Edda

"Pity is the death of desire." "I do not pity you. I do not pity myself. Pity is for those who do not fight." "But I am sick. And I will hurt you." "I know."

I still can't get over the BLM casting LB3 in Satasha with a light party. If only any Satasha run was that exciting...

You better bet your balls to the moon and back that I am necroing this thread to post this song for current... relationship... web... stuff. lgWgEoaAYDY 8-)8-)8-) u no who u are

I am already prepping my annoying FFXII-themed macros for Void Ark. We Sky Pirates now.

How did you kids even get here? Well, whatever. Here, this should be enough to get you some candy somewhere else. Now get off my lawn.

It was a numbing feeling, to watch him follow her out. A determined look. The slightest limp. It had gone no further than what she expected, and far less than what she had hoped. Breakfast remained largely uneaten, the silverware untouched. Now alone in the small parlor, Edda made her way over to the hearth and stared into the fire. There was still some measure of hope she still held on to, but it was faint. Coatleque’s expression of despair burned into her eyes with the heat of the flames. Would it turn to rage? Possibly, but not towards him. Would they reconcile? It seemed unlikely at this point. No matter the outcome, she was still to blame. Already she felt a pulling at her seams. Jameson returned far sooner than she had expected. He did not look thrilled, and sighed. “She was ill pleased, to say the least.” “I… see.” “Still, it was a kindness. What you did.” He flicked a look at her. She turned to look over her shoulder at him. “Was it?” “Yes. Best there be no confusion.” “And what confusion would that be?” “That she is not claiming me that any of the world can see.” He smiled, and went over to Edda to take her hand. His face was hard to read. He was much like her father, in that respect. She looked back into the fire. “A surprising answer.” “Did your father speak to you about our talk last night?” He asked quietly. “It went quite late.” “He did.” She paused. The memory of her father withdrawing his hand from her shoulder and leaving her in the cooling water was a fresh one. “Do not change the subject.” Quite suddenly, the man was reaching for her, pulling her close to him. Her heart jumped and she forced it down. It was an alien feeling, this closeness. He spoke softly, his voice nearly teasing. “Are you angry with me?” Edda looked up at him. Her heart beat steadily against her chest. The training she had received was true, however, and she could feel her features set in a placid expression. She did not look angry. “What did you say to her?” “I told her she was being silly. That I had planned this even before the attack.” That was true. It did not make it any less cruel. “She herself had long admitted she had nothing of any real substance to offer in the way of a union. Surely you’re not jealous of a lover.” He said it as if it were that small a thing. Edda raised her eyebrows. There was no jealousy in her heart, over a man she scarcely knew – yet she knew enough to realize he was no fool. He knew the answer to his own prodding as much as she. It was a test. “I could care less,” she replied shortly. “Shortly after your disappearance, the nature of your relationship with Ser Crofte became known to me, albeit indirectly.” It felt like an answer. He smirked. The distance between them still seemed to displease him, and he forcibly pulled her closer. It did not seem to matter to him. Edda could feel the heat of her own breath reflected from his collarbone. “I still find you slightly cross,” he murmured. “Are you angry with yourself?” “No,” she said. “Your lack of care for the woman is surprising. She seems to love you a great deal.” She watched him closely, as much as she was able at such proximity, gauging his reaction. He smiled. “Your lack of care for her feelings, as a friend, is equally surprising.” With one hand still holding hers, Jameson placed his other hand at her waist. He pulled her closer, and held her as if they were at a ball. Edda continued to stare a hole through the man’s neck, and stayed silent for a long moment. She is not my friend, she wanted to say. I’ve no time for such frivolities. It would not be a lie. She knew what friends looked like – smiling and laughing together, no truths and secrets withheld – a faraway dream that seemed always bathed in sunlight. There was an ache in her heart, to possess such a thing. Images of faces