Goodfellow

So if Hydaelyn's protection is what keeps us from being tempered and not the Echo (meaning Minfilia was mistaken), and Ifrit likened her protection to tempering (i.e. he couldn't temper us because we were already claimed/tempered), then what does Midgardsormr's action mean about the assumed permanence of tempering?

When would she stream it? That could be very cool.

So there's a pop culture website that I've long frequented. I started commenting way, way back when and the contributors and commenters are the cat's pajamas. It's called Pajiba, but that's not important. Several years ago one of the commenters died fighting leukemia while doing an epic book-reading marathon with a friend, another personality on the site. She was AlabamaPink, and she was our Warrior Queen. The Cannonball Read (as it was called (and still is)) was completed by her friend and resurrected the following year. It's gone through a lot of iterations between then and now, and the 7th Run has just started. Previously, participants posted reviews of the books they read and the CBR supplied Amazon link so that every time a purchase was made because of your review, a portion of the proceeds went to a fund for AlabamaPink's son. Now the CBR is bigger than ever and has spun out from Pajiba into its own, independent entity. Also, proceeds now go to the American Cancer Society. If you look at my history, you should see I've never shilled anything on these boards (unless I'm sleep-posting unawares), but I'm shilling the Cannonball Read. Mostly because I figure this is a crowd that enjoys books and, I imagine, reading them. Also, who doesn't hate cancer? You can sign up for a full Cannonball (52 books), half-Cannonball (26), or quarter (13) until January 31st to participate in this year's CBR. Just go to the Run's website and have at it from there. It's a great community, a(nother) great excuse to burn through some books, and a great way to discover a lot of new reading material and clever voices yourself. I've already posted two reviews so far myself. Thanks, folks. And read on! (Oh, and Freelance, if I've broken any rules or dropped this in the wrong forum: do your thing)

First of all, I love this idea. Win or lose, thanks to you and your friend for trying to involve the community in something creative! [align=left] Name: Lolotaru Lalataru World: Balmung Character main class/job/role: Arcanist/Scholar/student/professor/researcher/etc. Cards: The Magician (3), The Hierophant (2), or The Hermit (1) Reason for Card choice: In the case of the Magician, the nimbus of knowledge and the the ability to see beyond plain physical manifestation are reflective of Lolo's pursuit of a universal aetheric theory, none of which is nearly so divorced from his ego as he thinks. As for the Hierophant, Lolo does seek to teach, and so the apprentices are appropriate. He has experience with evil and his story typifies the fraught, fractious journey towards goodness and no matter how informed he thinks his decisions are, they could always use further reflection. And with regard to the Hermit, Lolo has already sacrificed a great deal in his pursuit of knowledge: leaving his friends and family, selling most of his business, and increasingly his safety and sanity. But for Lolo knowledge is everything, it is the ultimate pursuit for its achievement is its own success and actualization. And this is ultimately the reality that will leave him lonely, although he doesn't want to see that truth. Screenshots:

Styrm was confused. He'd expected his threat to rattle the bastard harder than that. Be smart, Styrm, he thought to himself. What would Taru do? The thought worried him. He judged the distance from his hands to Solitaire's own, deciding whether or not to grab him. But no, he didn't want to cause a scene just yet. Still leaning forward, still tense, he asked the man a question. "How's a man t'know we're even talkin' 'bout th'same lil' kitten? Jozzie can't be th'only girl 'round with a roughed up tail."

Styrmsthal Tyrbsyn hated these games. Each subsequent word from the hyur seemed to sound from further and further away as the rushing of his blood filled his ears. He was uncomfortable, he was embarrassed, he was impatient, and he was tired. So tired. His normally thick skin wore perilously thin and any remnants of his geniality finally evaporated before that toothsome, shit-eating sneer. "Jus' a runner," he mumbled as a smile, hollow and mirthless, cracked his lips. He sighed through it, "'Nough o' this shite." He spread his hands out then over the table, his long arms taking them closer to Solitaire. Then he spoke, visibly tense but delivering every word with careful restraint and measurement, little drops of water through a crack in a dam. "Listen, runner, I'm lookin' fer th'girl an' yer lookin' fer me, so ye'll tell ol' Styrm what for or I'll be beatin' th'grin from yer lips," he growled, low, rumbling. "Don' yell, don' run. Ain't helpful. Jus' talk. I like what ye've got t'say, ye'll get yer money. I don' an' we're both like t'be disappointed. Jus' stop wastin' me time an' tell me where t'find Joz."

