cuideag

Jajara would definitely NOT go for it. Delial, however, might think twice about it (the only true loved one she has left is her brother) but she is a pragmatic woman and a bit of suffering on the part of one would be well worth the betterment of others. She'd likely wish for the Resistance to finally fall so that Ala Mhigo might have peace, as well as for a lovely little cove on a beach somewhere that would remain unseen by others unless she willed it. The last wish would probably be for her brother to remain alone for the rest of his natural life.

oh. oh I like this quite a lot!

SHRIEKS

(( This is crazy overdue. The conclusion to Askier and Roen's kidnapping, from Delial's perspective. With much love and apology to Itarliht's player in particular. )) The memory would come to her at times, unbidden, redundant: a voice like silk in her ears and just as rich. Her mother's hands slid over hers, soft and cool as snakeskin. "Quick and fluid, duckling." Slender fingers would wrap around hers, still small and clumsy, and together they would hold the simple blade. Delial could hear her smile without seeing her face. "One motion. Clean, else we waste. We cannot have that, my sweet. We simply cannot have that." Itarliht knelt upon the deck yet still he was gargantuan, nearly coming up to her chest even when he was on his knees. He was encased in armor just as he was the last time they had come to Crescent Cove. They called him Crimson Mountain and the heavy plate glistened like blood freshly cut from the vein. They called him a monster yet there was peace in his deep green eyes. "What did you do to her?" "I turned her into a dog." She knew the moment that Gharen handed the knife off to her that she would have to use it. Wolfsong, for all the errors he had made in his life, was no fool. His sister knelt at the end of the pier in nearly nothing at all, shorn and trembling. Her arms were twisted behind her back and she stared hard and bitter. "He is a monster," she said. Her voice was hoarse. Quick and fluid. Itarliht's lips moved. He did not look away from her, the woman who stared not at him but at the memory that came unbidden. Garren Blackstone was not kneeling when he died but he looked at her much the same: resignation. Acceptance. He knew his daughter was beyond his reach and when her small hands dragged the blade across his throat she did not look away. Only when he stopped moving did she press her fingers against his throat and marked her face just as mother had shown her. Just as the witch had shown them both. The knife was warm in her hand. Itarliht was speaking. "I wanted to protect you," he said. "But all I did was hurt you." His voice was much calmer than before when the pier was still crowded by those who wanted his head. She could not tell if he regretted. His face betrayed nothing, and the rumble of his voice only made her ache in ways she had forgotten she could. "If you want my life, it's yours." "Stupid. Lunatic." The fire of her rage, the legacy of her bloodline and the name she did not wear, thrummed loud in her ears. Even as every scrap of evidence along the trail Osric had led her had pointed at Itarliht, she had refused quite blatantly to see it. Itarliht knelt before her penitent, waiting, unafraid of the fury which stood before him. He had seen the knife and Delial wondered briefly he if knew as well. "I should kill you, if you truly wish to die. My life is not worth that of any man - not ... not yours. Not even yours." "I don't want to die," Itarliht said evenly. Her knuckles ached. "But I'd rather die than have you hate me." Westor did not beg either and he fought with every last breath, foolish in his conviction that betrayal was worth his life. She shook her head as if to shake the memory away, ignoring the foul taste that was rising in her throat. His eyes had been clear though he moved as if with the grace of Rhalgr himself up until the knife sunk into his gut. Even then he stared, hawk-like. He made no sound even as he died and for the first time Delial Blackstone thought to wonder if she had been wrong. Hatred and disdain had made the air heavy. As the suns since Roen's disappearance stretched on and the blame piled up, she had adamantly denied that her knight could be responsible. He swore his loyalty and his sword to her, a woman whose crimes he never knew though it stained her plain as day, and he believed in what she could be more so than what she was. The first time she called him her White Knight she had thought it a joke, but he had smiled as though it were the kindest thing anyone had ever said to him in all his life. "I love you." She said it as if the very words offended her, made her skin crawl. Inside her gut she ached and in the moments she took stepping closer to him, bending down to rest her brow against his, her body felt like fire. His eyes did not stray from hers and even when she shut hers away she could feel him watching her with all the calm of a quiet sea. "But this...." "I know. I'm sorry. Just... make it quick, okay? And... I love you, too." His forehead pressed back against hers and clunky, armored arms reached up to embrace her in blood-colored steel. She kissed him once upon his brow, and once upon his lips: a chaste, brief affair, hasty and... lost, somehow, as if resigned. Delial's nose touched to his and she murmured, quietly, "I cannot forgive. I cannot regret." He returned the quick kiss, nuzzling her nose as though nothing were amiss. Even as the hand that held the knife white-knuckled rose to press against his throat he did not quake nor quiver. There was a pressure around her hand and she realized then that his strong, armored fingers had wrapped around hers. It would have been no challenge to stop her had he desired. He held her hand and he waited. "Live a better life than I did, my love." Quick and fluid. Her hand jerked through the practiced slash of a woman raised spilling blood and she could not tell then who it was that gave the hard, choked gasp she heard, just as she could not tell if the way his hand twisted with hers inside was a reaction to the pain or if he had done so intentionally, ruining flesh and artery alike. Itarliht's heavy, armored form twitched and he began to slump against her as blood rushed free from his body. She did not let go of the blade. She did not fight him. There were a many things Delial did not do. She steeled herself, bracing herself with the fury that came with betrayal, steeled herself with the knowledge of history repeating. Her jaw tightened as she braced herself against him, painfully aware of hot blood spurting from the ugly tear in his throat. She made not a sound as she held him up as best she could manage, until he was indeed still and silent. She did not say a word. Tracing fingers through the waning tide of red, she marked her face just as mother and witch had shown her, just as she had every time. His eyes were still open when at last she opened hers, blind and glassy as they stared across the water. Her fingers pressed them closed and she wondered, briefly, if it was the peaceful gaze that bothered her more than his torn skin. Knowing not what else to do, she finally gave him to the sea.