filtered through her mind. Perhaps she did, and was only too blind to see it. Jameson’s grip on her hand tightened. Perhaps she did, but she thought of Roen’s disappearance and Leanne’s cold anger – and if she did before, now with this man so close, so very close – then surely they were friends no longer. Though there was no music, Jameson led her as if there was. A silent dance. Step. Turn. Step. He leaned forward and placed his cheek at her temple. “I wanted to see what would happen.” Her voice had dropped to a whisper. “And so you did,” he murmured. He turned her and laughed softly. “You’re not as simple as you pretend, I think.” Edda had no response to such a statement. A compliment and insult all in one. “A callous choice.” “It was.” “You do not love her?” “No.” She could not see his face but she could hear his smile. He turned her again. “I do not believe you,” she whispered. Her body was ever pliant. She allowed him to push and pull at her as he saw fit. It was a dance she knew well. “That is your choice,” he whispered back. “I think we have… a lot to learn. You and I.” Another turn. Edda stared at nothing. “Perhaps.” A pause. “I think you will change your mind.” “About what, my dear?” He asked, almost archly. He turned her halfway, her back now flush against him, and stopped. He glanced to the side, as though to a mirror, though there was none. He adjusted his posture, then hers. The dance continued. “About Ser Crofte,” she replied smoothly. “Or are both your passions so weak?” She watched him carefully, as best she could. Jameson smirked again, his voice teasing. “Now you are just trying to provoke a response. Is that what you want?” Yes. He turned her again, and she sighed. “I want for nothing in particular.” “Perhaps that is what you need then,” he murmured against her hair. So very close. “Perhaps.” He smiled, and the dance stopped. He set her arms back down by her sides and pat her hip, as though to dust it. “Now then. I am famished.” Jameson turned from her and made his way back to the table. “Will you be ready to travel to Ishgard in two days, dear?” Edda watched him and did not move from how she was left. “Yes.” “Excellent. I detest delay.” He nodded. “Miss Rossenheims, ensure –all- my bags are packed. Including the shopping list I gave you.” The assistant nodded, jotting down a note in her book. “It shall be done immediately.” She was very quiet. Edda had nearly forgotten she had been in the room, but the presence of servants was not alien to her. This one chilled her, however. “Edda,” Jameson began. “Will you be sending Mr. North out for supplies?” “I did not plan on doing so. My belongings have already been arranged.” “Ah, a pity. I had hoped he might show Miss Rossenheims the ropes, so to speak. The ins-and-outs of a proper valet.” Though she held no love for his mousy assistant, Jameson’s brazen disregard for her made the corner of her mouth twitch. “There will be time for that in Ishgard.” She kept her voice steady. “For now, his time is being spent at his own leisure.” “Well, he is yours to command. So if his leisure is your wish…” He trailed off, and shrugged. He took a bite of a fruit tart. The implications of his words were not lost on her. A fire burned at the back of her throat and her eyes narrowed, quickly. “It is.” There would be no argument. He continued eating his fruit tart, and did not remark any further about Gideon. A wise choice. He swallowed. “Delightful,” he murmured to no one in particular. A small bout of silence fell upon the room, interrupted when Rossenheims suddenly closed her notebook. “I shall see to your bags, Lord Taeros.” Jameson did not spare her a single glance – in fact, it was almost as if she did not exist. “I will take my leave. I have my own preparations to make. If you desire conversation, I will be in my quarters.” He smiled. “Very well.” He gave her a small bow and left the room, with Rossenheims not far behind. Edda turned back to stare into the fire. There would be no need to seek him out later. Her plan had been thwarted handily, both through her own doing, and by the Spinner herself. She felt no favor in the eyes of the Twelve any longer, and the dread of returning to Ishgard loomed over her like a shadow. It would not do to return there. It would be better to never be seen again. It would be better to remain within these halls forever, with only her father and that man to look upon her. Edda clasped her hands to her arms. Her skin still burned where he had touched her.