Styrmsthal Tyrbsyn sat uncomfortably in the shadowy back end of a bar in the uncomfortable, shadowy back end of town. He was not practiced in intrigue, however many intriguing sorts he did business with. Big man for big work was his byline and no one wanted a screaming battleaxe for quiet, precise work. And so he sat and he waited. Sitting there cloaked in smoke and darkness, anyone else may have looked subtle, serpentine, a denizen of the darker sub-city that underpinned Lominsan history and economy. But not Styrmsthal. He looked like a man trying to look like a more mysterious man. He looked, in short, just like what he was: a desperate man out of his element. Solitaire nursed his drink at the bar, sizing up the roegadyn with an unseen, practiced side-eye. Now that he saw the big man, he liked this business all the less. Desperation made a man unpredictable, and unknown variables were anathema to a man of his profession and ambition. It had taken little time to catch the tail of the rumors and less still to follow them to their source. Discretion was barely a concern, clearly, and time seemed to be at a premium. He took one last swig from his dusty mug and left some loose gil sliding and sinking into the thick, ruddy oil coating the surface of the bar. He sat down across the table from Styrmsthal and the bigger man started. His big hands coming onto the table and his eyes widening and darting before settling on the man in front of him, intent, focused. Solitaire was annoyed. "So what do ye know and what do ye want to know?" he asked. "'Bout what?" Styrm huffed in reply, still staring. "'That crook-tailed bitch, Mr. Tyrbsyn," he sneered. "What else?" Styrm gaped stupidly for a long moment before closing his mouth hurriedly. His jaw set in irritation. He wanted his next words to sound cool and aloof. He failed. "Aye? And who's it what's lookin' fer 'er? An' lookin' t'me, no less."

Sweet mother of balls, I know next to nothing of this Astrologian, but Lolo needs that outfit and that FABULOUS FUCKING ASTROLABE! Mrrgrrlglglrrrr!

I'll throw Lolo and/or K'ahji into the ring. K'ahji doesn't have a wiki yet, though, so I hope that's not a problem.

This calls to mind something Fernehalwes said about the Ramuh battle lyrics in Old High Sylphic: If you follow the link and read his breakdown of the lyrics there, some of the lines really don't match up after localizing and re-poeticizing them, so without a clue or something from Fern, we may be grasping at straws. Of course, all that just makes it even more fun, and far be it from me, amateur linguist that I am, to discourage anyone. So do carry on.

Styrmsthal Tyrbsyn walked darker streets than was his own custom. Away from the rowdy stretches off the docks, lower than Barnacles' Reach, districts blighted with resentment and spite where every word was equal parts whisper and spit. No word among the wealthy, no word among the poor, no word he understood from mainlanders and foreigners; these were the last places to look and the last places to hope to find her. There was very little air in those environs and what wind did blow seemed composed of a breeze of rumors and threats. Styrm, somewhat injudiciously, added rumors of his own to the confluence. He was not a man for delicacy, and these were not streets trod by delicate sorts. From lips to ears to lips, miserable tributaries flowing into and feeding the reeking river of breath that whirled and rushed through the piss-wet alleys and broken windows all around. Big roe's got information. Little kitten, broken tail. ______________ Amongst the cacophonous din that was the undercurrent of the Lominsan word-trade, another whisper began to weave its way, quieter than the big roegadyn's indiscreet advertisements, more practiced, worm-like, the sort of whisper that was loud to knowing ears. All the more striking for its contents. In those most illiterate stretches of ignored ignorance, someone was looking for a book. Pay's handsome. Good fellow.

http://i.imgur.com/CwSZp5j.png[/img] Oh man, this is so great. Lolo!

