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Goodfellow

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Posts posted by Goodfellow

  1. With the new xpac, a lot of people are coming back to the game and back to the RPC.  I've been leveling alts for a couple of weeks myself, familiarizing myself with how the game has changed and thinking of how to explain where Lolo got off to for all that time.

     

    Other returners: how have you explained away/justified/Incorporated your absence IC?

  2. Just a note on the potential for Qestir signing.  Sign languages are full languages with their own independent lexicon, syntax, etc.  Signed words aren't just signed representations of English or Eorzean words or whatever; they're words.  So if "speech is a lie," I would assume that signed speech would be equally a lie.  The written word is a bit fuzzier, but there are written systems out there that represent things other than language.  + and - are words, but they're also mathematical functions that we can represent purely symbolically without reference to language, for example.  I'd imagine Qestir symbols would tend towards the latter.

     

    My two gil having not actually gotten to Reunion.

     

    This is all really fun discussion, but it raises another practical question for other Qestir players: how do you present your name?  Outside of writing, which the folks here have reasonably mixed feelings about, how does your character meet people and introduce themselves?  Would names not be "words" as such and so fair game for speaking or do you just wander through life referred to by nicknames applied to you by perplexed Eorzeans?

  3. I can't find sources at the moment (but I promise they exist), and I also haven't gotten to the steppes in-game yet, but in the north of Spain there are pastoral communities that use an older, non-Arabic numeral-based system of symbols, mostly carved into stones or the sides of windmills and other buildings.  These symbols can represent numbers or basic geographic references relevant to their work and do not correspond to the language itself.  It may be totally off-base, but reading y'all's references to Qestir symbols or markings, that's what I was reminded of.

  4. The sun was streaming hot through the windows and slats when Styrm awoke.  Through the hot, groggy throbbing of his addled head he heard the staccato beat of a fist pounding against the door.  He began to rise when he felt a hand alight on his shoulder.  He looked to its source and saw the old man, his finger pressed against his lips.

     

    "Shh..."

     

    Over the old man's shoulder he could see the other man, the one he'd fought.  He looked tragic in his pain and his fear, but he was awake.  His good arm was raised; there too a finger over lips.

     

    The pounding at the door was replaced by a voice: "Open up!"

     

    No one answered.

     

    More pounding, and again: "Open up!"

     

    Styrm made as if to move toward the door, but the shop-owner called out just then that they were closed for the day.

     

    Silence.

     

    The three of them waited, each in the character of their own expectations: fear, remorse, rage.

     

    It was silent another moment, and then, "Fine.  But you'll be open tonight."

     

    None spoke, wondering if the visitor had truly gone.  Finally, the broken man's voice cracked their musings, trembling but sure.  "He'll come tonight.  We should all go."

     

    The proprietor looked around at his life and his eyes glistened in his indecision.

     

    "I won't," was Styrmsthal's only reply.

  5. The proprietor had nearly tripped over him when he arrived to open the smoke shop in the early morning.  First thinking him a drunk or a ruffian he made as though to tell him off and away, but he noticed two things in succession that closed his lips.

     

    The man sitting on his doorstep, grey-skinned and slimy with night sweat, was nursing a ragged, ruined arm.

     

    Next to the broken man, still half-covered by the fog-thick shadows of the Lominsan pre-dawn, was a giant of a man.  A roegadyn.  The roegadyn.

     

    "Ye'll be knowin' who we are, won't ye?" he rasped through a deep yawn.  The proprietor nodded.

     

    "Tried to poison me, 'e did," Styrm noted, indicating the man with the point of the previous night's dagger.

     

    The shop owner's eyes went wide.  "He wasn't...you weren't meant to--"  He fell silent as the roe rose to standing, huge and slow like a storm on the horizon.

     

    "Hells, we're past all that, we are.  Ye're closed today.  I'll want somethin' for the poke," he squeezed his poisoned palm," and 'im some'ut fer th' arm."

