cuideag

I try to keep up with updating character rumors as new developments between mine and another's happens but I usually just replace my old one for the sake of keeping their wikis clean.

Wawarren is best Warren.

DARN IT, VIANGAAAAAA

Is okay, friend. Free hugs!

"I didn't expect ye of all people tae contact me." The evening had only begun and it was already full of surprises. One came in the form of a veritable train of people that had flowed forth from the gates of Revenant's Toll. Word had reached her of a gathering of sorts, some sort of pilgrimage to honor Thaliak, and despite her reservations Delial Grimsong decided she could take a night out of her busy schedule of avoiding being shot to pay her respects. Surely, a blessing from the Scholar would aid her in coming days. Her intuition was sharp and her instincts keen but there were moves to come that required more wisdom than gumption. The other came in the form of Brynnalia Callae. It was difficult to pick out her voice among the throng of others who were chattering around her but there was something about the Highlander that struck her as familiar. There were not too many, Delial had come to think, that carried themselves as Callae did: hers was the confidence and grace of a coeurl, and it was something Delial could recognize as well as appreciate. So she appreciated it from a slight ways behind, half-listening to her chattering with a Roegadyn fellow about spirits. Only when the woman turned to her armed with a smirk did Delial acknowledge her presence. "'Tis what we do, hmm?" She shifted to eye the woman settling in beside her, hardly bothering to lower her voice. The crowd chattered on around them, filling the rise with the Scholar's stone with a dull echoing drone. "Last I heard, were on the same side. T'would be foolish of me to forget that." Not long before, Grimsong had sent Callae a missive. Moons prior they had actually worked together on a mission that proved disastrous. Ul'dahn agents were seen attacking a Limsan warehouse and naturally there was a deal of displeasure exchanged between the two city-states. People died and people were disgraced but Delial Grimsong slipped away from that with nary a scratch. "Stranger things have happened, thanks tae the Spinner. Ye and I." Brynnalia snorted. "So what we workin' on then?" Delial's eye stalked the crowd. She did not mind that it was there, no, and perhaps such a thing was to be expected: people liked revelry and distraction and if it were to be in the honor of one god or another then Delial would be the last one to object. There were so many faces she did not know, however, and in that she felt some measure of annoyance. She had tried her best to lay somewhat low since the incident at the warehouse and she wondered briefly if that had cost her some influence. "Stormchild," she said flatly. "I wonder if you have been keeping your tabs on her?" Callae groaned. It was known that the two had history: both had had their parts in working with the Ala Mhigan Resistance, just as both had seemed to distance themselves from it since an operation at the Nanawa Mines went sour. "Not o' late," she said, turning her attention somewhat back to the ceremony at hand. "She and I ended on... not quite the best terms last we saw each other." Then, she smirked. "She lost a card game." From somewhere beyond Brynnalia came the uncomfortable shifting of armor. "Ye'd never guess who won, though," she offered, sounding quite amused with herself. "My guess would be the twice blessed Duskwight." It was a voice Delial did not immediately place, spoken as low as it was. Resting directly in her blind spot was a suit of armor and a hat. "Then I suspect," Delial continued, "That there would be no loss of good will, then, if I were to suggest she be tracked and found." That caught Callae's attention again, as she glanced back at the woman to her right. "This be over that Lazarov affair?" "She has information that Taeros would very much like, I should think." "Hm. I suppose she does." Brynnalia tilted her head; she and Grimsong had not had what most would call an amicable partnership and the latter had seemed to drop out of the whole affair after it quite literally exploded. "Suddenly taken an interest again, have we?" So, too, did the armor's attention find itself pulled towards Callae and her company to reveal the face of Ser Coatleque Crofte looking as grim as ever. What was once juicy gossip had become something a great deal more: Crofte was in Taeros' hand as well as in his bed and there was little question those days as to where her loyalties and interests lay. Her eyes narrowed and she offered but a simple word. "Indeed." "Priorities change, my sweetlings," said Delial as if to