that great, especially for a TP guzzler like Bard. Accuracy is neither here nor there. It makes good filler and depending on the kind of gear you have currently, is very helpful when meeting accuracy checks in Coils. However, it is important to note that how you meld your bow is really up to you. Crit, det, skill speed, accuracy... They all serve a purpose, and so long as you aren't throwing shit like piety on there, you will have a decent bow. Of course, if you want to get that step over with and move onto lights as soon as possible, there is no shame in making a Welfare Relic, and replacing the materia as you are able to buy them at a later date. You can switch materia at any step in your relic quest line, even with a Zeta! It is very easy and not costly to do if you do so at your own pace. All it requires is materia, alexandrite, and another sphere scroll, so do not so worry about having the best materia all at once.

Love your work, it's always very interesting and nice to see new angles that are usually glossed over. Nice to see you around, but I hope you don't get overwhelmed by the mad thirst for lore around these parts. Shit's like The Magic School Bus Ex Mode over here sometimes.

Tam Tara HM in reverse is the story of Jesus Christ.

- It had been three and half moons after Edda stole away from the manor that one night. Edda arrived to the front gates empty handed at just past noon, her head held high. The guards stationed at the gates were confused at first, as she bore no items to prove her identity, but the knowledge that the eldest Eglantine child was out and about on her own and quite safe was enough for the guards to let her inside. Though she bore herself with the rigid grace she had been trained to, each step she took was mired with hesitation. This is where she belonged, but not where she wanted to be. Why had she even come here? A pit of ice sat heavy in her core; a sense of dread of meeting her father overwhelmed her. Why was she here? An expression full of hate and frustration snapped to the forefront of her mind. There was no greater sadness than the feeling of being so utterly unwanted, but Edda had already caused him enough suffering, and there was little else she could do than oblige him in his wishes that she return home. It was the right thing to do, she knew, but such knowledge did nothing to allay the sharp reality of her rejection. Faucillien stood ready by the front door, no doubt having been alerted of her presence over linkshell. “Lord Eamon will see you in his study,” he said, and gave her a deep bow. Edda did not respond and entered the house. Her father’s study was on the second floor, in the wing opposite hers. It was not a grand room, nor particularly comfortable, but Eamon spent most of his time there, reviewing business and finances, and reading and writing missives of all sorts. Though no sensitive information was kept in his study, everyone save Eamon and Faucillien were barred entry unless they were personally invited. Edda had only been inside a handful of times, and each occurrence had been for matters most grave. The room itself was enough to cause Edda anxiety inasmuch as seeing her father did. Eamon was seated at his desk when Edda entered, rubbing his temples as he poured over a letter. “Edda,” he said rather calmly. He rose from his chair and walked over to embrace her, clasping her upper arms lightly, before cupping her neck with one hand. “You look well.” “Father,” was all Edda could manage to choke out. It was futile to try and suppress the inherent fear she held for this man. He inspected her face very closely for a long moment, smiling to himself as he did. “I have been told you’ve been through much,” he said, patting her neck affectionately. “Yet I see no signs of wear, no scars… You did well.” Edda gave him a weak smile in response. Her father did not want his daughters to bear any scars, and all the training she had received in conjury had been for the sake of making sure she could heal herself of them. Though she had managed to erase the would-be scars on her lips, she dare not mention the small, circular wound on her back where an arrow had pierced her. “Tell me,” Eamon continued. He removed his hands from her and took a step back. “How was it to live without any assistance for as long as you did?” “It was a refreshing experience,” Edda responded. She kept her voice as nonchalant as she could. “Refreshing,” he repeated. “No one to cook for you, to clean for you, make your bed, draw your bath, dress you – and you say it was refreshing?” “I do not think you give me enough credit, father. I am able to look after myself.” Eamon chuckled to himself, and leaned back on his desk with folded arms. “And when did my daughter become so capable?” It was a clear taunt. Edda clasped her hands in front of her and focused her gaze on her father’s chin. “Perhaps I always have been.” “Ah,” Eamon said. “Then forgive me, I had scarcely realized how very independent you were. Mayhap we ought to send your retainers away then – no doubt they are only a nuisance to you.” This was a test – and a very obvious one at that. And yet it was clear that there was no wrong or right answer in this case. Edda had already passed, because she was here, yet she had already failed, by speaking up for herself. There was no greater pleasure than mind games for a family that spent most of its time locked away in a solitary manor. It had grown wearisome. “Only