*Stabbing sounds* Delial, when is Osric getting his knife back? ...actually, never mind. Having a murder weapon on his hands would just make Osric's life even more complicated. When she's stabbed everyone she wants to stab. Or maybe if Osric asks really nicely....!!

SHRIEK SO THAT'S WHAT YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT I want a visit

I saw my chance and I took it.

pfffff, problems.

*fangirl shrieking*

Today's episode: Chest Envy.

Posssssssssibly going. If I can work out sharing a room with peeps. And work out having that weekend off from work, which will be tough to swing since it is the busiest month for me!

Delial x Hornet. Oooo.... that's one I could actually see possible WAY down the line. SCREAMS SOME MORE

Kind of!??!?! That was super hot! Hornet was standing right there and that put her in a bit of a state to see him do that. ... OKAY. YEAH. It was hot. OKAY?! The character is her brother so I try not to think that way. OKAY?? SCREAMS

YEP. SENDING YOU A PM IN THE NEAR FUTURE. Oh MAN.

If there's a monk in my party who actually does the dance, I'll probably give them a commendation. What can I say, I love my monk-bros! Tanks and healer will get rained in commendations so I try to favor DPS when I can. Skilled players with great personalities are basically guaranteed to get one from me. Overall I like to award personality over skill. If someone is perfect at their class but are completely insufferable...? Naaaahhh. Given it's a social game, I love seeing friendly and helpful folks!

Easy example: Garuda Extreme as MT. When you're holding Garuda/Suparna, knowing when to pop a cooldown so you don't get mauled by double Wicked Wheels (OUCH) can save your life if you aren't overgearing the encounter yet.

I think I'd take the good tank, someone who can a) hold aggro!, b) play their class and know how to manage cooldowns etc to help out the "bad healer", c) know the dungeons/encounters and be able to lead their groups accordingly. I main a Monk but I also play 50 Warrior and 50 Scholar so it's pretty easy to see that every role has something that they have to bring to the table. It's probably one of the things I like the most about this game: while it's definitely possible to carry folks through some content, there's plenty others where everyone has to be on the ball or else things probably aren't going to go well.

