Riken Avadur

I know a few of you may be a bit hesitant, seeing as the flyer left out a critical piece of information, but... Yes, there will be a cake.

Looking forward to checking this out tonight. Got to say I was quite surprised to see a classic punk dive in Eorzea, but it's quite the idea. Should be entertaining, either way!

If you're looking for a whimsical partner to write with, it'd be a pleasure to join you. I've spent the past week coming back from a hiatus and am now diving back into RP at full steam (Refreshing over a year of various arcs and writings is always a blast). Likewise, I enjoy having a handful of friends and relations outside of my FC, so prowling the requests forum is always an idle treat. We seem to be on the same page concerning organic RP, so I'll try to keep things brief concerning this manic fellow: Riken is a curious man, often to a fault, who takes serious pride in his work; whatever that may be at the time. He has been (and on occasion, is) a mercenary, a chef, a librarian, an information dealer, and ever-presently a storyteller. He is a man who cares deeply concerning his companions, yet would not hesitate to dispose of anyone outside of his sphere, so to speak. He is a generally fractured man with a variety of facades and masks he wears, with a prize to the select few who he trusts to peek past the veil. He loves cards, gambles more than he should, and enjoys sweets. Lucky Number: 6. As for RP, I tend to write pretty freeform, but we can discuss subject matter and the bounds further if we decide to team up. A simple contact would be fine, family would be tricky (but not impossible), and a potential romance would be quite fun and interesting in a variety of ways. If I've still captured your attention so far, feel free to PM me here or catch me in-game (Riken Avadur is the name), and we can start brainstorming. Cheers! -Riken Edit: Only shot on-hand.

This may seem redundant/obvious, but it really should be highlighted. I'm not going to try and interact with every person who at one point or another decided to put a 'Walkups encouraged' tag in their Search info, and may be afk, not-interested, or being eaten by a kraken at that moment. But, if I see someone emoting with a good comprehension of the english language, seeming alone/non-committal, and then they have that tag? That's the cherry on top. TL;DR 'Walkups welcome' is a supplement to inviting RP, not a replacement.

You gents have caught my interest, at the very least. I plan on reading over those two short stories in full over dinner, and would be happy to have a chat about the group in general, either in game or through Skype. Looking to slowly get back into some creative writing and see how much farther I can push Riken's bizarre adventures, while I keep pressing through HW content. Cheers mates. -Riken

I'm quite interested in the idea of a corps of Dragoons, and this fits quite well with some hiatus-resolving story development I have in-mind for Riken, and all sorts of other arcs I can play out with. I do have quite a few questions however, so I'd love to get in touch sometime this week and have a chat, and see where it goes from there. Alternatively we can discuss some stuff over PM. All up to you. Cheers mate. ^^ -Riken.

Vet returning for a new bout, and would love to join the network. Need to go ahead and try to update Riken's wiki page (at the very least get a general timeline going), as I stopped using this site when I joined my group pre-hiatus, and there's a lot of development that I was too lazy to notarize on here. D': Cheers, mates! -Riken

Heyo! Writing this for posterity in case any ghosts from the past come looking for proof that I'm not actually dead yet. Long-story-short: spent about two months on 1.0 before abandoning ship, fast-forward to 2.0 at 5 AM EST, and everything was grand (minus those EA woes). Spent about four months heavily dedicated to my RP, before having a couple of shaky months, that eventually led to me having to leave (and unsuccessfully attempt to return). That was Feb. 2014. Now I'm back and easing myself back into the game, leveling up an alt job (I really didn't care for much other than RP after I hit 50) and seeing how things have changed. Looking forward to returning to the community and seeing what kind of fun tale I can spin this time around. Gods know I'm going to need a day and then some in order to relearn the lore and reconcile a plotline for my hiatus, but that should be a fun diversion from the usual bores of work and such. Cheers, mates. -Riken

Do let either I or Brand know if you need some more antagonistic characters for the Masquerade. Would be quite a fun time, and we do so enjoy a party. -Riken.

As a fellow martial artist, this is an extremely well-written and super interesting post, which I wholeheartedly approve of. I had been thinking of similarities myself, and as you mentioned, beyond the flashy Final Fantasy flair, there actually seems to be a decent amount of substance beneath the surface. Kudos for taking the time to share this, mate. ^^ -Riken.

V2eoN8tJVIY I Love this theme so much, and the melody suits the man behind the mask, in a way.

I saw a post about this earlier, but I found that it seemed to be mostly Balmung types, and so I'm going to try to tally the seedier types in the Gilgamesh community. To be succinct, if you feel your character does not fit the usual 'Cheery Adventurer' or 'Hero' roles, aren't afraid to tackle some more mature issues, and are content/interested in being considered (rightfully or wrongfully) an Unsavory fellow/madame, simply leave a note below with whatever you like. -Riken Avadur. (Link below to his CS on the Wiki)

"The Dead cannot cry out for Justice. It is a duty of the Living to do so for them." - Lois Bujold.

/bump Definitely something more people should use, and as mentioned can really help distinguish ourselves and make spontaneous RP a lot less awkward. Cheers. -Riken.