"What d'ye mean, 'e's gone?" Styrmsthal near bellowed. "Told me t'meet 'im 'ere, 'e did!" Once, Felijha would have cowered, but Styrm didn't intimidate her anymore. "As I told you, Mr. Tyrbsyn, Mr. Lalataru left word to place all outstanding business on hold and simply run Kodu Co.'s routine tasks and--" "Lemme see th'note," he interrupted. Felijha shrugged and rolled her great Keeper eyes and handed him the note. It wouldn't give away any important company details and she knew the boss and Tyrbsyn were close. Styrm's eyes narrowed and darted over the scant lines of text. Gone for a short time, business as usual, etc. "As I'm sure you're aware, Mr. Tyrbsyn, Mr. Lalataru does go off from time to time. This is nothing out of the ordinary. I've only delayed my tasks in order to inform you, as I know he was expecting to see you. Now, I will likely need to return to Thanalan, but if you do make contact with him, please leave word with a Kodu Co. retainer." She cast one last, long glance at the great roegadyn and quickly turned and scampered off. She did work so hard, but the man tugged at the edges of her composure. For his part, Styrm barely registered the miqo'te's exit. He was examining the note. Why would Taru leave? He had learned from the Mizzenmast staff that he'd found Joz, but now both of them were missing. Did he take her into hiding? Why din't 'e tell me 'bout it, then? Besides, he'd never hide her away in La Noscea. He would've taken her back to Thanalan where his connections ran deeper. Wait. Taru's symbol at the bottom of his note, something was off about it. No one ever played terribly close attention to Lolotaru's signature, which always included some needlessly complex geometric design. He said each one left a clearer impression than words, but they had only ever confounded Styrm. This one, however, a version of his ship-and-scales signature, was dark. It was deep. He'd pressed hard to write it. The angles were sharper, more acute where they were generally more open, parabolic impressions of space. He squinted at it a moment, and then he saw it. The scales which formed the mast were unbalanced. The arm which held a small gil was overburdened and the other side, where an open book normally sat, was empty and raised high. Styrm remained lost, and he remained worried. If he couldn't find Joz, he'd find whoever else was looking for her. Maybe he'd find Taru along the way. Anyroad, the whole thing felt complicated, shadowy, the sort of thing Taru avoided, the sort of thing he never even talked about. Styrmsthal needed to move.

Consciousness came slowly to Lolo that morning. His eyes felt dry, his neck stiff, and the muscles of his jaw felt raw while his teeth ached. He'd ground them in his sleep. He'd no idea how long he'd slept, but he barely felt rested at all. He slipped slowly down from the chair, joints cracking and popping loudly as his body roused itself. He stopped and was quiet. He hoped he hadn't woken the girl. He was sure she'd need to rest longer than even he did. He peeked around the side of the chair at the bed and full awareness came upon him suddenly. She was gone. Calm down, he thought, urging his heart and breath to settle. She had probably awoken before him and gone down for some breakfast. Fool of a girl, he thought to himself at the idea. Naive and foolish to go out alone like that. He changed his robe quickly, intending to find and join her. Drank a quick glass of water and chewed some mint, then walked to the door, stopped, and patted his pockets. The book. Must've left it in the other robe. But when he stuck his hands into those pockets it wasn't there. He shook the robe violently, but the book did not fall from it. His eyes flew across all the shelves and surfaces of the room, but did not come to rest on the book. He practically threw himself beneath the chair and bed, but did not encounter the book. He tore the cushion from the chair and the sheets from the bed, but did not uncover the book. "No, no, no..." he droned, refusing to believe. He ran downstairs, then. The morning was not yet very advanced and the Wench was largely unoccupied at that hour. Joz was not there. "No, no, no..." he repeated as his patted the side of his leg rapidly. Moments later Ben bounded to his side. He knelt down and looked into the summon's eyes, making rapid little concentric circles with his right hand over his left palm. Ben chittered and raised its nose, lowering it with a determined focus and skittered out into the Octant. Lolotaru followed it out and stood nervously with his arms crossed at the edge of the plaza. For several minutes, Ben sniffed this way and that, here nearer to Hawkers' Alley, there nearer the ramps to the docks. The smells in that place must have been innumerable, overwhelming, and in the end that volume defeated the poor creature's efforts. Head downcast and glow dimmed significantly, it returned to its master. And across his own face, confusion turned to concern, and concern to hurt, and hurt finally, slowly gave way to something firmer, that thing that scared even Lolotaru Lalataru himself, the part of himself he ever efforted to mask and abate: his anger. It set his muscles as stone and clenched tight his raw jaw. He cut his hand down and out through the air in front of him and Ben leapt into the air and disappeared with a flash. Then he too was gone from the plaza as the morning crowd began to thicken like mist off the sea.