apologize, "As do opportunities. Shaelen Stormchild may be key to ending this whole mess." Brynnalia studied Grimsong with obvious doubt. "Ye don't say. Somethin' must've lit the fire under yer skirts. Ye've been layin' low until now." "Was not Gharen Wolfsong on her trail?" Ser Crofte added. "What happened?" To Brynnalia, Delial offered a shrug. "Should that not be the case...? I am no Askier Mergrey." That the thrice-damned miqo'te would have even be brought on such a mission remained a mystery to her; that he would make a catastrophe of it was, sadly, not. "My business is better left quiet." Then she sighed and nodded to Ser Crofte. An annoyed tick twitched at the corner of her lip. "Too soft, that boy. Too soft. He let her go." "Let her go?" Crofte's scepticism was as hard as her stare. "I highly doubt that. Unless she was innocent, or something more urgent distracted him." Brynnalia on the other hand seemed amused. "Nice. Ye two got that one trained like a hunt dog, eh?" Delial forced a grin to Callae and Crofte both but her words were aimed more for the stoic Sultansworn. "Innocent, my dear? There is little innocent about Stormchild, especially regarding Lazarov. Gharen could not produce that which she was demanding, and when he had his chance to take it, he simply did not." Again she shrugged, and again she edged her voice with annoyance. "He let her go." "Mayhap Resistance sympathies," Brynnalia suggested with a roll of her eyes which quickly turned into a pointed look aimed square for Grimsong. "Somethin' ye probably don't understand." Crofte, perhaps feeling slightly more charitable, clenched her teeth. She and Delial did not have the most amicable relationship, either, and rarely had they seen eye to eye during any of their few meetings prior. Coatleque Crofte was not one who could be won over with the other's moral ambiguity and she made certain that was known. "Honorable if foolish. But what was it that she demanded?" "Blood." "Blood? Whose blood?" Then it was as if a sun was dawning on Brynnalia's face alone. Slowly, she turned to Grimsong, her lips broadening into a strange smile. Delial seemed appropriately annoyed. "Does it matter? Wolfsong is not a murderer. He did not deliver, and that bridge has been burnt." "Aah, I see now," prodded Callae. "Ye are the one who killed her father figure after all." "The point remains," said Delial, "That Stormchild has what Jameson Taeros most certainly wants. We all want this ended, yes?" She looked from Callae to Crofte, looking for the spark of reason to nudge them away from the notion that Brynnalia was too sharp to leave alone. "He didn't deliver you," Brynnalia nodded. Her green eyes remained on Grimsong with an odd curl to her lips. "Not in a box, in any case." That encounter still left a sour taste in her mouth, but she felt no need to elaborate on what had happened. A gunshot wound and a bit of humiliation were not things that Delial wore fondly. "The same woman who kidnapped and tortured..." Incredulous, she licked her lips and tossed her head back with a laugh. To say Wolfsong and Grimsong had a tumultuous history would be putting it very kindly; that they had come to work together was absurd and Delial herself knew it. She nodded and sighed loudly. "Yes, yes. So very soft, as I said." "Both Wolfsong and his sister, too soft to win this game." Callae's brows rose. "But ye and I... not so. Aye? Shaelen used tae be a colleague o' mine, but never close. And she don' fill my coffers now. Taeros does. So, if she got what he wants... we best snare the smuggler." There was a cheering around them. Crofte, seeming to have found the happenings around them to be a little more appealing than the brewing plot, minded what appeared to have been some sort of proposal warily. Delial minded it not: it was not the revelry she had come for, and the more the others went on with ignoring their talks, the better off she was. "So, how we doin' this?" "My connections with her are considerably lacking. Wolfsong would have been it, but I doubt she has any more trust in him." Not after he had taken Grimsong's side rather than spill a murderer's blood. That he could be so naive was something she had yet to wrap her head around but there was little time to waste pondering the man's shortcomings. "Nor... in you, I wonder? No, I expect she thinks poorly of you now." Her cool golden eye studied Brynnalia, as if to search for a reaction she knew her next words would invoke. "I had considered looking into Greyarm's son." "She wants tae do nothin' with me," Brynnalia snorted. "Although... she still has her Resistance connections." She cleared her throat, growing wary of the quiet settling in around them as a performer took to crooning out a song near Thaliak's