cuideag

Thought I'd do some dungeons for the stupid anima whatever quest for my dumb 60 BLM and I get this ding dong in DF: Please don't be #2 here. Just don't! I promise you, you will have a better time if you aren't That Person. Thanks, folks in the TA linkshell for letting me kind of vent at yall, but this kind of thing really gets my goat. The SCH did fantastic in any case, zero wipes or deaths.

I will buy 4000 versions of any Team ICO game I don't even care just let me do it also Monster Hunter all day ever day

1. Death. It's not really unfair or unexpected in her case - Delial's done enough to earn it. Just a matter of finding out who pulls the trigger when the time comes. 2. Retirement. Somebody owes her a bungalow out in Costa del Sol. 3. Obscurity. When the dust finally, finally settles for realsies, she'll just vanish, heck to the realm. Maybe there will be talk of a strange witch living in some nondescript somewhere in the woods anywhere (as every proper wood has one or several of those) and that would just be the best thing in her mind. 4. Redemption. She steps back into her old name and joins the fight against Garlemald for realsies and vows to repay what damage she had wrought against her house and nation, and vanishes into the realm of NPC-dom.

yells A LOT As if I needed more reasons to be excited for this dang stupid game

Before. She waited exactly one sun before she took the aetheryte shard. Crystal blue melted, faded into silken, crystalline everything, and when her feet finally found solid ground again she swallowed hard against the disorientation and the near overwhelming nausea that rose with it. To say it was silent could not be true: the dust-tinged sky of Thanalan was replaced with metal walls and ceilings and artificial light. Around her, everything hummed. Castrum, Delial reminded herself, anchoring herself to the word while the rest of her wound her senses around it. Banurein. Then, sourly, Wolfsong. Someone nearby cleared their throat. Raising her eyes from the fading pale blue halo at her feet, she regarded her attendant: a woman of precise shapes and crisp edges, not a guard though Delial noted a slim weapon at her hip. She said nothing at all but her lips pursed and pale eyes looked away the moment she recognized she had their guest's attention. The rest of her followed, spinning not a degree too far or too short, and she marched without so much as looking to see if Grimsong was following. It was expected for she was expected and Delial allowed herself the time to take quick deep breaths, one, two, before she took pace behind her. The halls wound and coiled into themselves, a blur of grey tubing and hard light. Long wires, sometimes in bundles thick as limbs, bounced between round nodes pierced by thin tube-like projections. They walked beneath several before she could confirm that they followed their movements, whirring in sockets, tiny red lights flashing back to a gentler white only when they passed. There were doors and pipes and things she assumed were engines, lit in hard patterns and lines; sometimes there were windows and sometimes they were barred. The one time she veered towards one to try and take a look, her guide gave her boots a particularly sharp click and Delial grudgingly fell back onto the path the woman was setting for her, unobtrusive and safe dead center through the halls. If something had scratched at the other side of that door, then Delial would never know. Eventually one side of the hall was overtaken by broad double doors flanked by two proper guards. They may as well have been statues for they did not move nor utter a word as the guide-woman punched some pattern into a panel beside one of them. Several turret nodes ringed the ceiling there before the doors, perpetually blinking warning red at them. The doors hissed open much more smoothly than Delial would have expected given their size, spilling a pool of softer light into the unending hall. Again the guide spun, this time to face the Highlander with a wordless and near expressionless stare. Her lips remained pursed, haughty and disapproving, impatient for Grimsong to pick upon meaning without speaking a word. The door yawned wide and beckoning. Repaying silence with silence, Delial turned and stepped through. Then behind her, the doors hissed shut, gouts of steam erupting from vented pipes on either side. This new room was even wider than its doors and its high ceiling, covered again with ropes and bundles of wires and broad tubes and pipes, was speckled with spotlights instead of turrets. Only a few were lit, casting broad circles on the sterile grey floor. The biggest and brightest of them was in the center of the room, where a woman in blue stood beside a table and a metal cart. As Delial strode closer, she could make out tubes and jars, trays of shining instruments, vacuous crystals and books etched with pulsing glyphs. Upon the table, a man. "Miss Grimsong." Raelisanne Banurein spared little courtesy. She did not speak loudly but the chamber carried her voice clear as a bell. "You decided to join us. Good." Wolfsong appeared unconscious though he breathed hard and harsh against the chains that bound him. It was not difficult to spy the black, otherworldly things that were introduced to him in the house where he had been held captive back in Vesper Bay. Nor was it difficult to note the beginnings of new scars, thin but laced with residue, glistening in oily shades of black and indigo. Beneath closed lids, his eyes rolled wild. Banurein did not wait for Delial to respond. "You brought your weapon, I trust. We have a great deal of work ahead of us." Then, at last, the pale woman's head turned and hard eyes settled upon her guest. "Can you do it?" Delial took a breath to speak but something twisted inside her, a momentary vertigo rising through her alongside a memory: a voice, vast and dry as wind through dying leaves, spoken by a woman who wore shadows defiant of the firelight in her hall. Hands upon her own, heavy and too large, too long, cutting shapes across her skin like ink as a cold shape was pressed into her palm. Quick, easy. Everything has it's cost and it all begins with a cut. My little dove, she sang, and Delial remembered the shine of teeth beneath shaded veils. Can you do it? She heard, muffled, Banurein with an edge of impatience drawing her cold tone even colder. "Yes or no will do." But as Delial gathered herself she felt the blade already in her hand, a cold and solid comfort reminding her of her task, of the resolve she had cut out of better men than traitorous Wolfsong. “Yes,” she said, more hoarse than she would have liked; the stale air of the Castrum dried her throat, she insisted inwardly, stole away the strength in her voice. On the table, Wolfsong writhed against the terrors in his blood. “Good,” said Banurein, though there was no hint of pleasure in the word. The scientist turned her attention back to her subject and then to her instruments, running her fingers over them as she considered her choices. Beneath her fingers, the vials pulsed an impossible violet light, staining her otherwise pristine robes. “Come. Show me what you can do. What we can do,” she said, and for the barest instant Delial thought she saw the other woman was grinning. “Together.” --- On the quiet days they permitted her entry, alone that their patient not be disturbed, and never with her weapon once they identified the burns. It was a mystery to her why she even bothered. He was as much a corpse to the world as he was the sun they found him. After the first few visits, she gave up on talking. Delial was certain they had explained it to her once: his condition, their thoughts and theories on the what’s and why’s, but it had all gone right over her head. Just as she could glean nothing from their words, they could gain nothing from her. That they hadn’t turned her and Wolfsong in on the spot had been miraculous in itself, but there was nearly nothing they could explain of the man they’d brought or why someone had embedded tubes into his flesh. It was Banurein’s work, of that there was no doubt. But what was it? What was it meant to do? Why Taeros, and not... Her heart had fallen when they found him, secreted away in an already secret place. The last thing she had expected to find was a man that looked suspiciously like Jameson Taeros. The thought hadn’t even occurred to her until Gharen made mention of it, and some small part of her wondered if it was guilt that drew her to his bedside. It was not her brother hidden in that room and so it may as well have been a stranger. It was not him and so he did not matter. Except he did. Clearly, he did - Taeros always mattered to someone, somewhere and in her silent vigil Delial resented him for it. In her loathing, her thoughts wandered to Crofte and Lady Eglantine, and what they would think of his state. Enjoy your pickled man, something had said in that room and Delial hadn’t given it much thought. “At least someone,” she said aloud, “Is having a worse time than me.”