     

    The shop owner only nodded and opened the door.  He closed it behind the three of them.

    ______________

     

    The Goodfellow?  Styrm took a long drag on the pipe.  It was a fine, fine smoke.  The owner had talked, but he hadn't liked it.  Still, he'd given Styrm the pipe and the leaf, for fear or for pity; Styrm wasn't sure.

     

    He was surer than ever that Joz--Kink, ye bastard, she's Kink--was in some mess.  He'd not ever seen the Goodfellow, no, but he'd heard the name back when he'd run jobs in Thanalan.  Back when he'd met Taru.

     

    Lalafell...robe...book...Kink...

     

    Taru had brought him on as protection, bought his time outside the arena.  Kodu Co. was putting a caravan through the Goodfellow's old territory and the merchants had insisted to Taru that he bring more muscle.  There'd been no news of the Goodfellow in some while, but they were still nervous to make the way again.

     

    Styrm, good for the job, had wanted more information.  Taru didn't say much.  The Fellow and him, there was some history there.

     

    Not t' hurt me?

     

    What did the Fellow know about him?  Why did he care?

     

    Don't be a shite, Styrm.

     

    The night, the venom, the treatment, the smoke.  His head swam.  He sat down near the door.  In or out, coming or going, they'd wake him.  The shopkeeper would be sometime yet tidying up that arm.  Shop was closed.  He ought to sleep. 

     

    Joz...me...book...

     

    To sleep.  Just a bit.  Sleep.

  6. Gods DAMMIT, Styrm would've thought had he the time.  A practiced reactionary, he was nonetheless momentarily paralyzed by the two paths before him: the fight--that long moment that he knew--or the chase, back after the boy and what he might know.

     

    Styrm had no time to think all of this, but his gut had already decided for him.  He'd found the kid before, but if this man got to him first he'd never find him again, like as not.

     

    Fight.

     

    The man's hand shot out of his coat as he took a running step forward, wet boots stumbling slightly over the puddles and street stones.  Styrm's huge hand shot out as well, closing around the smaller man's fist and forearm.  Styrm squeezed and the man's running step turned into a full fall as his scream raced against the loud cracks of bones becoming splinters.

     

    The roe swung the man by his now unnaturally limp arm into a crate, splintering it, and maybe a few bones more.

     

    He opened his fist; there was blood.  Most was the man's, seeping out through messy perforations in his arm.  Some was Styrm's, heavy droplets drooling out from the small dagger stuck in his hand.

     

    He felt woozy.  Poison? he wondered.  He pulled out the knife and snorted.  Poison.  But it wasn't enough.

     

    He sank to his knees to rest, breathing heavily over the broken man.

     

    "Now...it's gonna be...yer turn," he spoke out, voice laboring under pain and fury.

     

    The man whimpered and clutched weakly at the bone flecked rope that was his arm.  His teary eyes rose to consider Styrm and they were full of fear.  Styrm somehow felt that all that fear wasn't his alone.  He leaned closer.

     

    "Talk."

  7. Styrm's focus shot toward the man to the side.  Hearing Brindle's words, his focus half-returned to the boy.  His attention split, he struggled to choose his next move, the words that would put them back on track.  All he knew was the boy looked scared. 

     

    For that matter, so did the man by the puddle.

     

    Endeavoring to keep both the man and the boy in his sight, he responded in haste, his questions flying from between his teeth in a low hiss, "Taru?!  Ye know 'im, do ye?  Where's 'e at, then?  Not with th'girl, is 'e?  Speak up, laddie!"

     

    The man by the puddle was becoming more visibly tense by the moment.  He stuck his hand inside his coat, clutching something there.  Styrm registered the motion. 

     

    He wondered if the kid did too.

  8. Styrm thought back over those few weeks.  He thought of Joz--not 'er name--and he thought of the suddenness of her disappearance.  And of Taru's.  He thought of Taru's note; short, empty of import until the unbalanced signature at the bottom, the conspicuously absent book.