This kinda irks me. Especially with major lorebendy things. If my character gets to know someone then all of a sudden the scooby doo mask comes off and they are something totally weird... I mean, how do you expect normal characters to react? Seriously. It's like being like "Hi, I'm an alien" except no one really gets the proper exposition to deal with that and then you expect them to show up at tavern night next Tuesday like you being an alien isn't a big deal. Idk I think it's lame but to each thier own. Underrated post. I super agree with this. Playing hidden aspects of your characters and telling no one IC or OOC can be really great and add a healthy dose of surprise to roleplay, like the rich merchant eventually revealing he was a dashing con artist all along. But when it comes to... far-out concepts like androids or whatever, it can be a bit of a gamble. Not everyone is going to like it, or even accept it. Especially people who like to follow and respect the game's lore to a T - and there really is no hard evidence that the Allagans could make KOS-MOS tier androids, so... I don't know. Something to be aware of. I know if I suddenly revealed to everyone I am involved with RP-wise that Edda is actually an intricate, heartless mannequin crafted by her father, I would seriously piss off more than a few people.

I've thought about making a "The 1% of Eorzea" linkshell myself for a very long time now. My reasoning was simple: The vast majority of the population in Eorzea is incredibly poor, or just plain average - even in terms of adventurers. It makes no sense for the incredibly wealthy elites/nobility of the City-States to not have any idea who Spoiled Merchant Prince/Princess #7 is. If not personally, then at the very least by name. It makes. No sense. It's like... the owners of Walmart not knowing who Kim Kardashian is, or something. I think it would be ideal for such roleplayers to have access to a listing of other rich/noble RPers, so if you wanted to meet up and RP with one of them, you could have a basis for a relationship or a hook already. "Oh shit, you're the daughter of XYZ? Damn my grandma hates the way your dad does things." Etc etc. Ultimately I decided against making one however, mostly because I think a directory thread would serve the same purpose just as well, rather than a linkshell (on top of being more accessible). Aside from that, I've found that there's only so much room for rich people in RP circles, just as there's only so much standing room on one yacht. With that being said, attempting to reach out to so many characters that have very similar backgrounds to your own can get stale and fast. But hey, I don't think it's a bad idea by any means. Would I join such a linkshell? Hell yeah. Do I think it's a good idea? Sure. Do I think it would see much use? ...Probably not.

I play a La Noscean noble. 'Noble.' "Noble." In reality, when I was first conceptualizing Edda, I had a pretty keen awareness that Vylbrand, of all places, would not have any kind of systematic nobility or hierarchy to speak of. So I said, fuck it, her family is just unhealthily wealthy and celebrate generations of continued success by treating themselves like the greatest thing since sliced bread. I played her like the heiress to a very wealthy merchant family, never using the word directly, but other players called her a "noble" and it just kind of... stuck, I guess. Well, whatever. Thanks a lot, guys.

I hate to rain on your parade Aaron but this news is old as all hell. We're getting a release date so they can... announce a release date. In March, right? Awesome. But just a heads up this game will probably get delayed to 2017. Cheers!