The majority of my many alts have very considered names, most of which call back to older/former characters from other games and MMOs. Actually, so does my forum name. But my main has the most thought-out name. My first MMO was FFXI, but my toon's name was dumb and not worth mentioning. Still, the tarutaru left an impression, hence the back half of Lolotaru Lalataru's names. The rest just seemed the most sonorous of the many, many combinations of syllables I tested out, was relatively easy to pronounce in a variety of accents and, to me at least, had a certain sense of completeness to it in its vowel sounds. And a year+ later I remain very fond of both the character and his name. If to no one other than me it is mellifluous and rolls pleasantly off the tongue.

Lolotaru could always fall asleep. Often, sleep was not an entirely restful affair, plagued by vivid dreams or simply hamstrung by the tension of his waking hours, but he was always able to fall asleep. Still, any other night he may have been roused by the girl's temerity. But that night, uncommonly exhausted and fallen deep into the grip of a powerful nightmare, he simply slouched further and began to snore lightly. His grip on the book did not loosen, nor did it tighten, but remained static and largely unresponsive to its careful removal.

Lolo but nodded sleepily as Joz climbed into bed. He turned the chair to face the door and made himself comfortable. Gods, he was tired, and felt as though he hadn't slept for days. Not well, at least. He still had so many questions; there were inconsistencies that needed reconciling and responsible parties to identify. And to deal with. No, he thought as sleep overtook him, mustn't think like that. Mustn't be like that. He pulled the little aquamarine tome from his pocket and clutched it in his lap, its familiar contours comforting or anchoring him through the nightmares that began to plague him as soon as he slipped into unconsciousness.

"Hm?" he intoned as Joz broke the silence. "Ah, erm, you'll be sleeping in the bed tonight, Miss Joz," he said with a nod. "I'll, eh, I'll rotate this chair and sleep by the door. You can rest easy, here. Ben is patrolling the exterior and I imagine that Styrmsthal will be by in the morning. He'll be relieved to see you," he added, smiling wanly. He yawned again, this time utterly failing to mitigate it. Fighting through the blinking of his eyes and the tightness of his jaw, he asked, "Will you be needing anything else tonight, Miss Joz?"

At just that moment Lolo hopped back up out of the chair and crossed to the door. Cracking the door once again, Ben's luminescence shone against his face. Lolo pointed upward and moved his finger in a circle before closing his fist. He pulled in a tray and close the door, cutting off the retreating light of the summon. He turned and lifted the tray, bringing it to the girl, bread and broth coming into focus as he came closer, the room suddenly aromatic with the soothing warmth of mild spices. "Please, Miss Joz, do try to eat something," he said as he set the tray down before her. Re-seating himself in his chair across the room, weariness began to finally make gains against his adrenaline-addled body and he barely stifled a great yawn.

He slumped into a chair by the door to wait for the food and considered his apprentice. His sighed heavily and his face softened. Still he fingered his pocket. "I...eh...I am so relieved to have found you, Miss Joz."

Lolotaru raised one hand to his forehead and rubbed at his temples as his other hand clutched at the book in his pocket absentmindedly. She was scared. And she should be, by the look of her. "We'll discuss this tomorrow, once I've had a chance to consult with Styrmsthal. And once you've had a chance to tell me who is responsible for this." He indicated her injuries. He waved his hand at the door and hastily scrawled on a pad of paper, tearing it off once finished. He cracked the door and the aetheric glow of Ben shone through. He chopped downward with his hand before raising it palm up, placed the paper in Ben's mouth, and refastened the latches as the summon bounded down the stairs to the kitchens. Turning back to Joz he said, "Tonight you may simply eat and rest."