stone. When she spoke again, her voice was considerably lower. "Ye not be usin' this tae... do what ye used tae do. Are ya, Grimsong?" "It would be convenient, would it not?" There had been two Greyarms both scheming to smuggle a ceruleum bomb back to Ala Mhigo and she had made certain that the elder did not live. It was what she did: the Resistance in all their brashness forgot that men and women bleed the same regardless of their allegiances. Ala Mhigo could not be safe as long as men like Greyarm were allowed to live and plot and murder. The son, a boy called Hroch, either would not or could not step up to take the burden his departed father left him. It did not stop him from being a concern, however. "Sadly," she continued, "That particular line of work does not pay as well as Taeros." Brynnalia did not meet her eye. She was staring straight ahead and her expression, ever eager to wear a sly smirk, remained neutral. "Good. Then Hroch Greyarm might be a good choice tae lure her out. She took a liking tae him." As the conversation steadily slid into darker terms, she gave a glance over her shoulder. Hovering not far behind her was a man in a Flame uniform though he did not seem to be paying particular attention to the cluster of Highlanders. She cleared her throat. "I thought as much." Delial nodded, barely feigning interest in the noise from up ahead. "Though I wonder if that will be enough. Greyarm has nothing but his name as far as I am aware, and a name alone will not keep her operation afloat." "It's not his name she needs. She does just fine with her own reputation. She has... affections fer Hroch. Like a sister. Since Aylard saved her long time ago." Callae made a face as a bard's performance was replaced, instead, by a troupe of moogles. "Like a sister," repeated Delial. Her eye swung towards Crofte, as if she had been expecting her to pipe up about one thing or another. There was little honor in hostages, of course, but mayhap she understood what could be won. "Then I suppose he shall do. Have you leads on him? I understand he has not left Thanalan." Brynnalia exhaled through her nose, her words coming slow and monotonous. "He's still around. I suppose... I can try and find him. Soon as ye poke yer head within malms near Little Ala Mhigo, little Greyarm will make himself scarce." "I doubt this man knows who I am yet." It was Crofte who spoke, earning herself surprised glances from Grimsong and Callae both. Her tone was that of a suggestion rather than a blank statement. "'Tis true enough, Ser Crofte," Delial agreed. "I should think you an unknown to them." "Ye... offerin' tae lure them out then, Crofte?" "I am tired of chasing this pirate to the ends of Eorzea. If he will not answer his linkpearl, then I must resort to other means." It was likely only moons ago that Delial first heard of Nero Lazarov. First he came as a quiet warning, a request from Roen Deneith that then became rumor, vicious and obscene, as spoken by McBeef. All the brightest stars among her contacts had some stake in the mad pirate's game, and not a one seemed pleased about it at all. She had not been the first to warn Deneith against the actions she took and she had no reason to believe that she had been the last. All too taken by love and faith to listen to good, solid counsel. "We do what we must," she said, knowing well that it was Crofte that had Deneith caged, knowing well that she had made her warnings about the Sultansworn. "I suppose we must. Aye." Brynnalia spoke without much enthusiasm and she regarded each of her companions without her usual cheer. "Alright. Let's lure the boy out, then. He can be found in Little Ala Mhigo. Ye yerself have worked with Stormchild before," she said to Ser Crofte. "He may trust ye either way, if he knew it." "I do not expect it would be difficult to play upon his sympathies. The boy is weak. Once he is found, then I suppose we shall see if Stormchild does indeed have any stake in his life." "So long as you do not intend to follow through on such a threat," Crofte said coolly. Callae frowned and glanced between the two. "I suppose she'll have tae believe it to be lured out." She gave a half-hearted applause as the audience around them did; it was a fellow Highlander who had just finished their performance after all. "We do what we must," Delial said again. "The boy need not die. He is not the threat his father was. I doubt Shaelen would be agreeable if she was not made to believe his life was up for bargain." She clearly did not share her companions' reservations about the plot, much less about the boy in question. The time had long since passed that she might have felt sympathetic. "Fine," sighed Brynnalia, looking straight head as if to avoid the