Edda took to her room quickly after seeing Ser Crofte to her own. The sun had only just set yet every bone in her body felt fatigued. She called for a hot bath to be drawn for her first thing, and was quick to settle into the porcelain tub. Her last memory of the simple luxury seemed quite far away. She did not feel particularly dirty, but there was enough to be said about the heat seeping through her bones, the steam surrounding her in a white haze. It was soothing. Yet still a flurry of thoughts plagued her mind as she reclined in the water, and stared up at the ceiling. It did not feel ideal, still. The retrieval had gone simply enough despite a few unsurprising hiccups, but the entire affair still seemed rather underhanded. It felt unlike her, or perhaps so like her that she felt ashamed of it. The decision was hers, and neither her father nor that man had any idea, nor place to know. She glared at her kneecaps, just cresting above the water. Her goal was vague, one that she could not see clearly. Bringing Coatleque here had almost begun to seem like a mistake. There was no way to know what would happen for sure, and even with as much control as she had now, here in her home, she still felt powerless. There were few options, all seemingly viable, but so… delicate, in their dependency on the whims and hearts of others – a subject Edda was not well versed in. They meet alone. She is overjoyed, confused – yet ever does distance make the heart grow stronger. The news is broken but she does not care, she does not care, she loves him loves him loves him and embraces him- No. Ideal, perhaps, in the eyes of many. But it would solve nothing, for no one. Edda closed her eyes. They do not meet. Edda tells the woman herself. They are ill-acquainted, tenuous contacts at best, and she could not presume to know her heart, her impulses. Confusion, sadness, rage. They blur together at a point and she becomes static, reaching for her blade, not reaching for her blade, fixed desperation, indefinite despair, and she- No. A gamble at best. It would defeat the very purpose of bringing her here at all. Reliance on impulse would be meaningless without the subject present. They all meet together. Long has Edda waited for this day, and she is in love, so much in love. Gloating comes naturally to her and she speaks above him, a chorus of jeering. She alone has been chosen, and there is no place for the betrayed woman that reaches for a knife, easy and available. It is done but Edda is there and there is nothing to stop her, and it is too- No. Even if Ser Crofte was a woman so easily controlled by her emotions, it would be far too much. A solution, but one too soon, one too final. A knock at the door interrupted Edda’s thoughts in one clean motion. “Edda, I’m coming in.” No sooner were the words spoken did her father make his way through the door. Permission was not something he actively sought, and it would not be the first time he came to speak with her while she bathed. He looked down at her and raised an eyebrow before pulling a chair from the far side of the room to sit beside her. He was very close. Edda pulled her thighs to her chest, her hands crossing around her ankles. Eamon leaned forward in his seat. “How are you feeling?” Why he bothered with platitudes would always be a mystery to her, and she responded flatly. “Tired. Wet.” “Any plans for this evening?” She gave him a confused look. “No. Why would I? And with whom?” “Well.” He gave her a rather patronizing look, but she could not say why. “Never mind.” He smiled at her and continued. “Our talks concluded today. I trust you can already guess my decision.” “I do not see why it would have changed.” “Good.” Eamon nodded in approval, before his expression sobered. It was a face for business, and though she could not see, Edda imagined hers was much the same. “Needless to say it will be much more difficult now. He is an ambitious man, and a blind need to posses what he does not deserve will have… changed him. I have seen it before.” “You sound certain.” “I am.” He always was. “For better or for worse?” Eamon frowned. “I cannot say. If he has bettered, it would make your job much easier. Would you like that?” “I’ve no preference.” She kept a straight face. Her hair pooled around her shoulders in the bath. “He is a shrewd man. Proud. It will be difficult either way.” Eamon paused and looked down at his daughter with an appraising eye. He looked amused. “Do you think you can do it?” Edda released her legs and leaned back in the tub. The back of her head rest against the rim and she turned her neck to look at her father fully. “Do you?” “We shall see. You possess such qualities as well. It should not be impossible.” “Are you complimenting me, father?” She smiled wryly. He chuckled, and leaned forward in his chair. “Perish the thought.” The two fell into silence. Edda released a sigh through her nose and turned once more to face the ceiling. She closed her eyes, and could still feel her father looking at her. The two remained like that for several minutes. The steam from the bath began to dissipate. “It will be painful.” Eamon broke the silence in a quiet voice. “I know.” “Knowing that, you will still persist?” If he had spoken to her as such many years ago, before he found peace in his games, before her family began to look at her with unspoken scorn, before the Calamity – Edda might have believed in his sincerity. She was not foolish enough to think he did not care, but what care there was was weighed and measured, a stock to be invested in only the most crucial aspects of his desired result. The pain she expected. The words were another. They felt like poison. She sighed once more and opened her eyes. “Do I have a choice?” “Of course you have a choice,” he said, voice louder. “I do not buy into the saying ‘failure is not an option.’ It is always an option. It is simply a poor one.” “I know what will happen should I fail,” Edda said softly. “I will end it before it comes to that.” He stared at her, mouth drawn into a thin line. “Let us hope it does not come to that, then.” “Yes, let us hope,” she said, her tone becoming short. “What a quandary that would put you in.” “And you, as well.” She glared up at him. He did not know. How could he? He did not need to. “Are you sure it would not please you? To see me so… chastened.” “Edda.” “You already know I am ill-suited for this,” she hissed at him. “Would it feel like revenge, to see me fail?” There was a burning at the back of her eyes. It was clear on her face, enough to give her father pause. “You are uncertain.” It wasn’t a question. “Yes.” Eamon reached out to rest a hand on her damp shoulder. His sleeve brushed the water. “You are not ill-suited for it. It will pass soon, that uncertainty. That fear. Do not think too much of it, at first. Despite what… whatever it was that happened to him, he is not so different than what he was before. He is still a man, blood still courses through his veins. He is not a machine. You will see.” She felt a tightening in her throat. His grip on her shoulder tightened. “Do not cry.” His hand moved to her face and he gripped her chin. He turned her face to look at him. When had his eyes become so grey? “This is the task I have given to you. You know what you must do.” It felt as if bells had passed before Eamon released her and returned to his quarters. Edda remained still for what seemed even longer. The water cooled. The steam disappeared, her thoughts and the memory of her hazy ambition gone with it.