     

    "Said 'er name was Joz, and I'm thinkin' 'twas 'er what was lookin' t'take from a friend o' mine.  Think it got 'er in some trouble.  Maybe it don't mean much now, but 'e asked me t'look after 'er," he huffed.  "An' I'm tryin' to."

     

    Off to the side, a man stepped in a puddle.  It sloshed and a light curse escaped him.  He shut up and turned to the side, but he didn't move away.

  9. This should be common knowledge, but Zhi is really something else to rp with.  As a newbie little baby rper wa(aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa)y back when when we started our mega-thread, the characters (including my main) that I've had interact with her have fleshed themselves out before my very eyes.  I've gone into rp with her with only a general outline of who it is I'm writing, only to come out knowing that character inside and out.

     

    Would rp again (y'know, if the first one ever actually ended) - five stars.

  10. A laugh began to rise in Styrm's throat, where it caught.  He choked on it a little as it died there.

     

    "Lad," he croaked through its corpse, "not a gil's greased' these palms.  In fact, my buggered luck would 'ave it, this search--this night--they've jus' 'bout made off with all of me earnins."  The dead laugh cracked his lips into the shell of a smile.  "Turns out, nothin' costs near so much as gettin' nowhere."

  11. Sounsyy will be in here soon to clear this all up definitively, but in brief, as myahele said, the Xaela have a diverse set of beliefs corresponding to their individual tribes/clans.  You can find all the blurbs on the Xaela tribes here.

     

    As for the Raen, as far as we can tell, their religion seems very much like Shinto, which fits with their heavy Japanese flavor.  Sounsyy makes a compelling argument based on flavor text from the NIN questline that they worship the elementals, similar to the Gridanians.

  12. Styrm leaned forward slightly, arms wide.  "Never heard o' no Galleon, lad.  Not till jus' now."  Believe me ye shite.  "But if he knows summut about th' girl, then we oughtta give th' man a visit, we should."  He stared, face blank.  He did not return the boy's sneer.

     

    "Whaddaya say, laddie?  Wanna finally help Styrm find Kink, er d'ye want this Galleon t' find 'er first?"

  13. Styrm huffed dismissively.  "Styrm ain't no soul's get, ye--"  He raised his tired eyes, turning them back to the lad.  "Who's get am I, then?

     

    ______________

     

    The tail noted the stiffness of the scene and craned to hear the contents of their conversation to no avail.  He'd have to get closer.

     

    Slowly, feigning calm, he began to do just that.

  14. The sun would be rising soon.  Styrm was unaccustomed to keeping such hours absent drink and more pleasant companionship.  His weariness was beginning to counterbalance his worry, his frustration working against his dedication.  His focus was absolute when on the job, but no deal had been struck.  Why was he so concerned with finding Joz?  Aye, he liked the girl, but he'd had better friends than her disappear without such an effort to find them after.  This was the Lominsan low towns; people disappeared.  It was the way of things.

     

    Taru. 

     

    Taru's odd behavior, his own disappearance, the timing of it all and the connection to Joz, it filled Styrm's stomach with stones.

     

    "Can ye let me off now?"  Gods dammit, he groaned internally on hearing the boy's voice, his tone perfectly pitched to irritate the raw nerve of Styrm's patience.  T'ells with this shite.

     

    Just then, and with no warning, he dropped the boy to the ground.

     

    ______________

     

    Further back, their weary, worried shadow stiffened, his body tense with surprise and suspicion, ready to react.  Finally, he might be getting somewhere. 

     

    If he weren't so afraid he might have allowed himself a relieved grin.

  15. Two men entered the smoky shop.  They walked between the cramped shelves, crossing around the back: no back doors, no customers.  The grey and the midlander were the last ones in or out.