if you truly believe that’s best, father,” Edda answered coolly. Even now she still found it hard to look him in the eye. “Your confidence is inspiring. Were that I only more confident in your ability to make sound decisions.” She did not respond to this, and merely waited for him to continue. “Stealing away with a stranger, and guest of this house, only to end up in danger once more? You do your family a great disservice.” “What matters is that I am here now, does it not?” “It would.” Eamon licked his lips and Edda could feel his gaze going right through her. “If I could trust that you would not be so foolhardy again.” “I only acted as such because I was so certain you intended to lock me away again! I believed I had a way out, so surely you understand why I took it.” Edda glared at her father, though her voice was pleading. It was always a futile thing, to argue with him. The fear of doing so had not faded, but she was no longer a child. “We do not trust Ishgardians in this house,” Eamon said with a slow smile. “I didn’t-“ “You did, and saw what came of it.” Eamon spoke quickly and harshly, and pushed off the desk. He walked back over to Edda and cupped her face in his palm, his thumb tracing over the skin beneath her lower lip. “Such pain that must have been. Losing sleep, rarely going out, always looking over your shoulder…” “Have you been watching me, father?” Eamon tilted Edda’s chin up towards him, forcing her to look at him. “Of course I have been. It would be foolish of me not to, and it is only natural that I watch over my eldest daughter’s wellbeing.” He withdrew his hand and stayed close to Edda. “I was always ready to have you whisked away at a moment’s notice. I must say, it was disheartening, with each morsel of information I received on you, how much you placed yourself in the hands of those plebeians.” Edda blinked, and glanced down once more towards the floor. “You do not know them,” she said quietly. Perhaps it was true that she was naïve, but there was no part of Edda that felt the stock she put in others was misplaced, or ever a ruinous thing. “I do not have to know them to know that they should not be trusted.” He paused, and Edda could feel her father’s gaze on her, his sharp eyes darting over her expression and posture as if she were a tome to be deciphered. “You were kind to them, and I could not fault you for that,” he continued. “Charity is the duty of the rich – but you showed them too much of you. It is enough that you smile at them, and please them with gifts, but they need not see you, Edda. When you show them your fear, your pain, what it is that makes you happy – you show them only weakness. And it is through that weakness that they will take advantage of you, wittingly, unwittingly, and steal from you what it is that makes you.” There was little Edda could do to refute him. Even if in her heart of hearts she knew he was wrong, it was difficult to try otherwise. Each facet of her that was so carefully constructed, so perfectly built by herself and her father, each one formed a purpose, and the pain of dismantling them and breaking past them was too much to bear. It was a trial, being so forthright, and each tear she shed, each word spoken in anger – all of it she felt only towards herself, her inability to be honest. She knew it was improper to take out her failings on others, yet the pain of removing her glass exterior was overwhelming, and each time she had tried, what was it she had to offer? There was an ugliness inside of her, her mutilated self, shredded and marred in order to fashion something much more delicate in its place. She wanted to be seen, she did not want to be seen. So often her true self was goaded out of her, but what was there to come of it? No sooner than she had begun to be able to bear the ache of stepping out of her cell, that self had been forgotten and so easily discarded. She did not have the strength to hold on to it. There was no worth in the ego of a person so easily consigned to oblivion. “Do you not trust me, father?” Edda asked softly. There was a tightening in her throat. Eamon was silent for a long moment, and so Edda rephrased: “Who is it you do trust, father?” “I trust my family,” Eamon said evenly. There was a coldness to his voice. “I trust myself, your mother. I trusted your brother, and I still trust you. Only my family, Edda – as you must, and will.” He did not mention Ennis directly, and this came as no surprise to Edda. Finding her voice, Edda squeezed her hands still clasped in front of her. “If you truly meant what you said, you would have enough faith in allowing me my own choices.” “You know that is not true,” Eamon said. “I know you are not daft, Edda – but you are different, and you must understand this.” “I am not so different as you would have me believe.” “But you are. And all the conviction I could place on your shoulders would not be enough to shield you from those who would harm you.” “You are being paranoid, father,” Edda pleaded. “I will be perfectly safe. I can take of myself. You know this, you have seen it.” “Have I? You have already come to harm before, Edda.” He was not wrong, and Edda pursed her lips in response, the memory of a needle moving through her a constant background in her mind, and always at the forefront of her dreams. “What am I to do if anything were to happen to you? Do you think Ennis could so easily take your place?” Edda did not have a rebuttal, for her father