Serious roleplay. I'm not kidding. Nobody laugh.

That last one is the stuff of legends. Marry me.

MCH & BRD: PGL:

It was with both alarm and exasperation that Edda greeted a nondescript letter addressed to her only during her second sun in Ishgard. Her father always seemed to know precisely where to find her, though as to how he did was still something of a mystery to her. The missive was brief, and managed only to convey a deep sense of urgency with her father’s cryptic words. Return home at once, it read, signed with his usual easy E, and contained little else. Despite the distance she felt between him, she was not one to willfully disobey him. He was not a man given to hyperbole, and so she figured the situation must be somewhat grave. Edda called Khadai over the linkpearl and bid him to meet her within the city. She had not seen the Xaela much in the last 36 bells, as he was often out exploring and hopefully avoiding trouble. It would be a lie to say she did not worry for him, given his appearance and instinctive nature, but she knew it was not her place to attempt to rein him in. The time and location for their meeting was not concisely set. She bid the man to meet her outside The Vault (though she did not refer to it as such – merely describing it to avoid any potential confusion) and wait by one of the many statues in front of the building. Hopefully his outlandish furs and height would be enough for her to notice him from a distance, and she was proved quite right. Khadai looked terribly out of place amid the sophisticated architecture of the Pillars. His sword and clothing were as conspicuous as ever, and he shifted his weight from one foot to another, as if expecting the need to run from a social encounter at a moment’s notice. Upon seeing her approach, he removed a ribbon that he had tied to one horn that held the linkpearl in place against the appendage and, in a manner that could be almost described as sheepish, shoved it into his tunic. He greeted her with an austere nod, still shuffling his posture. “Edda,” he rumbled an acknowledgement with her name. Edda approached and gave the man a short bow. Though she did not set a time, she had no way of knowing how long he had been waiting for her in clear discomfort. It was only polite. “Khadai. Thank you for meeting me.” “You have need of me?” “Ah, yes. Well, no.” She looked down at her hands and pressed the points of her index fingers together. “I only wanted to tell you that I must… leave. The city. For some time.” She looked back up and frowned at her own disjointed words. “I should not be gone for more than a few suns, and I will return as soon as I am able.” The news seemed to interest him, as his stance straightened considerably and he ceased shifting his weight. “Are we departing immediately?” She hesitated, her face developing a sudden pallor. “W-we…” She bit her lip and looked to the side. Searching for the right words was never an easy task – even moreso than usual with Khadai. “I am sorry, Khadai. I cannot take you with me. Not just yet.” It sounded like a promise when she said it like that. In truth, a part of her very much wanted to take him with her. The landscape of Vylbrand would surely be unlike anything he had seen in his travels thus far, and it was one she was far more qualified to guide him through. Still, her final destination was more than simply Vylbrand, and the thought of her walking through the front gates with the massive, barbarian-looking Au Ra in tow was enough of a deterrence. Her father would surely have a fit. “…I see.” He mulled over the implications. “You will be engaged in… a task that one of my functions is unable to assist in. I understand.” He paused. “Are you certain you will not require defense?” She raised an eyebrow. His usual belligerence concerning his repayment of their bargain was gone, his response unexpectedly understanding given her lack of any explanation. “I am certain. At least, not in the kind you are able to give.” Unless the Au Ra had developed a technique to deflect words with his sword, he would be suitably useless, and Edda chuckled at her own horrible, internal joke. “…I wish to know what you will be involved with, in order to expand my understanding of the continent’s culture. If you are willing to tell.” “I am not certain myself. My father wishes to see me, and it sounds urgent. I do not know why.” Khadai was visibly uncomfortable with the lack of information in her answer, though he did not protest, at least at first. After a long minute of contemplation, he spoke. “I do not believe you incapable,” he began, his speech pattern robotic in a way that said he was choosing his words with very deliberate care. “I am not at ease leaving you alone in a task you do not know. It is… dangerous.” Edda