others' eyes. "I'll give ye a sketch of what he looks like, Crofte. Ye can find him in Ala Mhigo. Just don't go dressed as a Sworn. Play up on yer Highlander ways, and talk as ye do when we get a few drinks in ye." She ignored Ser Crofte's grumble and continued on. "He'll likely take a likin' tae ye. He, too, has a soft spot fer redheads, much like his father." Delial interjected. "There was a girl, was there not?" "Aye, Daena. Don't come on too strong. He is spoken fer, last I heard, and she be a fiery tempered one, that. She is a bit more careful than he is. I haven't spoken tae her in a while." "'Tis good to know, however, should we need to up the stakes." Crofte did not seem interested in that thought. "And where will you be?" she asked. "I get ye information. Don't be expectin' me tae help ye to apprehend the man. I can have some Blades nearby, I suppose." "I am known there," Delial said matter of factly. She could not help the air of smugness that came with her words: to be feared by so many was almost flattering. It might have been even more flattering were they not cowardly men content to hide in caves. "I can extract what we need after the boy is in our hands." There was yelling, exclamations of words. Brynnalia, wanting to seem like she was playing along, yelled along with them and earned a heavy sigh from Ser Crofte. "What?" she asked, shrugging sheepishly at the Sultansworn. "It's just a story." "I don't suppose this boy will drink with me?" Crofte said thoughtfully. "Ye know, I bet he would..." "Hm. Perhaps we can make this easier than it sounds." Callae sighed, a little bit of the furrow that had settled upon her brow easing away. "If ye can manage it. Then ye can figure out where tae hold him?" Coatleque snorted derisively before she continued. "If I can. If not, best have someone standing by. Either way, he'll be taken the same place Roen is, more than likely. At least she'll have someone to talk to." Delial's eye flitted back to Crofte but it was Brynnalia that spoke first. "Hm. I don't know where these are meself. Never been tae the black cells." She exhaled and narrowed her eyes. "Do people leave that place? I don' want the boy hurt." "I would think that ill advised," Delial added. She did not know Ul'dah as well as she would have liked for all the time she had spent there, and this was the first that she had heard of the black cells. It was not something she needed to admit, however. The last thing she wanted was to be robbed of access to the very hostage she wanted held. Coatleque waved a hand idly. "You make it sound as if I have any control over the matter. Very well. There is a Flame outpost to the south at the Forgotten Spring." "That sounds fine," Brynnalia replied quickly. Her lip twitched and she tapped a fingernail against her hip. Ser Crofte picked up on the response and the implications behind it, as did Delial. The woman had her ties with the Resistance and had worked with both Greyarms when they were at large in Thanalan. "Right. Well, contact Delial or me when ye got him there. And we'll get the word out. Or... well, he can... technically. I think." "Nervous?" Crofte asked. "How unlike you." Brynnalia narrowed her eye at the Sultansworn and gave her a dismissive snort. "It's this silly pilgrimage. It bores me." That she was seeking a distraction was obvious enough, especially when she turned to regard someone that had been shuffling and fidgeting about behind them the entire time: the roegadyn with whom she had been speaking to before. "I think I need a drink." Delial did Callae the courtesy of forgiving her sudden flightiness even if Ser Crofte did not. She did not think she would be overly attached to anyone at all, much less a bumbling son of a failed movement. Sentimental, mayhap. Some ties do not cut easily. She turned her attention back to Crofte instead, offering her a grin. "It will be good working with you again, Ser Crofte. Proper work. Pray let myself or Miss Callae know when you have caught the boy, hmm?" Coatleque gazed towards Delial with what could only have been a weary look. "Yes, and I pray we shall be done with this business swiftly." Delial studied her a moment. It had been moons since this whole business started, indeed, and Crofte had been pushed right into it. Once, Delial sympathized; now, Delial could not be so sure. Wasted breath and wasted time. Bitter thoughts were pushed aside by what she had hoped was a charitable grin and a shallow bow. The celebration continued on as she took her leave, turning away from Ser Crofte and her thoughts, from Brynnalia Callae and her flasks. Scholar grant them wisdom to do what must be done, she thought as she stepped on out the crowd. Scholar save me from the wisdom I am cursed to have ignored.