was right. Though Ennis was sharp and diligent, her health was a constant concern, and it was unlikely she would ever bear children. Even if she could, Edda would not wish the strain on her sister, no matter the poison that lay between them. “I…” She hung her head. There was no logic in her desire for freedom, and so she could not topple him. “There is no other place for you but here,” Eamon said softly, and it sounded like kindness. Edda’s throat constricted into a tight knot, and every ounce of her felt like crying. It would be an honest display, for her father could see her; and yet ever since her brother died all the affection and love he had shown for that side of her had all but vanished, her tears meaning little to him. “All I ever sought outside was happiness,” Edda said slowly, choking out each word as her throat allowed her. “Have you so little love for me that you would deprive me of something so simple? Or was only Esmond worthy of your confidence and affection?” Eamon reached forward and took Edda’s hands into his own and squeezed them gently. Such warmth was a rare comfort from him, and Edda felt weaker still. “I do love you, Edda. It is my greatest wish that you grow into the happy, healthy woman you were meant to be. You will be an excellent Head, and a wonderful wife and mother. I only want what is best for you.” Edda looked up at her father now, her eyes red and glossy with unshed tears. “And how is it that you and everyone else knows what is best for my happiness?” “Give your father a bit more credit,” Eamon said, and he smiled down at her. “I understand your frustrations – I was much the same when I was your age. But give it time, my dear. That is all I ask.” He raised her hands up to hold between them, and squeezed them once more. And again. And Edda watched his face change quickly, from a gentle warmth to a caustic concern, and felt her heart grow cold. Eamon laid Edda’s hands out flat in front of him, and inspected them carefully. “Where is your ring, Edda?” It was such an item that it could not be missed. It was a thick, platinum ring, the family crest and logo carved in the sides, with her middle initial engraved on the inside. Adorned at the top were tiny diamonds encircling a rather large and pure emerald. Each future head of the family received theirs on their 16th nameday, as her brother did before her. A year after his death Edda received her own, and had not removed it since. “I lost it,” Edda lied. In truth she had given it to the Garlean, in hopes that should she never be free again, that she would not be so easily forgotten, and hoped that at least her spirit and memory would be able to be preserved outside of the ancient walls of the manor. She was not foolish enough to cling to the hope that he would remember, or even keep the ring: its worth more than enough to see him safely back to his home country. There had been a freedom and happiness that she did not expect in giving it away, as the ring was as much herself as her own mind and body were. It was done on impulse, but there was no part of her that regretted it. “You lost it,” Eamon repeated. He looked at Edda, his eyes searching her face, his expression a stone mask. “I lost it,” Edda said once more. The fear of his reaction had grown enough that it had numbed her to it. Eamon released her hands and turned from her. He walked back to the desk where he began removing his own rings – his signet ring, his wedding band, and two other trophies of business – and set them on the desk. The study became perfectly still and silent as he did this. His anger was palpable, so much so that words did not need to be said. Edda knew perfectly well how grave the situation was. Only five rings had ever been made, the emeralds cut from the same gem, the purest and largest found in the outer reaches of Vylbrand generations ago. On occasion they would be melted down and repurposed for the next head of the family, and receiving them was as much of an honor as it was a ritual. They could not be replaced, the sentimental value, the display of wealth, the rich history in them: they were a priceless family heirloom. Eamon sighed as he set the last ring down on the desk, before he turned back to Edda and strode over to her in two quick steps. Unflinchingly, he rose his right hand and struck her – hard- with the back of his hand. Edda’s head snapped to the side before he struck her again with his left hand. It was forceful, and Edda could feel the corner of her lip split against her teeth. They stood like that for a long moment. Edda listened to her father breathe from the exertion of hitting her, her head turned to one side, the taste of iron leaking from her mouth to her chin. She dare not look at him. After a while he turned away, wiping the tops of his hands off with a handkerchief, and slipping his rings back on his fingers. “Go clean yourself up.” His voice was sharp and frigid. Edda did not waste any time in leaving. She ducked her head as she left and made her way through the halls back to her room. It was shameful, to be so cowed by her father. She walked briskly, eyes set on the floor, the patterns in the wood quickly becoming blurred. To make it back to her room, and not run into Ennis, so she could be alone. Noirterel stood by her door, ever faithful, and opened it for her, his face painted with a mix of pity and concern. She did not look him in the eye, nor speak, and slammed the door shut behind her.