shifted her weight, her eyes widening slightly. “Dangerous how? I am only returning home.” He paused and shook his head. “Apologies. I do not know what circumstances may be considered ‘dangerous’ in this situation as of yet. If you believe there to be no danger, then I will not question such.” He reached into his tunic to pull out the linkpearl, pinched between his gloved thumb and forefinger. “You will… call. If I am to fulfill my duty to you?” It felt such an earnest display from the usually taciturn man that Edda could not help but smile in full. “Yes, I will – I promise. …Oh!” She nearly jumped in surprise, before reaching into a small satchel, searching for something. “I had almost forgotten.” Withdrawn was a small, cornucopia shaped object, made entirely of lightweight wire. It had a small, circular hook at the end, and small indents the size of linkpearls fitted throughout its center. It was simple and unassuming, and the perfect size to fit behind one of Khadai’s horns. She held it out to him. “Try it. It is light, but it should not break easily.” He reached his hand forward and gingerly took the length of wire, as if afraid that it would snap beneath his fingers. He brought the ornament close to his face to inspect it; despite its simplicity, it was elegantly constructed, and seemed durable enough. He placed the linkpearl into one of the slots and fit it behind his left horn, near the front where a steel cap marked the point of the appendage. The connectors at the ends locked together with a soft ‘click,’ and Khadai gave a few rapid shakes and wild nods of his head, as if testing it. “…This is good,” he murmured. Edda clasped her hands together, clearly pleased. Goldsmithing was not something she had been rigorously trained in, but she knew enough to think of herself as self-sufficient. “Is it? Good. If you’ve any issues with it, please let me know, yes?” “I will do so. It will serve its purpose very well.” The corner of his lip curled – not quite a grin, but close enough – and he nodded in approval. It passed quickly, however, and his expression became sober. “I do not like this. Your departure. I recognize that I am not fit to accompany you, and will remain here.” Her expression fell to match Khadai’s. “Forgive me. I cannot… just yet. I will be able to in due time, I am certain. I am sure Roen will be more than happy to assist you with whatever you have need of, and should there be an emergency you may always call me over the pearl.” He nodded, slow and uncertain. “And if you do not return within the appointed time?” “I will contact you should that be the case. And if I am… within reasonable distance, you can come meet me, I suppose…” She trailed off in thought of the logistics of such a prospect. It would be no good if he simply got lost again, her own uncertainty of her return aside. Khadai pursed his lips. “If you give me a name, the stern woman may be able to provide me with direction.” Edda sighed and shook her head. “I am uncertain of when I will be returning, and where from. However, should I be… delayed, I will let you know the location. Perhaps Roen will want to go with you herself.” That did not seem to placate him much, but he nodded his acquiescence regardless. “I will be ready if it comes to that.” She paused for a moment, before narrowing her eyes. It was not an angry glance, but an intensive one borne of curiosity. “Why is it you still call her ‘the stern woman?’” A shrug. “…It fits?” “I suppose, but… I am not stern?” It sounded like a leading question, but her eyes were honest. No one before had told her as such, but Edda feared that was the impression she gave. It was not one she wanted to, though she knew she was meant to. “I do not believe so.” He tilted his head, looking at her curiously. “Ah. Well.” She paused, her eyes looking about nervously. What a silly question. “That is fine, then. I was… only wondering.” “…If our business is concluded, I will be venturing into the field to acclimate myself to the geography. I,” he paused. “Wish you luck in your task.” The phrase itself was normal, but the way it awkwardly crawled out of his lips implied that it was a phrase he’d only learned recently, and did not fully understand.” “O-oh.” Edda gave a crestfallen look to the stone ground, but had the good graces to recover quickly enough. Her desire to delay was great. “Yes, that should be all, Khadai. Thank you.” She smiled lightly, and rolled onto the backs of her heels. “I will depart very soon. I will… be in contact. Do try and stay safe, alright?” Khadai gave her a quiet, apprehensive nod, and he strode off. Edda remained for some time after to watch him leave, before she too began to make her way home. She packed light and moved quickly, uncertain as to what news awaited her at home.