     

    One of the men walked back to the door and leaned against its frame, looking out.  The other approached the owner then.  He rapped his knuckles lightly against the wooden counter and spoke.  "A man'll be walkin' in 'ere soon.  Don't talk.  If 'e speaks, jus' listen.  If 'e don't, still listen.  'E likes this place an' 'e pays handsome, what's more."  He whistled at his partner then, who opened the door and stepped outside, holding it behind him.  "Golden opportunity, this 'un.  Yessir, jus' don't screw it up."  And he walked out the door.

     

    A short, robed figure stepped through the door and into that thick, smoky silence.  Lalafell most like, by the gait.  It walked the aisles, examining the carvings of rich wood, the huge jars of dank, pungent leaves.  It circled back around to the front of the shop.  A voice crawled out from under the hood.  It was deeper than expected.  Raspier, too.

     

    "Your books, they're in the back?"

     

    Don't talk.  The owner nodded.

     

    "You know why I'm here?"

     

    He nodded again.

     

    "You've received other offers?"  Don't talk.  "Mine's better."

     

    He walked to the door.  Without turning, he spoke once more.  "Both, so we're clear: book and girl."

     

    The door closed behind him.

     

    ______________

     

    Styrm carried Brindle from house to hole to hovel, unaware in his exhaustion, his single-minded focus on finding the next clue, eyes ever forward.  He never thought to turn around.

     

    Behind him, throughout the night, a man followed.  Nondescript, quiet, if more than a little nervous, he let himself be led from place to wretched place.  He was tired, he was annoyed, he was bored, but still he followed.  He couldn't go back, not without something--anything--to report.

     

    He wondered if he shouldn't try to throw the roe off, pick off the kid somehow.  But the boss had told him to leave the big man alone.  He wondered why, but he stayed quiet and kept following.  He had his instructions, and the Goodfellow had little patience for deviations.

  16. Hm...I've got two or three that you might be interested.  There's the Seeker former slave, the bard errant Keeper huntress, and the mute Xaela survivalist magician*.  None are terribly developed just yet, but all came to mind reading your posts, and Styrm didn't have much definition when we started playing with him anyways, so we can write around that.:thumbsup:

     

    *Note: there are several other character options if none of those whet your appetite.

  17. "Aye?  Well, ye sure as 'ells ain't carryin' yer own arse, now are ye?" he asked.  His voice was sardonic as he gave the boy under his arm a light, but emphatic, shake.  "Aye, we're together ye an' I, an' so we'll be till we find th'girl, er till we find someone what knows more 'an ye do."

  18. "I'm wit' ye, lad.  Right now," he huffed, "short o' Taru showin' up--" an' damn 'is disappearin' arse-- "it's ye an' I, Brindle an' Styrm."  He added with a rye grin, marred by the tired, lopped line of his jaw, "Jus' two colleagues o' sorts, on th'trail o' their good friend Kink." 

     

    Aye, Jozzie...

  19. I'm including here a link to a thread I started on the subject some time back.  Some of it may be of interest to you.  Also, Virella's summary she linked above is handy.

     

    Others have supplied good answers to your Sharlayan-related inquiries, but to clarify your third and fourth questions:

     

    3) We are introduced to as many cards of the Major Arcana as there are Heavens' Gates (also called constellations, as others have noted).  Not all constellations house Heavens' Gates, I'd imagine, but so far all the Heavens' Gates are constellations (although there is a Seventh, which I can't remember, and which doesn't seem to have a corresponding card).  It is possible, likely even, that there are other Major Arcana beyond the six we have mechanically, and it is certain that there are any number of Minor Arcana that we don't know anything about specifically, but are mentioned in quest text.

     

    4) I would guess the Star Globe/Planisphere/Astrolabe could be used for all the same purposes as real-world star globes, planispheres, and astrolabes.  Navigation, chiefly, as well as calendar and date calculations and astronomical observations.  I don't think it's just a magical focus, but an actual instrument for ascertaining optimal aetheric flows from the stars based on their locations as determined by proper application of said instrument.

     

    ^my two gil

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