Requesting hugs for having read that spoiler, goodness. Can we get some tags up there? Good golly.

With WoW, I was in a guild called the Sidewinder Band (Feathermoon represent!) and I absolutely adored them. It was a loose collection of people who happened to RP but it wasn't really an RP guild. Sure, there was sort of a story and sure, we got together now and then and RPed stuff, but really it was just a bunch of weird people who didn't know what they were doing and still managed to have a lot of fun with it anyway. Nobody really knew why they were working for the guild leader and that was just fine. "Kill yourself and join the Sidewinder Band" was our slogan, and it worked. Special call outs for the MC3 raid group (I miss you all so much!), Horde Misfits (some of y'all are here and I LOVE YOU), and the Anvil for being excellent people to raid with from Vanilla on. For XIV, I have to give a lot of love to the Coral Sea. I have not felt as at home with a group of weird nerds in a long, long time. Great folks all around. Much love for putting up with me. <3

Delial’s first spell made her skin itch and tingle but she held it as long as she could beneath her mother’s approving smile. Cupped in her hands was a spark of flame no brighter than a match yet it lit up Lyra’s face like a sun. Her father was not quite as pleased. “Learnin’ tricks, are ya?” Delial smiled. She was young and these simple things amused her. “Th’ matron says yer face is scarce as of late.” Garren had been reclining on an old chair in the sitting room with one of his books in hand, but he leaned forward to regard his daughter and the witchlight in her hands. “Tell the truth, my little love, an’ with none o’ yer ma’s spinnin’ tae it.” “It’s borin’,” said Delial as piteously as she could manage. “It’s borin’ an’ it’s no fun at all. What’m I goin’ to do with maths? I can count. She makes us look at these horrible little squiggly things an’--” “Ye’ll learn an’ be better fer it,” her father interjected sternly. His face dipped that he stared at her from beneath the sharp curve of his brow. “You an’ I and yer mother too, aye, we all know yer too wild a thing and we know who’s tae blame fer that. But ye’ll not have a good life without yer learnin’.” “But I am learnin’--” “From the matron, my love, an’ yer books. Not that… that woman. It’s ungodly things she does when no one’s lookin’, and I won’t stand fer my daisy girl gettin’ caught up in that. Not s'long as I breathe.” “But magic--” “A time,” his voice cut sharply, so sharply that Delial nearly jumped. “... A time an’ a place fer magic. What’ll ye do with a spot of light,” he gestured to her hands and the ghost of waning flame she held, “An’ no wits in yer head?” It seemed only to occur to him then that he had startled his daughter, and he gave a ponderous sigh, like a bear easing itself back upon its haunches. “My little love… I just want what’s best for my girl. Aye? Can y’see that?” Delial was not certain. She folded her hands as the warmth in them faded and shuffled her feet. The silence that fell between them was brief but it was heavy. Garren stared at his girl, the only daughter to his name, and wondered when it was that he had lost her. “Yer young now but that’ll change some day. I’ll have a talk with yer mother,” he said and he settled back into his chair, but not after he gave his daughter a soft pat atop her dark curls. “We’ll… see what we can do, aye? If you can promise me that ye’ll try yer best with the matron. That fair?” “Aye, papa.” Delial fidgeted and stared at the shapes her toes left in the rug. “I’ll try.” Then, “I love you.” “Love ya, too, my little ducklin’. Now, go on. Yer pa’s got studyin’ to do as well an’ he’s not near as sharp as ‘is girl.” He did not smile at her for Garren Blackstone was not predisposed to smiling at anyone, but his voice was still warm and comforting as it always was when was satisfied that he had won. His attention had already returned to his book and he did not look up again when his daughter’s footsteps padded back out into the hall and around the corner. Around the corner, that is, and straight into her mother’s skirts. Lyra’s finger was pressed against Delial’s lips before she knew what had even happened, silencing her before she could think to speak. When she looked up, her mother was smiling down at her. There was no telling how long she had been there or if she had overheard the conversation. She did not appear to be upset, however, not that Delial could tell. Lyra’s default expression was gentle like that of a sunbathing cat, warm yet indifferent in a way Delial could not yet recognize. Lyra smiled at her daughter and squeezed the corners of her eyes mischievously and Delial could not help but return it, knowing that they had another secret shared between them. Then silent and without a single word, with a slender hand cupped around Delial’s shoulder, they slunk away and left Garren Blackstone to his history.

Neither of my babies are really adventurers so that they don't get thrown into the mix that often is likely a source of relief for both of them. Jajara is happiest when she isn't getting knocked around by big scary things. Delial would be the more competent of the two I assume as well as the more helpful, since she can kind of heal? And I did have some plans for IC dungeons with her that have not quite rolled around. ... IC dungeons really are pretty fun, though! Kind of would like for that to be more of a thing. If only dungeon timers weren't a thing!!