Gods, she's beaten half to hells. I'll have to work on her more later, maybe bring Ariel out..., he thought as he examined her still-considerable injuries. He heard her voice pushing through his racing thoughts, insisting on his attention. His brow furrowed. Stay here? His eyes flew wide and he took a half step back and said, "Absolutely not!" Then, stepping toward her once again, more calmly, he spoke in a soft voice. "Miss Joz, you're not nearly safe enough here. Styrmsthal will have you off and hidden as soon as tomorrow." He sighed and took another step, examining the painful looking results of her abuse, deep and dark and malevolent even while partly healed. He breathed deeply and his face was once again set. Not calm exactly, but steely, a focused tension, the wildness of the minutes prior beginning to give way to the weight of his calculating aspect. "But first, I need you to tell me who did this to you."

He didn't see. He was busy. He'd shut and bolted the door behind her as she'd entered and had finished flipping through his grimoire. Any deftness in his drawing was only muscle memory, his hand would otherwise be shaking with the shock and emotion he was feeling in that moment. The book began to glow dimly in his hands as he finished tracing the gentle, meandering pattern, dotting and embellishing it only slightly in his distraction; there would be time for greater exactness later. With a final flourish of the pen toward the girl, he raised the book above his head with a flash. He looked at her then and noted the tears in her eyes as the effects of Physick began to wend their way across her body.

Lolotaru crossed the Octant hurriedly, his head down and brow furrowed. Ben sulked along beside him, his usually playful, curious hopping subdued per his master's mood. Styrmsthal hadn't returned to Joz's room until two days after they had parted at the Three Tales. He'd had too, too late a night and the sun spited his eyes all the next day. They'd made such good progress he figured a day off wouldn't do either of them too much harm. Weather round the southern tip of Vylbrand had delayed Lolo's own return by a day and so he was still unpacking when Styrm nearly knocked the door from its hinges. Hardly a restrained man, his worry still struck Lolo in the gut. And then he told him what he'd found. Joz's room had been ransacked and Styrm had been unable to track her down. He immediately set about asking around her building and neighborhood, trying to trace back any bad deals or enemies, turning up only confused looks and foggy recollections as his interviewees struggled to place a Joz, any Joz at all. He didn't delay any longer in enlisting Lolo's aid, but even his connections had nothing of substance to offer. The next day, and the next, Styrm had moved through Barnacles' Reach, knocking on doors, knocking down anyone with too smart a smirk. Lolo patrolled the markets and Mealvaan's Gate. Worry wore at both as they desperately fended off the sinking sense of futility they had both already begun to feel. So it was with a heavy exasperation that Lolo climbed up and sank into a chair in the corner of the Wench. He jerked to alertness with a start as the bellman from the Mizzenmast placed a hand on his shoulder. "Master Lalataru," he whispered, "it would appear you've a visitor." Lolo turned his head deliberately to face the bellman. "She has been outside your door for some time now." The bellman was almost knocked over by the sudden display of Dunesfolk celerity. Lolo stopped suddenly halfway up the stairs and turned on a heel. "Ben," he intoned with a wave of his hand, horizontal with palm down. The carbuncle chittered in affirmation and bounded back down to keep watch as Lolo resumed his quick ascent. As he breached the threshold at the top of the stairs and closed in on his room, his gait slowed, then stopped. Even there, nearly the whole of the hall between them, the wounded aspect of her piteous frame was clear to him. He hurriedly closed the distance between them and opened the door, casting only a quick look at her face. "Inside," he hissed, his countenance all urgency and tension. He cast a long glance down to one end of the hall, then the other, his fingers deftly navigating the familiar pages of his grimoire. "Quick now, Miss Joz, please."

I can get behind this subject and what everyone's proposed thus far. My own headcannon is a little less exact, and intentionally so. The way Lolo utilizes the geometries is to treat them more as rough guides, general patterns that engage and tug at one's aether in a particular way, but a given individual will have more success "going off-book," so to speak, that is to say by following the feel/flow of their aether and adding flourishes/closing angles/widening parabolas/what have you, to personalize the geometry in some way so that it corresponds more directly to the aetheric situation in their own body. So for example, tracing the pattern for Ruin exactly will indeed cast a basic instance of Ruin, but figuring out your own version inspired by and more or less following the original outline will cast a much stronger and fuller version of the basic Ruin paradigm. Edit: So I guess if others are coming at this from a computing/programming point-of-view, my own is more inspired by language and style, which makes sense, given my RL work and interests.