Look at these little freaks. LOOK AT THEM.

Delial did not sleep that night. She left the Cove, left Drumstick with his basket of fish and the others without so much as a word. She ignored the house she once based herself out of and, troubled, walked the dusty roads. Her knees had taken to aching again but she ignored them as well; the cold of Coerthas did not help, nor did the news learned there. Webs were nothing new to her: an entity nudging another who nudges another, a cascade of cause and effect that, if one was clever, brought about an end desired. The ends were set in stone as far as she was concerned: Banurein wanted Gharen, needed Roen, and controlled at least a handful of agents in our around Ul'dah itself. Yet there was more: she had seen herself the pull she had with at least noble family in Ul'dah's upper eschelon, and Deilal did not doubt that there were others yet. Banurein was a woman who thrived on knowing things and knowing people; it also happened she was good at knowing things about people. It was a point to which Delial was outclassed. In Ala Mhigo, mayhap, things may have been different; Ul'dah was a different beast entirely, one that thrived on gil she did not have and influence she could not gain. In Ala Mhigo, she had her name. In Ala Mhigo, she had her reputation. And what is that now, love? What use is that to you now? When she looked up (having failed to even realize that she had been staring at the paths) she found herself standing before the Pissed Peiste. The hour was late but she could still make out the glimmer of lamp-light pooling beneath the door. Something twisted in her gut: he would not be there, her sworn knight. If all that Osric and Saravena and even Askier, too, by way of his journal were true then something had gone very, very wrong. It was bad enough that Roen Deneith was being held captive, but that it would be two men she had thought to trust... Delial growled and spat and shook her head as if to shake loose the suspicion that had been chilling the pit of her stomach. Something had gone wrong and there were more things than she cared to acknowledge pointing at Itarlilht. Were it any one else being taken hostage, she would not have cared; were it Askier himself held captive, she may have even helped. Roen Deneith was different. She was special, and her brother (traitorous as he may be) was still owed a debt. Why he would think to interfere was one piece of the puzzle she could not work out and that in itself filled her with dread. It took her several moments before she peeled herself away from the door, turning upon a heel to sulk back the way she had come. The skipper said they had gone across the sea, stolen a boat. Limsa Lominsa: it was where she had first met the white-haired woman, the very same woman whom Itarliht promised to stand against together. "I'll be wherever ya want me," he said, the memory of it clear even if that night was fogged by sweetened wine. "'Specially by yer side." It was faith that she held on to, bolstered as best as she can; faith that the signs left for them to follow were wrong somehow, that there was something they had overlooked. Delial tried to turn her thoughts elsewhere so that she did not have to wonder of blood splattered snow and singed wood. "The things he did to Roen," Askier had written, and she tried her hardest not to think on that either. "That Roe is a monster."

I want to look, I want to SHOP but... ; ; I think the only games I really want at the moment are Tropico 5 (SHHH they're fun and silly games) and DayZ if only so I can buy copies for friends so I can get them all killed with me. Praise Gaben.

Hornet is easily one of the best looking characters I've seen (and best-looking roe.) Awwww... thank you! /grovel That Gharen is a lucky son of a gun!

You can just buy pants you know. Like at a store. For money! I've made my choice. You can just buy pants you know. Like at a store. For money! I've made my choice. I know several folks that are totally okay with this choice when it comes to male highlanders. yes. yes. this is good.

Delial is 100% Mary Elizabeth McGlynn. Not even a question in my mind. ONLE1ZXe-S8 Jajara has a deeper voice and a strong twang, of course. Tanya Tucker is the closest I can find for her. CSepcy1xDoM

I'll take your Arurian Dance and raise you Happy Home. 4lx2ep-tN5g

MEl5kgB6xHk Now you've got me messed up, please believe me. Looks like that's done, you win, I'll be leaving now. Oh, you make me happy. I'm in trouble now. 100% Delial lately.