Her first love was red-headed and, unsurprisingly, of a fiery disposition. She was a goddess in her own right, haughty and dignified and a miracle to behold. Delial spent suns following the freckles on her body, spent nights trying to divine their meaning. They spelled out how unworthy she was of such a creature. Her pedestal stood far, far too high. Her second love spoke of passion: passion in life, passion in love, passion in purpose. Delial always thought him an odd fit in a soldier's uniform. Later, she decided he did not even fit his own shape: too grand were his dreams that they saturated his words and made him larger, older, than the young man he was. She did not know how he died and she never forgave him for it. Her third love was steel. His counsel and advice was not always kind but he said what needed to be said to pull her away from the bottles she so desired. She never paid attention to his lessons. She was good enough. She was drinking again. He would not bend. Her fourth love was misguided but so was she. Weren't they all? The moon was coming. It did not matter. Her fifth love spoke in truths. He took her scars and her cracks, all the crooked shapes that made her real, and he embraced them. It must have been maddening. It must have been. All it took was a flick of the wrist. Her sixth love... "Who ye were then is nae who ye are now." There was a package tucked into her shirt, its contents wrapped in bloodied linen. He did not know this. He could not know. But he will. "Mayhaps I see things differently than others do. Would nae be th' first time though." "No," she said quietly. He knew from the start she was poison. He knew. "No, I suppose it would not be the first time." Her sixth love was sabotage.

It was easier when he loathed her.

Latest word on the WolfSong train: He is going to kill me.

They called her Hrathi. It was once suggested it was a title as much as a name; that in the old tongues that had given way to the new, it represented something powerful and massive, something that the new words had no word for. If asked what exactly that might have been, most only shrugged. Some things simply must be. They came to the crown every turn of the moon and huddled beneath her presence, young and younger things in shifts and veils. She breathed in stormclouds and exhaled hurricanes and spoke, when she did speak, of magic. There was little that her voice could say that her hands could not and the aether she wove between her long fingers glittered like spiderwebs just big enough to entangle starlight upon their threads. They called her Hrathi when they did not call her Witch and the crown was her palace and court. Surely she must have a home somewhere among the misty peaks but no one who was not invited would ever find it. Surely there was a way to unlock the path just as a key might unlock the door, but the shape of such keys could only be guessed. There were nobles, priests, monks, and rabble in the city away from the wilder realm beyond the walls. Among them were women in the skins of wives and sisters who guarded and dispensed secrets older than the dustiest of Ala Mhigo’s stone bones. They were sharp-eyed and they were most of all loyal, for though the sisterhood extended to all the women who dwelled upon the world, not everyone believed. She was as much a part of the mountains as the earth that shaped them; just as there has always be stone and air and fire, there must always be, and always has been, a Witch.

(( There goes that cuideag again, trying to keep an active story thread! HA. We'll see. )) It was summer she remembered the best of all, the days where the moons and the stars shined brightest and the evenings were warm and crisp and alive with magic. Such would be her nature, her mother often remarked, for she herself was born among the warmest of the summer days. Her heart would align with the very season that saw her way into life and treasure every blazing phoenix sunset as if it would be her last. She held her mother's hand as they walked the path up into the hills beyond the city walls. They walked in pairs when they could, mothers and daughters together with their hair and shoulders wrapped in earth-dyed shawls. Yalms ahead she saw Edelin Graye twirling her copper braids like fox-tails, and yalms behind Tillie Highhearth's mother chastised her daughter for stopping so often to pick at the budding wild flowers. The path was long but none so much as whispered a complaint, and they all moved as ghosts over the rocks and slopes. They left their home without a word to father nor her brothers. "It is not their concern," Mother had assured her with her smile. "It is a precious night, my duckling. Let us not worry of men." Yet as they slipped through the back door and out through the garden, Delial Blackstone stole a back to their house and though for a moment that she had caught sight of her father watching through the window. Garren was by nature man of stone, of chiselled shapes and unkindly features. He had always seemed so cold from a distance, where his family's love was just a glance thrown as an afterthought over one's shoulder. Her mother walked on with knowing steps. Delial could only follow. They converged at the foot of a peak that crowned the ridge, stone both bare and cloaked with grass rising sharply from the gentler hills to greet the darkening sky. It was to be a fortuitous night and the whispers of fair weather seemed to have been on point. It was Travine's grandmother who could read the clouds better than any of her greying sisters so when she said that the stars would be heavy and full, it was taken as science. The air crackled with excitement and chatter that was lively even if it was hushed. Dozens of bright-eyed women milled and bonded with one another with smiles and laughter while their daughters clutched their skirts and exchanged shy smiles. They were not strangers to one another by any means but the peak was unfamiliar and the secrecy had struck more than a few of them as unusual. Delial was no different. She was not yet the iron violet that her mother was and she was not sure why she had been pulled along the short hike up the mountain when night was falling. Were it the city she would not have minded: Ala Mhigo was her home and she knew the streets, their sights and smells, well as any other. It was quiet where they circled and huddled with nary a cricket's chirp to interrupt the gathering. Then, it changed. Everyone felt it rolling through their bodies like the growl of distant thunder but only the mothers knew what it meant. At once their voices fell silent as did those of their puzzled and alarmed daughters. Their eyes drew towards the crown of earth. Detaching itself from the sparse trees that sprouted from the peak was a thin and sinuous shape and only when it came closer, stepping with impossible grace down to the clearing below, did Delial recognize it as a woman. The Witch had come.

