cuideag

I imagine it's basically a given that Ala Mhigo will be an expansion (praise be, Yoshi-P, お楽しみに, amen). HELLA EXCITED. Going back home will be very eye-opening for my horrible Delial I am sure.

It was often wondered just how exactly their marriage had come to be. Lyra always found herself delighted by the gossip: that people thought the match impractical amused her far more than it did her beloved husband. That she took a gil for every incorrect guess from the row of mother hens who worked the market stalls she frequented was not too far from the truth. Garren Blackstone was never too open about personal details and the nature of his marriage was certainly about as private as it got. Even his closest friends could get little more than vague suggestions no matter how many pints of drink they urged into the blacksmith-turned-priest. “Bugger’n curse the lot’o ye,” he would grumble and slur, taking great care to scowl at every single one of his companions, blurry and otherwise. “Bugger an’ curse ye thrice. Love’s love an’ tha’s that.” Garren Bellows was the name he was born with and it was from modest stock that he was raised. It was an old clan who boasted quite loudly that they were amongst the most skillful of Gyr Abania’s smiths: Byregot blessed their strikes while Rhalgr fed their forges, so they said, and they could craft hammers that would last for ages. The Bellows coffers never quite reflected the fame their fathers felt were owed and so they never quite found their way into nobility. Blackstone, too, was an old name in Gyr Abania. Some might have even said that it was ancient, with roots that stretched down to the earliest days of the city in which they dwelled. When the clans still warred over land and people, the witches of yore were said to spit flames so hot they scorched the very stones of their battlegrounds. Their conquests were swift and ruthless and they spilled blood to the gods that they might live forever. ( “Did they?” “Did they what, sweetling?” “Live forever?” “My dear child,” Lyra said and leaned in close to whisper against Delial’s brow. “Surely, no one lives forever.” ) They were healers in more recent days, midwives and potion-makers to aid families they might once have spurned. Lyra Blackstone was no different: she was skilled in finding just the right herbs and mushrooms for anything from chills to fevers and she had helped deliver more than her fair share of children. With roots so deep, they only spread as they rose through the ages. Their number was many even if they all did not wear the name of their mothers. Some wore no name at all. They were not wealthy and worked for charity and good will and their houses, sparse as they were, dotted Gyr Abania like so many stones across the mountains. It was with great surprise and thinly veiled distaste that Father Bellows saw his son marry so low. Yet despite her birth, Lyra was as bright and as elegant as a queen, with eyes like amber and a smile that could hold even the most fierce of blizzards at bay. Soon it was not asked why he would marry her but the reverse: where she was warm and charming, he was rigid and ornery even at the best of times. It was love, however queer it was, and there was simply nothing that could be done. When he took her name, even Mother Bellows had given up hope that her son would seek a woman of higher standing. That their first child would be born early in the following winter was but the first of three final nails in the coffin that was her hope. “Love’s love,” Garren might say to his fellow and leave it at that. Lyra Blackstone would only smile as any woman enamored might and hold out her hand. It was one gil for every five guesses in actuality for she was nothing if she was not charitable.

[video=youtube] I HAVE REALLY STRONG FEELINGS ABOUT AYABAMBI.

Really digging the way you color. Well done!

Why is the text so huge? Quality posting my foot!! :bomb:

At some cost. That's always been DRK's theme. At some cost. My favorite words. Gosh dang it, I wonder if I will have to level this.

I can't speak for everyone, but... no. Why would I? It's rude and it's disrespectful. RPers get enough crap from anti-RPers. You seem to have missed the point of the question. I don't want to get into a moral argument over this so I'll just say *shrug* ... what question? Y'all were trolling and y'all aren't being shy about it. Trolling is generally considered to be kind of a not cool thing to do. That's why it's called trolling, friend. If you want to do it in the future, at least have the courtesy to do it in private so not everyone has to see it. Easy peasy.

I can't speak for everyone, but... no. Why would I? It's rude and it's disrespectful. RPers get enough crap from anti-RPers.

No, Geralt kills monsters. He sleeps with witches. O-oh, my...