Events aren't necessarily the best way to meet someone. There's a handful of role-players I'd really like to interact with that I keep an eye out for - but sometimes I just message them directly out of the blue to see if they're open to finding a way to get some role-play going. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't - but at least if you organise such a meeting outside of an event then you'll have each other's full attention. Whether it ends up just being a brief encounter or something more long term is often up in the air but...it's definitely worth a try! Yeah seriously. Random walk-up RP works sometimes, but isn't necessarily the best method when you are looking to form lasting connections. It might, but not always. Best way is to message someone privately and see if they are down to boogie. As said it won't always work, but like the lottery, you can't win if you don't play. For instance I had wanted to RP with Graeham for like 2 months before he PM'd me outta the blue, and we worked it out and had some lovely RP. And now that Edda is going back to Ishgard... :tonberry: Also, I find that people in general are also more likely to remember and want to RP with someone who contacted them privately first, rather than some rando they ran into at an event with egregious amounts of chat scroll. This is just my personal experience.

S5jdwIzkbkU I'm posting another Dunkey video because I can. Backstreet Boys are cool, LEANNE.

It's not Haurchefant. Polite pass.

This is really not the place, in this thread or on the RPC as a whole, to be arguing about whether or not suicide is selfish or not. Even if you've been in that position. Especially if you've been in that position. Whether or not you think you are arguing, I would recommend people keep their opinions on that matter to themselves, and move on.

SkNaUiaGRxw My hero. "When Big Boss pets you, you stay pet."

ugh this is so fuckin awkward i just wanna fall through my seat and burrow through the earth never to be seent again like omg why do i have to deal with this SIHT I AM so done like forever and ever you two can go FCUK URSELVES EDDA OUT baby bye bye bye BYE BYE Don't wanna be a fool for you Just another player in your game for two You may hate me but it ain't no lie Baby bye bye bye Bye bye Don't really wanna make it tough I just wanna tell you that I've had enough Might sound crazy but it ain't no lie Baby bye bye bye

A valid point. However, we can neither confirm nor deny the fact that Estinien has eyes. He may very well not. What good is a poker face against one who cannot see?

Good question. I am not sure about the first one. Someone get Sounsyy in here. And Loaf's DoT tick is usually determined by the afflicted's vitality and overall health pool. Only the hardy may survive. Money for a doctor is also a factor.

Not that that's a bad thing, mind you. So why not put that propensity towards something that actually matters? Using only logic, lore and your wits, I would ask the greatest debaters of the RPC to come forward and proffer their thoughts on this mighty topic. [align=center]WHO WOULD WIN IN A FIGHT?[/align] [align=center]ESTINIEN WYRMBLOOD vs. A MOLDY LOAF OF BREAD[/align] This may seem like a match already won, but how can we be so sure? Let us examine the fighters to get a better understanding of their abilities and limitations, so those not so brushed up on their lore can spit fire just as easily as anyone else. Estinien Wyrmblood The Azure Dragoon [align=left]Perhaps the most iconic character of Heavensward (though certainly not the most likable), Estinien stands above his peers as the one and only Azure Dragoon of Ishgard. His spear is long and ready. His clout, immense. Not only is he a skilled fighter trained in felling the most fearsome of all beasts, he is a strong-willed and uncompromising individual. If there is something this man wants, nothing will stand in his way. However, in every great man lurks a great weakness. Some would say his pride is his weakness. Estinien would not suffer the weak to fight alongside him in a battle he considers his. What then, would a man of his caliber be able to do against such a natural, unassuming foe - especially without the help of others? He may have been training his muscles for cycles, but no doubt his digestive tract's strength has been cast to the wayside. He may talk big game, but can his spear truly fell every foe? Will Estinien's massive lips be his largest asset? Or his greatest downfall? [align=center]VERSUS[/align] Moldy Loaf Bane of The Brume Unassuming. Repulsive. Unhealthy. Moldy Loaf may seem like mere fodder to anyone in possession of a garbage bag. However, just like Rocky Balboa proved to every American that the underdog does indeed stand a fighting chance, so too does this once-perfect mass of carbohydrates. Perhaps an unknown foe in the lordly halls of The Four Great Houses, Moldy Loaf is a feared and known sight to any denizen of The Brume. "Speak not his name, or he too will curse your pantry." At a young age, children are taught to abhor and avoid the very sight of a green or grey splotch on Loaf's majestic form. Yet even still, how many lives has he claimed? How many times has Moldy Loaf triumphed against Hunger, the greatest foe of them all? Stationary, yes, but far does his influence spread. "Speak his name, and let his power grace your lips - and you shall know death." [align=center]There can be only one. [/align] [/align]