Updated info and stuff after 100 years. I'm still around! Hello!

A letter found folded beneath a pillow in an abandoned apartment in Ul'dah: You, These words will matter to no one but me and even then I have my doubts. My thoughts, love, have become clouded by so many things and there, too, have I find my hand stayed: with doubts that have kept their distance all these years now come rushing to my feet that they might make me stumble. I could not have been wrong. No, and if these rumors are true, I was not. But I was wrong to abandon you. I wonder with every breath if I will get to tell you that in person. If I am afraid to find out I will not. I miss you so dearly. I love you so much. I will not find your forgiveness but I will find you if it is the last thing I do upon this world. D.

someday I will find another voice for Delial but until that day it will belong to Mary Elizabeth McGlynn [video=youtube]

I just got an email maybe 30 minutes ago telling me I could go ahead and order a book since I was on the wait list, and that they're currently being manufactured with plans to ship in November. Fingers crossed for my fellow wait list pals.

Going to add on to Aaron's point because it's exactly what my thoughts are. Anyone who dumps on your character or your RP especially IC is probably doing so just for the sake of being able to UM ACUIALLY... you, and, let's be real, that's worse form than anyone who is rping a job. Unless they happen to have the roster of the 30 or 10 or whatever of the Official Ishgard Order of Dragoons and know EXACTLY who they are then uhhh... yeah I wouldn't worry about it. Keep on, yall, you're fine. Edit: not saying anyone who rps a job (any job frankly I don't care) is doing anything wrong, just so yall know. Tell your stories, and don't feel obligated to retcon yourself when word of God doesn't tell us anything.