Then. “There’s a place,” Daena whispered to him once. The two of them were exhausted and drained and beaten down, and they spoke quietly when they settled in their makeshift shelters out among the crags and the rocks. What had been a map scrawled haphazardly on Hroch’s one and only shirt had become a mess of circles and crosses. The Castrum gave them Roen Deneith’s father and an astounding number of possibilities. It was no secret that Garleans maintained a presence in Thanalan, but they were unprepared for just how many places they had secreted beneath the Ul’dah’s very nose. Hroch Greyarm had grown up around strong people but what strength he did take from them was failing him rapidly. If it was not for Daena Ghurn, he might have given up. Every door she kicked down took its toll, and every empty shack and cave left him wearier and wearier than before. They had raised alarms going into the Castrum and it seemed as if its claws had all been pulled back to the fortress by the sea, but they would not stay drawn out of Thanalan for long. Suns after they pulled out of Vesper Bay, they lay in the cold and the dark. “We need help,” Daena said to him softly. Her own reserves were dwindling and he could not blame her for it. “There’s a place. My pa used tae speak o’ it...” Settling into Little Ala Mhigo had not been easy. Aylard had spoken his fair share of harsh words and Hroch could not help but ponder them as well. Huddling in the caves, fighting for every scrap of food and drink rather than for the city they had fled; it pained him to see his kin that way as much as it filled him with shame. Many men looked at him with cold eyes. If they knew of his father, they held their tongues. That Daena Ghurn was never too far away and never too shy to give anyone who thought they could push them around a piece of her mind was a blessing. If it was not for her, Hroch did not know where he would be. There was little that could be spared but Daena made sure they were given a tent at the very least. It was small and it could not stand without the help of the cracked and dusty crates and barrels that they managed to salvage from a passing merchant wagon, but it was theirs. Now and again he caught himself just grinning at Daena Ghurn like the fool he was. That was before Roen found them. “I am… sorry.” There was a box in her hands. Her knuckles were white as ghosts. She did not meet their eyes - his eyes. “I am so sorry...” The box was in his hands. Aylard Greyarm was dead. --------- Now. The first thing he noticed was that his belly ached almost as badly as his head. The second was the smell: it was not the musty, earthy odor of the caves they had made their home. There was stone and there was dust and the lingering scent of blood, but it was not Little Ala Mhigo. “Daena?” he croaked, squinting and scrabbling for… bars? Were those bars? “Daena? Where in th’ hells--” His hands planted against them and his fingers wrapped around them and that is when he noticed the bandages around his left hand. That was disconcerting enough in itself as he did not remember getting into a scuffle. He had been keeping watch over their tent while Daena was away. The people of Little Ala Mhigo were honest and they did not steal; if no one saw the thief then no one could be justly blamed, yet it still happened to those who were not careful. It was only supposed to be a few bells, and then… … then the woman came. She called herself Tilda Blackdale. Cloudy thoughts buzzed and throbbed. He gave her his flask and she gave her an ivory brush to pass on to Daena. “If ye’d be willin,” she said, “I wanna give ye something from th’ city I brought. It’s nae much, but when I left the city t’was all ah had left.” Her hair was red and her sword hand was strong. She smiled at him easily as she passed him back his flask. “S’almost gone anyway. Might as well finish it.” Hroch hardly registered the round and unsettled face of the lalafell standing guard just on the other, much less the hushed tones with which he spoke into the linkpearl in his ear. He stared at his hand and the startling asymmetry that had taken to it, for where he should have had four fingers and his thumb peeking out from the bandage that had been set around it, he was shy a whole two. --------- The guard could tell him nothing useful. He knew of no Tilda Blackdale nor of Daena Ghurn and after several bells of begging and pleading he settled into an uncomfortable silence. He was just a Flame, he insisted. He didn’t know anything. When the bells stretched out over a whole sun, Hroch could find no more reason to try. A dried smear of blood was on the floor and a line stretched to where he had been propped up against a wall when he first woke in that place. He squeezed himself in a corner opposite it, drew himself into a ball, and wept into his knees. There was little Hroch Greyarm had wanted more than peace. Losing his father struck him hard and he tried to pick up where Aylard had left off. He had his father’s name to back him and a few of his contacts but almost none of the iron strength that had made his father a leader. He had heard others whisper among themselves that he had been too soft on Hroch, his only son. He met the eyes of people around him and thought they looked pitying. If it were not for Daena… He did not know what day or time it was when finally the door to his cell was opened. He looked at none of them as they pulled him up to his feet and pulled him out into the sunlight. Shaelen Stormchild was waiting but he did not look at her, either. It was not the first time that Hroch Greyarm did not know what to do, but it was the first that that he could not find his voice through the terror that clenched at his heart.