A whistle made from a blade of grass, The sound piercing through the forest. Ever longing for the place from which it was torn, But forever retreating. The Alsace Myrian had finally decided to set for camp as the sun edged further past the horizon. It had been yet another long day on the road, but the troupe of actors, acrobats, and various other performers were not entirely fatigued. The journey had always been a pleasant experience for the men and women of the Myrian, who considered themselves like family; a very unique family. As the stakes were driven and the tents started rising, pieces of a new song could be heard, or a half-finished tale spoken. Revelry and good cheer echoed throughout the camp of more than two dozen men, women, and children. Among this lot was a young lad of twelve years, born to an actor father and an acrobat mother. His name is Riken, and he is the blade of grass in this tale. With the work finished and the night sky hanging wistfully above, the Myrian sat around the few fires spread across the camp, sharing stories over dinner. Riken was sitting with a friend, whom he may or may not have once had a whimsical crush on. She was the daughter of one of his mother's partners, who as usual followed in the family trade. Where as Riken had taken his father's mantle, Mira had become an acrobat like her mother. Unfortunately for him, Mira saw Riken more as family than close friends, as these tales often go, and so he eventually had resigned himself in this childish endeavor. His father had once told him not to dwell on any individual scene, and the young actor had taken that lesson literally, applying it to life itself. It was a practice his father had always found ridiculous, but Riken found it a fun game nonetheless. The rest of the dinner went as serenely as expected, and that night Riken went to sleep happy and content. Dancing amidst the shadows and trees, Kin of the fae, yet elder still. Death-bringer and life-giver, There lies serene dominance in the flame. When Riken finally awoke, it was not due to the welcome shine of the sun, or the soft touch of his mother's hand. It was a much sharper sensation, with an unfamiliar warmth to the air. Dreary-eyed, he managed to wake himself up enough to stand, and stumbled his way out of the tent. The smell was stronger here, and much more recognizable at that; the familiar campfire scent, but amplified far beyond such a small scale. In a state of panic, Riken spun in place, expecting to see the forest ablaze around him. But the night was still quite dark, and even a distant forest fire would still illuminate the shadowed night. In fact, Riken had not seen such a dark night in camp for quite a while. He was halfway back inside the tent before the anxiety returned, as he had his revelation. Where were the watchers? There were a trio of mercenaries that the Alsace Myrian kept with them, always pacing the perimeter of the camp with torchlight in order to keep away any wildlife or other nuisances. They had come everywhere with the troupe, ever since Riken first met them at the age of five, and never did all three of them remain in the dark at once. Frozen at the threshold of his tent, Riken tried to reason out some explanation for the absence of the familiar security he had grown accustomed to. But still the darkness crept at the back of his mind, with the horrors of a thousand plays and stories coming to infect his creativity. Struggling to keep his composure, the young actor did his best to emulate his father, and decided to go tell someone. Each step was more nervous than the last, but eventually Riken made it to his parent's tent, right beside one of the carriages. His lips parted to ask for help, but no sound came out. A rustle from inside had sent another wave of shivers down his spine, and instinctively he ducked aside to kneel behind one of the nearby wagon wheels. Chiding himself for being such a coward, Riken wiped the dirt off his palms, beginning to crawl out of the small space beneath the carriage. Elysian meadows turned to haunted crypts, The mind plays foul and deceiving. Within the infinite chasms of the night, Lies ourselves looking into the abyss. And that was when the demon appeared. The shadow that stepped out was much too large to be Hyur; not even the Elezen could match his size. Riken's eyes struggled to make out details, any details, in the black of night. The faint rustling of feathers was the only sound made as the shade-cloaked figure dashed away, leaving Riken once again paralyzed with hesitation and fear. But a worse sensation began to arise in this child, as his legs acted of their own accord and haphazardly made their way over to the tent. His mind screamed against himself as he lifted the flap, walked into the darkness and knelt. The grass was wet with dew, and Riken reached out for his father's hand. He was flushed with relief as he touched his father's warm skin. The panic still held the words in his throat, but Riken was now sure all of this was just his own over-active imagination playing tricks. He pulled at his father in an attempt to wake him up, to share with him the scare of the peculiar darkness. At the same time he reached to his side, feeling for his mother. (failing his father's deep sleep) But as Riken found his mind clearer and clearer yet, he couldn't ignore one aspect any longer. His father had not closed his hand the entire time. The horrible thoughts were now his reality, as Riken's mind went into a manic frenzy. Why was his mother not here? Why was his father not answering him? Since when was he this light- That last question almost pressed the teenage actor into shock. The answer stared at him from the darkness as he refused to face it. For five minutes Riken knelt, his father's hand in his, as still as stone. And when he finally pulled at the comforting grasp within his own, there was nothing pulling back. There was a click, and suddenly the figure before him was clear as day. His brain brought together the details from the darkness, and illustrated it before him in terrifying detail. His father, arm severed at the shoulder, spear lodged through the heart. His blood had trickled along the ground, now staining Riken's shorts. And almost on cue, the camp began to burn, as screams echoed throughout the remnants of the Alsace Myrian. With his mind now completely self-destructed, Riken began to carry his father's corpse out through the back of the tent, away from the beckoning flames. Whispering almost incoherently, the young child soothed his sleeping father, promising everything would be alright. The sun was bright as ever, and his father could use the fresh air. They always loved napping beneath the trees, until someone caught them slacking off. A smile across his face, Riken propped the bleeding body of his father up against the trunk of a solid tree, and sat beside him, laying on his bloody chest. Riken slept with warm thoughts of family and friends, as they all faded away into the shadows. Truth broken, reality severed, Words taken, bodies left. Voices silenced, Passions quenched, Lives given, the penultimate theft. And with the break of day, the true Nightmare begins..