JaEJmSz-uFs

AS MANY AS IT TAKES

What skirt is this? It's the Summoner AF skirt.

I want to marry Haurchefant.

Hooker skirts are fun though! I know you ain't gonna complain bout my panty slips. Anyway, I really like the Halloween skirt, but it's hard to use because of those awful looking tights it comes with...

A dress for the evening had already been set aside for her when Edda returned to her room. There was a small note from her father beside it, reading: “For dinner. Don’t be late.” Edda set the note on top of the dress, and went to sit on the sill of the bay window in her room. There was an excellent view of Limsa Lominsa from this window, and she had spent many bells watching ships come and go since she was a young girl. The city was not very far, and yet it had always been out of reach to her. Edda had only the vaguest memory of it, when she and her family had taken an airship to Gridania to visit her mother’s family. She had only just turned four, and it was the last time she was permitted off of the grounds. Edda rest her chin in her hands and stared out at the familiar sight of the city. It was calming, and yet it was not enough to shake the jumble of emotions Edda felt from her encounter with Ennis. The stinging behind her eyes had lessened, and the sickening wash of cold she felt in her chest had begun to fade away. She had vowed not to cry once she had returned home, not even in the privacy of her own room. She knew her parents would expect it, and Ennis would delight in it. There was no need to give them the satisfaction. It was a simple task for Edda to nip her emotions in the bud. The ability to do so had been drilled in to her not moons after the Calamity. “If anyone must see your true face, let it be those who will forget you,” Eamon said to her. It might have been a horrible thing for a parent to say to their child, yet Edda had known that her direct family was exempt from this rule. She had always confided in her family – her brother and mother foremost – but after the Calamity, the gulf that formed between them seemed insurmountable. Thinking such thoughts sent Edda’s mind to wander to a dark place, and so she imagined the cityscape before her. It had not been so long since she had been there herself, and Edda closed her eyes to visualize the beautiful white stone against the ocean and the bustle and smell of the Bismark. Behind her, a pile of unopened presents piled up on a sofa; gifts from her mother and father since she returned home, displays of wealth and a cold, faraway love. Perhaps it was in their hope that if they filled her room with what most reminded her of home, she could not bear the thought of ever leaving. All the portraits of her brother had been taken down for storage, and the memory of his smile, that which truly reminded her of home, began to fade on the waves of the Rhotano Sea. - Precisely one bell before dinner, M’jhimei arrived in Edda’s room, as silently as she had left in the morning. She helped fit Edda’s dress, lacing up the back with cold, deft hands. It seemed she had gotten much faster since Edda had been home. In what would normally take a full bell, M’jhimei had finished dressing Edda and styled her hair in half the amount of time. Taking her leave without a word, Edda was left to wait in her room, staring in the mirror at her vanity, playing with her now loose hair. It seemed to take a great deal of time, sitting there in silence, and Edda nearly jumped when there was a knock at her door. It was Noirterel, her chief retainer. “My Lady,” he bowed shortly to her, staying as close to the wall as possible. “Your father wishes for you to wait down in the parlor with him.” Edda stood and approached Noirterel. He stood tall, even for an Elezen, and never seemed to have even one hair out of place. Though he had served Edda since she was ten, she had not seen him much since her return home. It was of little doubt Faucillien had been keeping him, though to what end Edda did not know. “I am sure he is fine by himself,” Edda said, and looked up at the man. He gave a curt nod. Though Eamon was still in charge, he would not argue. “I have not seen you much recently. Have you been keeping busy?” “Not so busy as I had been before we returned.” “I suppose.” Edda smoothed her dress, not quite comfortable in its constraint. “I am thankful for your assistance out there. Pray do not think otherwise.” “Not at all. It was an honor.” He paused. “You should know the staff here was quite pleased to hear of your return.” “Is that so? I imagine Ennis is a bit more bold when I am not here. That must have been quite trying.” “Just so,” Noirterel said, and gave Edda a small smile – a rarity on his normally stony face. “Perhaps when I next leave you should direct the staff to make themselves more scarce in her usual haunts.” Noirterel hesitated and the corners of his mouth twitched down. “…Should that day arrive, I will be sure to do so.” “’Should?’ You seem assured that it would not. Did my father say something to you?” Edda kept her voice calm, despite the cold sting that began to settle in her chest. “Only that your place is here, My Lady,” he said. Noirterel was always professional, but in that instance he seemed to look everywhere but her face. “Of course he would. Of course. Though I would not expect you – most of all, you – to agree.” Edda put a hand to her chest, her heart beating rapidly. It was unnatural for her to be so affected by such words, and the fear itself scared her. She had always known it was only natural to return tools to the shed where they belonged, and yet now the very thought sent shivers down her spine. There was a long silence, and Noirterel kept his gaze towards the floor. “Is no one on my side, Noirterel?” “I am on your side, My Lady.” He still did not look at her. “I only wish what is best for you.” “And who decides that?” Noirterel pursed his lips, and gave Edda a short bow. He opened the door and stepped out of the way in perfect silence. In doing so he had said enough, and Edda said no more, dropping her hand from her chest and brushing past Noirterel to head to the front parlor. Eamon was, as always, impeccably dressed. He stood when Edda entered, and came to give her the family hug – lightly grasping her upper arms with his hands, keeping his body at arm’s length. “You look lovely,” he said, and released her. Edda looked over his shoulder to see Ennis sitting on the far side of the room, arms folded and legs crossed. Whatever mark Edda might have left on her face was now faded, only to be replaced by a sour expression. Catching Edda’s gaze, Ennis looked over and sneered. “Yes, lovely,” she chimed in. “If only those gargantuan sacks of fat weren’t constantly trying to escape from whatever dress you choose for her.” “Be quiet, Ennis,” Eamon snapped over his shoulder, and that was that. Ennis huffed a sigh and turned to look out the window. “Remember, the Sidneys are only just coming out of mourning,” he continued coolly. Eamon slipped his index finger down the front of Edda’s dress, pinching the fabric with his thumb and hiking it up. “I expect you both to be on your best behavior, and please, for Nymeia’s sake, do not bring up their children.” Eamon continued his nitpicking as he spoke, turning Edda around by her shoulders and raising the back hem of her dress before tightening the binding. “No snide remarks, no jokes, no interrupting-“ He took a step back from Edda to admire his work. “In fact, Ennis, it would be better if you did not speak at all.” Ennis said nothing, quietly acquiescing to the order. It was not an uncommon one, and it was in these moments that Edda felt truly sorry for her sister. There was little doubt that Ennis was loved by their parents, but her natural wit and intelligence were nothing more than ornaments for the youngest child, doomed to always be overshadowed. Edda turned back around to face her father when the sound of the front door opening drifted into the room. “That must be them,” Eamon said quickly. He reached up to cup Edda’s cheek with his hand. “Don’t forget to smile, now.” There was a tightening in his grip then, his fingers digging in behind her ear, the base of his thumb pulling at her cheek, as if to create a smile on his own. Eamon looked at her for a moment longer before pulling away and heading out into the hall. The Sidneys were the closest neighbors of the Eglantines in terms of wealth and respectability. They owned many old orange farms just north of Red Rooster Stead, and though they were not the largest fields, the unique taste from their older strain of trees was a highly desired commodity on the main land. Their business had been largely unaffected by the Calamity, though they had received some heat for using the disaster as an opportunity to raise their prices. “Ah, there he is,” Oswald Sidney said, as Eamon made his way to greet him at the door. Oswald was a short, gelatinous man that took great pride in his tremendous black beard, despite having no hair to speak of on his head. He had a red face and a laugh that could be heard three rooms away. Oswald drew Eamon in to a rather violent hug as they greeted each other. It was not something Eamon liked at all. After being released from the shorter man’s clutches, Eamon turned to the woman beside Oswald, and gave her a deep bow. “Lady Patrice.” Said woman returned the bow, albeit awkwardly. Patrice Sidney stood almost a