Thanks to all you nerds who endured my presence, and heck yes to the others who I got to meet even if it was only briefly. I will treasure this fool's gold forever.

How long did you have to wait in line to get one? I was in line for about 3 hours, all the way through the costume contest and then some. They cut off the line right in front of me and started handing out red tickets to those who couldn't get in yesterday. I thought this was a con, not a waiting in line simulator. Oh man I'm sorry, hang in there!! This is Fanfest, everything is a line

How long did you have to wait in line to get one?

This is the worst why am I here... what has my life become....

Poor life choices, ill-advised decisions, and a maddening need to see them through because otherwise her whole life would have been a colossal waste of time. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Citizens suspecting ill of the local Thaumaturge's Guild isn't exactly new news, but one citizen in particular claims he's seen proof of a darker side to the prestigious group. "It wasn't right," researcher Gogoshu told reporters. "I've seen magic. We've all seen magic - but this just wasn't right." Gogoshu was resting from his ongoing work investigating ruins near Highbridge in Eastern Thanalan when a hyur woman invited herself to share his campfire. "She offered to help with some pests," says Gogoshu. "I didn't say anything. But then she snuck off with a miqo'te, and that's when I saw it." The researcher claims the woman proceeded to attack the man using magic "unlike" the normal Fire or Ice spells employed by guild acolytes. Burnt grass and singed stone near the researcher's camp were evidence enough of an encounter, but more curious was a large ring of dry, dead grass. Nothing was burnt and there was nothing to suggest it had simply been trampled or crushed. It was as if the life had been sucked out of it all at once. "That woman was using something forbidden," Gogoshu says. "Someone should know. This could be bad news for everyone if it isn't stopped." The man was unharmed in the attack but locals living in or near Highbridge are warned to be on the look out. The woman is described as being a hyur, likely a Highlander, with dark hair wearing dark clothes. She is missing an eye and is said to have been wielding a staff that looks like a flame. Any information regarding this woman, or other suspicious activities including but not limited to possible uses of unapproved magic, should be brought to the attention of local authorities.

Thoughts and condolences to friends and family. I didn't interact with Denn as much as I would have liked - I knew him mostly as that scoundrel Cicero way back when - but he was always eager to invite me to RP whenever we did cross each other in game. I will do my best to attend.

gently weeps these are so good! ; ;

This will be easy PSN: cuideag Steam: cuideag BNet Since Overwatch is a Thing: cuideag#1938 Discord: cuideag#9681 basically if you see a cuideag somewhere chances are it's me