I am super sorry for not seeing this post before but yes, this is something Delial Grimsong would be interested in. She used to be part of a small coven when she was young and is actually very much in the market for re-establishing those roots, as it were.

Absolutely love the idea. Really wish there was more Ala Mhigan lore to work with but I guess it being pretty dang vague and open makes for AWESOME IDEAS LIKE THIS. DO IT. If I can walk around calling Delial a witch, I am more than certain Bryn can pull of a hella rad shaman.

I put myself several years closer to my death, courtesy of Torchy's. I enjoyed every moment of it.

Jajara would be incredibly disappointed in my lack of drive, try to teach me a craft, and then feel guilty forever when I accidentally lose a hand or something because I have no business trying to smelt metals. Delial wouldn't even notice me. :,(

Jajara is a laborer at heart and so she dresses like one. The pride of her wardrobe is her Goldsmith Guild uniform. Blacksmith bandana thing is also perfect so she wears that a lot around the Still Shore. Delial is very conscious about her less-than-stellar figure so she loves robes that give her hips a little oomph. Acolyte's Robe does WONDERS for her so it's her absolute favorite thing. When she isn't down to dress like an angry librarian, she's become pretty fond of unisex casual styles: linen shirts and saourels (sp?), things that make her sort of blend in with the crowds since standing out is not really the best idea for her. Hyur starter gear and especially the thighboots are another favorite.

It's giving you the Gridania colors because you set your citizenship to Gridania. Not really super sure if there's a way to manually adjust those colors, I'm afraid. EDIT: Yeah it might require some fiddling around with the source thing, since it is a template provided by the lovely L'aenoh. Here is the page for it. If you click 'Edit' you can see all the different options available there. Remember not to actually edit that page, though - you can adjust the values on your own page by changing your citizenship value. Or if anyone knows any better please feel free to pipe in. I could be wrong!

Just at the very top of the text box, before any of the other text. So when you open up the editor, the very first thing you should see is: __NOTOC__ Hello this is a wiki page LOOK an info box h a i l l a l a

Jajara likes them short and round. ... admittedly she is also fascinated by miqo'te for some reason: that they are not short and round lends an exoticness to them that their goofy ears and tails only further accentuates. But her preference is almost strictly fellow lalafell, preferably one that is at least in okay shape. She finds obesity kind of off-putting. Delial is sort of in the same boat that her preference is, ultimately, other Highlanders. You really can't beat perfection. In a truly perfect world, she'd have a quiet and obedient Highlander boy or girl who also just happens to be slightly shorter than her so she can loom whenever she desires. It is not a perfect world, however, so she has to settle for aggressively fawning over, ahem, a taller male from a slightly bloodstained distance.

This. ^ Neither of my characters really have anything to do with MSQ but what has happened will undoubtedly shape their perspective and might even influence some actions in the future because, hey, it's not a static world and things happen outside of our own personal stories.

Lower Shoulder Tackle's cooldown. I want to tackle everything.

#Backwater Popoto Likes Gold and Gil A Lot #Angry Woman is Tired of Differing Opinions, Also Boys (psst what are the hashtags for?)

Jajara would probably be a coal miner. I could see Delial being a lawyer.

I hear the German dub is actually pretty good but I wouldn't know because I don't know a lick of German. All sounds pretty terrifying to me. ... maybe that's why it's good???

It is absolutely OK. Do what you need to do to keep yourself happy and safe. It might be easier said than done, and I say this as someone who has a very difficult time saying no to people for fear of letting them down and guilt and all that, but... honestly, if you aren't comfortable then whatever situation you have has a good chance of getting far, far worse.

DO IT ANYWAY! They'll appreciate it! This. ^ Go nuts, have fun.