full head taller than her husband. She was a frail, gaunt looking woman with a constant look of worry in her eyes. Her gaze drifted to Edda and her sister and gave them a small bow before being ushered into the dining room by Eamon. Edda took her seat at the large table to the right of her father. It was a normal proceeding, and Edda could feel the discontent Ennis exuded as she sat beside her. The Sidneys were here for their father, and so Ennis and Edda sat in prefect silence, pretending to listen to the two men complain about Ul’dah and Ishgard. This continued well into the main course. It was a fragile conversation from the sounds of it, though that was to be expected. Six moons ago the Sidneys eldest son Osment fell to his death after riding his prize chocobo off a cliff. He was a dull, spoiled child that enjoyed picking the leaves off the heads of young mandragoras with his sausage-like fingers. Edda had never liked him, but he had been the same age as her brother and with their close proximity, Osment had been a frequent visitor during her childhood. The two were hardly friends, but the close relation pleased Eamon, and it was no secret that he considered Osment as a husband for Edda. “He is stupid, and will be easy to control,” he had once said. Needless to say the news of his death came as a sigh of relief to Edda, though she half suspected the shape of Osment’s mature face became displeasing enough for even Eamon to reconsider inviting him into the family. It was when dessert was brought out – a chocolate and rolanberry tart – that Patrice turned her attention away from the men and addressed Edda. “I’ve heard that you’ve been spending some time out of the house, Edda. Is that true?” Edda looked up at the woman with a small smile on her face. “Yes, it is true. Just a personal foray into the wider world.” Patrice chewed a piece of her tart with quick, forceful bites – her eyes wide and unblinking. “Personal!” The woman let out a sharp ‘hmph’ that sounded like the cry of a dodo. “The city is no place for a young woman such as yourself.” “I would agree,” Edda replied, still smiling. “Though I usually had a retainer or two accompanying me, so it was not as bad as I expected. It was exciting, really.” “Not too dangerous, I hope?” “Not at all,” Edda lied, and was surprised at how easy it sounded. She could feel her father’s eyes on her for a moment before he turned back to Oswald, and the tart tasted like ash on her tongue. “The last time I was in the city was summers ago,” Patrice commented, as if someone had asked. Edda found it hard to imagine her wandering the streets, and perhaps that perpetual look of fear in her countenance came from such a trip. “It was all very – very busy. And loud. I don’t know how you could stand it.” She laughed nervously. “I admit it took some getting used to.” That was not quite the answer Patrice may have wanted, and she ducked her chin in towards her throat. She eyed Edda for a long moment, her eyebrows raised, the loose skin of her jowls sinking into her throat. “Would you go back, then?” It was a pointed question and Edda found she could not answer it so readily. There was a sinking feeling in her chest and she suddenly felt far away, as if her spirit was drifting out of the room, out of the manor. It was in that moment that Edda remembered things she had already began to forget – the smell of the ocean, the stinging taste of anger, the sharp pain of steel. Her body felt heavy and the words of her father sounded muddled and distant. There were faces she missed, she remembered, those that she would hold dear if she could, and those that she might never see again if she could help it. It was a familiar sadness, but with something now missing, it was more severe than it had been for so many long cycles. The sound of Patrice’s fork dropping onto her plate was enough to snap Edda back to attention. The older woman still wore a skeptical expression, and Edda could only wonder as to what she looked like in the woman’s eyes. “I would, yes,” Edda answered slowly. She forced a smile and looking squarely into Patrice’s eyes. “For however long.” Patrice quirked her eyebrows and leaned back in her chair, Noirterel reaching in to clear her plate. “I see,” she said shortly, her lips puckering closed before she gave Edda a wide, close-lipped smile. “I am sure your father is glad to have you back. No doubt you would not cause him to miss you so terribly again.” “No, I would not,” Edda said quietly. “There is no doubt.” That was the end of the conversation. Edda sunk back into her chair and left her rolanberry tart unfinished. It was unusual for her, and she could feel Noirterel’s gaze boring into the back of her skull as he