Years ago. She held her tongue. When they knocked on the door of the small shack her brother had called home, Delial opened it and stepped aside. There was no need for words, after all: they had their arrangement, their task, their payment safe in the city. There was nothing more to be said. It is the right choice. It is the safest choice. The words crawled slow circles through her mind even as her brother fought and struggled. He howled at her, voice taken to a defiance so unlike him. She could not look at him. She had nothing more to say. It is the right choice. It is the safest choice. It is the right choice. She held her tongue, and when her brother was gone, she closed the door behind her. ---- Now. Two years ago, Gharen Wolfsong was as good as dead. He was poisoned and broken and, miraculously, brought back from the edge. He accompanied her to a ball, danced with her while his sister glared. He spared her life again and again, to the discontent of everyone who called Wolfsong ally. One year ago, Gharen Wolfsong was dead. His sword, bloodied, had been abandoned with is belongings and the man who took his life growled and snapped from behind an iron helm. Chained as he was, Delial held no doubt he was as volatile, as hostile as ever, yet he suffered their presence as well as a mad thing who likened himself to a wolf could if one did not think too hard on how he nearly killed or maimed several of the number that had been called in to deal with him. Once he had been unmasked, directing that violence elsewhere had been a simpler matter than Delial expected. Banurein gave it its voice, the wolf that lingered in Gharen's skin. Banurein gave it fangs, black and dripping, and let it loose. Carved into his chest were the reminders of who it was that marked him as hers to begin with. Delial took a breath and pushed on, leaning heavily upon her staff. She parted ways from her ride not far outside the Observatorium, giving her thanks and goodbyes once the road split westward. The cold was not quite as she remembered it when her heart was heavy with worry, when she spent her days wondering if she would find Wolfsong mangled and half-eaten somewhere in the snow. It sank into her bones sent shivers down her spine but it was numb, felt at a distance if she felt it at all. A heavy cloak was pulled tight around her shoulders and pressed near her heart beneath the layers that she wore was a stone, black and humming, warm in a way though it did little for her poor fingers and toes. The road and her company continued on north where they would inevitably come upon Ishgard. It was the fork west that Delial took, gauging the mountains ahead against those in her memory. The wagon trails had long since been buried by fresh snow but she did her best to remember, as tricky as it was when the landscape was perpetually redressing itself in fresh, unmarked snow. If she called for the Huntress then surely she would come, but she cast the thought aside. Eager as Jakkya was to lend aid to Gharen and Roen both, Delial had no desire to drag her back to that place. The three of them had hoped to confront the Pale Lady but it would not be so. Banurein had agreed to attend to the lingering plague in Gharen's veins albeit at a distance, suspecting a trap. The men she had sent in her stead unknowingly led them to a manor left to ruin at the foot of a mountain. It sat broken but proud, ringed by bent iron fences and frozen boulders. The crag overhead seemed a mouth intent on devouring the place, with gigantic icy fangs reaching ever closer one patient ilm at a time. The wind howled and whipped around them, furious and implacable, one final and nearly deafening warning they had no choice but to ignore. Bells past sunset, Delial finally found it again. The moon did little to guide her and when daylight finally faded she could rely on little else but instinct and the stone, black and yearning, at her heart. The head of her staff glowed with burning aether, casting deep and wavering shadows as she trudged past the fence and into a yard that might once have been the envy of neighboring nobles. Though the windows were stained opaque with ice and dirt, the light gave the appearance of things writhing inside. Delial might have written them off as just shadows had she not known the truth of the place. As she drove on to the door, one lurching step at a time, she could hear the scratching from the other side of the wood. It did not stop when, groaning, the door opened and slammed shut behind her; it only dispersed, scritch-scritch-scratching from corners, from walls, from joints in the high ceilings. A grand foyer yawned out before her, tattered and broken as the building that housed it. The taste hit her first as she gulped in the stale air, ignoring the dull ache of her knees and feet. It was stale and musty and overpowered yet by the harsh tang of vile aether, the sense of which had nearly overwhelmed Gharen when they found him there. "This place pulls at me in all directions," he told them, and it had only gotten worse the further they ventured. It was yet another thing he had survived, Gharen Wolfsong, and when he slew the winged thing that hid deep in the cavernous basement they took him and fled the place without a glance back. It was at her insistence that they visit Costa del Sol, seas far, far away from the manse beneath the mountain. There was no doubt in her mind, however, that it could not be forgotten. They are your kin. How could you let this happen? Voices whimpered and wailed as they tore down the things that haunted its halls, though Delial could never tell from what or where they came. Her first concern was Gharen's safety but the voices stuck in her mind like bee stings, left to trouble her. If they were echoes then to whom did they belong? Why did Banurein chose it? Infest it? You left me to this fate. I had no choice. I would do anything for you. Tell me. Delial took another hard breath, banging the butt of her staff into the floor once. For a moment, the scratching subsided, echoing only from the further halls hidden behind rubble and rubbish. Her obligations had been attended to save for one, one which she sat on silently for the better part of the year. The Huntress knew and so, too, did the Wolf; but she was dismissed to her own duties and he, he no longer remembered. It is better that way, she reminded herself, coughing into a sleeve. It is the right choice. Her staff blazed brighter as she centered herself, one hand clutching the stone, black and throbbing, by her heart. She was beyond certain time had long since run out for her brother, gone from Ul'dah so many moons. All that remained was to make certain the favor was repaid in kind.

Going again with the beau, though we're going to be there a starting from a few days before Fanfest to do other stuff as well. Looking forward to hanging out with yall!

Belligerent (and Intoxicated) Highlander Caught Throwing Rotten Eggs at Little Ala Mhigans, Claims "It's for Their Own Good"

Delial is, frankly, a murderer. She is a means to an end kind of gal and so she's painted much of the conflicts she's lived through (like, y'know, Ala Mhigo) in very black and white terms. It's probably a coping mechanism, really, a way to justify to herself that the things she's done are actually Good and Just. It has also become a compulsion: if she has to be monstrous to preserve the greater good, as thankless a task as that tends to be, then better her than someone else. For the most part, she believes it. Sometimes, others are kind enough to believe it, too, even if only for a little bit. It brings her no joy, though. She hasn't been in a good place in a very long time and some of the more recent deaths, both those she played some part in and those involving friends, have been wearing her down pretty badly. But she has to keep at it. It's what she is supposed to be.

*shakes fist at the sky* TUBBS...!!! I really like just being able to check in on them once or twice a day, something to cute to chill out with. Haven't remodeled yet but I'm still trying to nab pics of the last few I'm missing.