I do Japanese because I speak it and I don't really care for the English dubs. Some of the characters I don't mind, like Y'shtola, but for the most part I'm not impressed. Also because the English texts don't really reflect all that is being spoken. This was especially true with Keeper of the Lake. I find the discrepancies interesting.

Least irritating cat. <3

So I found an old cassette tape and I decided I'd give it a listen since this was something I had back when I was still in junior high ... and then this came up. [video=youtube]

banned for not putting a ring on it yet! *shoves Clio forward* Banned for WAH AH OH WAH AH OH OH OH WAH OH WAH AH OH. Banned because <3.

I walk. No one owes anyone their time especially if they are being made uncomfortable by what's happening with it. You aren't obligated to interact with everyone. If someone is being skeevy, I'll ask them to chill and if they aren't agreeable, well, no skin off my back if I don't have to deal with them again. Same for folks who repeatedly meta, godmode, and most of all blend. Thanks but no thanks! Good luck and adios.

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I really miss mentor flags. Then again I also really miss just running around La Theine or whatever and just buffing/ressing everyone I saw. That said, I worry about applying something like that to RP as I am sure there are folks who might worry that it could end up becoming a way to police RP. Welcome committee sounds kind of cool. I wonder if that could be like a regular thing? Every few weeks or whatever, have volunteers set up a casual event somewhere and invite folks over. However I wonder how that might reach folks who might not be on the RPC? Would all the city-states be represented? What about time zones? That is, could this be something done for EU RPers as well?

I am really looking forward to picking this up, but I need a PS4 first. Dang if this wasn't an exclusive... Been watching some friends play here and there and it looks fantastic! Really loving the atmosphere.

So I am sure by now we've all heard about the summit that's going to happen. Check out the thread here, see what you think, hopefully everyone who participates will walk away with something productive. I'm a little skeptical but hey, I'm a jerk. The RPC is a pretty great vehicle for our lovely little community. We've seen people, FCs, plots, and stories come together for the rest of us to fawn over. We've seen how people feel about stock photos of fruit salad, or something? I'm really not sure. What I would like to discuss (without whatever restriction) is: making and maintaining connections. Whether you are a single player, a part of a plot-driven LS, or an FC, you might have come through these parts to make a connection somewhere. Personally my biggest challenge due to several things, my own IRL schedule or lack there of being numero uno, is maintaining those RP relationships. Everybody has their own way of carrying on stories and whatnot but I am in the camp that those stories can't really exist if contact wanes for whatever, or is nonexistent with the case of smaller FCs or new individuals still trying to get their toes in the water. What kind of experiences have y'all had with opening and maintaining communications with your fellow RP buddies? What kind of successes and failures have you been met with, and how have they impacted your experience? Do you think there are features or other means by which the RPC might make connecting things easier? Are there tools or features that LS or FC leaders might wish to see or utilize to help make events more visible? Are there certain resources folks might want to have on hand for coordinating, preparing, and executing said events? Please forgive me if I dropped this in the wrong forum! Also please, let's keep this constructive.

horse hats for e v e r y o n e

Jajara's first thought would probably be Chuchukepa, but neither of them are sailors so both of them would probably end up dead at sea when Jajara inevitably builds a boat out of palm leaves, sea shells, and spit. Or whatever. So Jajara might hope for either Captain Becquerel (because she's bound to know how to sail right?), or Tausenadel. Delial wouldn't care for anyone specific. Someone she can knock out, tie up, and eat if it came to that. "You don't eat a pig like that all at once..."