cleared her plate. There was a silence the enveloped the table then, and Edda knew her careless comment would bring consequences. The fear of that felt as far away as she had been moments ago, and Edda drifted through the rest of the evening. - The icy shroud that had enveloped the manor the day Edda’s brother died returned soon after the Sidneys left. Guests had come much more frequently before then, and it was little wonder why. The Eglantine manor was a large, sprawling structure, and company had helped fill the house with light and laughter. The guest wing was now largely abandoned – the rooms and halls only kept nice and neat for the sake of appearance. Many of the rooms had not been used in many cycles. After dinner Edda took to wandering the halls (one sharp look from her father was enough to send her on her way), and it was in the guest’s quarters she noticed light coming from the crack underneath one of the doors. She had heard no word from her father on anyone staying. It was a strange sight, and Edda hesitated outside of the room. Should she knock? Though there was light, there was no sound coming from the other side. Nothing good comes of curiosity, she reminded herself, and made her way back to her room. Upon entering her room, Edda found Ennis sitting in front of her vanity. “This is not your room, Ennis,” Edda reminded her. Their eyes met in the mirror of her vanity, and Ennis smiled slowly. “Fortunately,” Ennis said. “What a clutter you have in here. I took the liberty of opening your presents for you.” Edda looked over towards her sofa to see Ennis had been telling the truth. Wrapping paper and box lids were strewn about, the contents of each gift piled haphazardly on the arm of the sofa. “Mostly clothes,” Ennis continued. “When will father learn? You barely wear half of what you already own.” “What are you doing here.” It was not a question, and Edda could not be bothered to force a smile. “Only repaying your kindness from earlier, dear sister.” Ennis stood from the vanity, and turned to face Edda fully. “How righteous of you, to set me straight so dramatically. You really are taking your new position quite seriously! I’m sure if father had been there he would have given you a medal.” Her words dripped with poison, and Ennis’ earlier accusation came to the forefront of Edda’s mind. “And if our dear Esmond had seen it, I am sure he would have done the same,” Edda replied evenly, her face expressionless as she looked on at her sister. It hurt even now to say his name so casually – even more so in such a cruel manner. “Don’t say his name,” Ennis spat out quickly. “You, of all people. It is no wonder that mother and father, that anyone holds no love for you. Were all that cruelty to be bled out of you.” It was easy enough to not react to Ennis’ words, but there was nothing to assuage the sting carried by them. The thin layer of ice that composed Edda’s heart felt more brittle than it had in a long time. There was palpable ire in Ennis’ eyes, and though it was not the first time she had spoken as such, Edda could not repel her anger even now. Edda cast her gaze downward as she spoke, her voice quiet. “Do not say that, Ennis.” “I hate you,” Ennis replied. The words came too easily. “I know.” Edda looked back at her sister across the room, her small hands clenched into fists at her sides. “And do you hate me?” A favorite question of Ennis. The answer remained unchanged. “No. I do not hate anyone.” “Ever the saint. Such a carefully constructed little world you live in – how I would love to watch it crumble all around you. Will you continue to lie to yourself, even as you watch it happen?” Ennis held up one of her hands and uncurled her fist. In her palm was a simple bracelet of tiny pearls. Edda recognized it instantly, despite having countless others like it. Her brother had made it for her before he left, mere suns before fire rained down from the sky and the color of the outside world felt farther away than it ever had. She remembered the smile on his face and the timbre of his voice as he held her hands in his and said goodbye. How was it that Ennis had it now, an item so precious she kept it locked away? That she would steal away the key to seek out Edda’s treasures on her own. When was it that the hate her sister carried had grown so monstrous? Edda could feel the color in her face drain, and the emotion she so carefully kept tucked away bloomed on her face in an instant. “What are you doing?” Her voice shook as she spoke, and perhaps it was exactly this kind of fear, this vulnerability, that Ennis so desperately wanted. Ennis took the bracelet and held it up with two hands, holding it firmly, for her sister to see. Edda reached