Brynhilde

The freshly puréed entrails of her vanquished enemies. She's also rather fond of Marmalade. But never together, because that's disgusting.

Did you know that if you took every book off the shelf in an average-sized book shop and lined them all up side-by-side, you'd get thrown out by security. Did you know that if you ripped every page out of an average paperback and laid them side-by-side, you'd be a monster. Stop ruining the books.

A man walks into a bar. Everyone else but the DRG dodges it.

Three blind mice walk into a bar but they are generally unaware of their surroundings, so to derive humour from it would be exploitative.

OH DOES SHE NOW?! Clearly Dogberry does too. It's more like, "halp i have a new Roe but my old Roe came back and so much feels how doe??"

Ahahaha, yyyeeeah. Bryn needs some of this.

Always irks me when Midlanders and Highlanders are grouped together. We are distinctive clans, damnit!

If you also want to believe that I am a 6 foot tall amazon who can lift a small car overhead, I want you to know that I am totally okay with this.

Speaking of hair, here's me trying to pull off a Lagertha from Vikings.

Pretty much this.

Okay guys I made my Au Ra! No wait wrong picture There we go.

"They look like Voidsent. If that is through a curse, then they are tae be pitied. If it is not... Then they are beasts not tae be trusted at best, or a disease tae be cleansed at worst."

Hi, Ayla! Welcome to Balmung.

I'm not exactly a Thancred fan, but 4:10 was hilarious.

A big welcome to our newest members; D'eshel Tia, Bruden Grin, Jackson Bloodworth and Alistair Gray, and a big welcome back to old friends, Steel Wolf and Varus Rosenthal! We'll be closing recruitment for April/May soon, so get your application in soon if you're interested! Lastly, the OP has been updated to list our newest 'Vanguards', or officer members; Arcian Martell and Brave Horizon. <3

That is an excellent point, thank you! I counter with this. If there is no obligation, does one have a right to play as one wishes if they are expected not to judge. I know it sounds cyclical and it will be cyclical, just bear with me. Remember: rights are the fundamental normative rules about what is allowed of people or owed to people, according to some legal system, social convention, or ethical theory. It's not a cyclical argument if you don't insist on begging the question. 1. We have a right to play as we wish. 2. We have the right to judge others for how they play. 3. It is not incumbent upon those who are judged to give a shit about the judgement. 4. That's it. Given that RP is a creative pastime with no governing body, If anyone says, "You have no right to judge my RP!", don't panic; they are not literally seeking your censorship. What they are essentially saying is, "Your take on the entirely subjective matter of what is appropriate in the role-play of this setting does not trump my own." And they're right. I know it can be frustrating when people muddy semantics. But as a philosophy major, take it from me; if you go through life insisting that regular people converse only in terms of crisp, concise philosophical method, you're gonna have a bad time.

We have the right to play as we wish and we have the right to judge. We have the right to judge, but there is no obligation on the part of others to heed or respect our judgements.

I love it when interaction with a new character forces you to realise something about your own character that you never gave much consideration to before. I love it when you get those little 'eureka!' moments in RP when you get a cool idea. I love it when it's obvious that your RP partner has found something on your character's wiki which they bring into RP. I love it when your character meets another new character and they get on so well that they're instantly like partners in crime.

Hi Blythe, and welcome to Balmung and the RPC. I look forward to seeing you around!

I'll just be grateful not to have to do the Monday night poetics panic for a couple of months.

Come onnnnnnnn Poetics cap removal! Plz. ; ;

The Zweihänder, or great sword, was very often used by the German Landsknechte in the middle ages. I'm therefore claiming that two-handed swords are old hat to the martial Ala Mhigans, and saying that Bryn already has proficiency with them from her youth. That's as far as I'll touch DRK, lore-wise. I may level the class, but while Bryn is generally all over protecting the underdog, she wants nothing to do with Ishgard whatsoever. Besides, why do you need a job title to do good deeds?

Imagine a taller, red-headed Lagatha from Vikings, and you've got a close likeness of Bryn. Bryn looks a little older, has freckles and a finer nose, but 'twas the closest match I could find.

It was a cruelly dark Iceday dawn when Brynhilde approached the Twelves’ Sanctum with a silver kris at her hip and a squirming linen sack tied to the saddle she sat upon. Her captive had fought the entire journey, and seemed now no nearer to exhaustion than when they had set out. The Highlander urged her Chocobo onwards, the three of them proceeding through the iron gates toward the towering building at a slow pace. The air was bitterly cold and they were alone; the rest of the world had not yet awoken. A light pull on the reins brought them to a stop. On either side of the steps leading to the temple door were the stones of the Gods, one for each of them rising up out of the cobbled ground like long-forsaken tombstones. Brynhilde slid from Astridr’s back and gave the bird a soft pat as she retrieved the bag, which wriggled vigorously upon being lifted. Above the woman, the spires of the Sanctum loomed in judgement. “I know that it has been a great many cycles since last we spoke.” She paused, searching. “I saw little point in conversation, in the knowledge that you were always watching.” Stepping over a small brick wall brought her to a line of stones. She stopped before one; it bore the symbol of a descending, fire-consumed meteor. Brynhilde set the sack down beside her leg and prostrated herself before the headstone, pressing her brow hard to the cold ground between her flattened palms. The cobbles smelt of moss, abandonment and age. “I love him.” She whispered to the ground. “It is not his fault. Please do not punish him for my selfishness.” Beside her, the sack bleated. “Rhalgr. Father.” She reached for the sack to undo the cord and snatch the Aldgoat kid as it made a last, squealing bid for freedom. The fine silver kris sat now in her free hand. “Not once have I asked anything of you since my youth, but I ask you now as one who would be your loyal servant for the rest of her suns, however many or few they be; please have mercy upon those fools who love me in return.” She pulled the head of the kid back. The kris waited at it’s throat, gleaming wanly in the cool morning light. “Lord of the meteor and breaker of worlds, I beg of you; there must be something in this life that does not die at my touch.” The torrent of hot blood coated the dawn-chilled stone, misting instantly on contact in fine white wisps. Brynhilde held the body of the beast firmly in her hands as it’s kicks became languid twitches and finally it stilled, glass-eyed. She placed the sacrifice beneath the headstone along with two shining, golden gil coins. A spattering of her own blood, drawn from a cut across her palm, completed the offering. She stood and turned back to her waiting Chocobo. The two departed the Sanctum as the sun began to rise over the Shroud’s canopies. The birds began to sing then, but the stones stood ever-silent in the growing light.