out a hand towards her, but she was too far, and it was not enough. “Ennis, don’t-“ The string holding the pearls together snapped easily enough. Ennis tore with enough force that half the pearls flew across the room in every direction, ricocheting off the walls and furniture. Ennis wrung out the band after, dropping the remaining pearls to the floor, and finally discarded the broken band at her feet. “Do you hate me?” Ennis repeated. She sneered, almost triumphant, before brushing past Edda and out of the room. It took Edda minutes of standing still before she fell to her knees in front of the small collection of pearls that had not been scattered. With shaky hands she began to gather them off the floor, one by one. Her room was now quite dark, and there was a futility in her actions that even she recognized. Edda could not recall how many pearls were on the bracelet, but she began counting the ones she held in her palm. She would find them all. She could not rest before she did. She must. Edda had gathered her 15th pearl when the brunt of Ennis’ rage hit her. It was a cold, hollow feeling, and Edda grabbed at her chest, the pearls she had managed to collect falling once more to the floor. There was little she could do to prevent such words from nestling into her heart as the truth. The evidence was all around her – the indifference in her gifts, the avoidance of her retainers, the anger of her sister, and even her own fading memories, no matter how dear they were to her. How wretched she was, how cold she felt. What love she had hoped to give, to receive, to bask in – it seemed only impossible now. The bitter defeat from her father, and the separation of those she might one day call friends formed around her like ice. No matter how much she longed for warmth, the coldness of her home settled around her, and though no tears came, she wept openly into her hands. - Several suns passed before Edda left her room. Each pearl had been found and placed back in her drawer, the key discarded. Though she had managed to return each and every one, a chill settled in her heart that night. It was a dull, piercing pain, and not even the warmth of the sun in the garden could heal it. Edda felt she would grow used to it, unnatural as it was. But her heart still yearned for the larger world, and when she was approached by the guest behind the door as she sat in the garden, she did not need to think twice. She was gone three suns later, without a word.

This is utterly ridiculous. If you don't want to be IC, if you want to goof off and have fun, if you want to spam emotes: do it. No one gives a shit. If you have to do it, just do it in a place that is not full of people trying to roleplay. How hard is that? There are a million people by the marketboards that are not roleplaying that you could have bothered. They're doing something, sure, but at least they're not going to be immensely bothered by the sudden influx of bullshit in their chatbox. If they want to blacklist you they will, and that will be that. No one here really cares if this happens again, because it already happens enough. We can only hope you just have enough sense to not do it so publicly and end up on half the servers blacklist. But if that's your goal - go for it. I certainly won't stop you.

I fail to see the need to make a thread on the RPC for this, as it is clearly more of an advertisement for your antics than an actual apology. If you were truly sorry, you would have not done it in the first place, and I like to think that you would know better. The Quicksand is already frequented enough by skill and emote spamming trolls - we do not need more of them. Whether or not you had good intentions is irrelevant: it is disruptive, rude and childish. There is a very large gap between using humor to make people smile, and acting silly for the sake of attention. Perhaps I should not be so surprised that you confused the two, but it is still quite discouraging to see. I will not chide you and tell you to not do it again, because quite frankly, after seeing this thread, I'm sure you will. You are free to behave however you wish. However, spamming emotes in an already congested RP area will quickly get you blacklisted by a large number of players - permanently or not. So long as you are aware of this, and continue to behave as such, then I should hope you would not be surprised to find yourself in a place where not many people would want to RP with you. I wouldn't bother making an apology thread next time this happens, of course, because we already know that you're not.

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Join the club. It's an RP community - it's going to happen, explanation or no.