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Berrod Armstrong

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About Berrod Armstrong

  • Rank
    Buff, Rough n' Scruff.
  • Birthday 09/11/1986

RP Related

  • Main Character
    Berrod Armstrong
  • Linkshell
    Journeyman's Voice
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  1. Berrod Armstrong

    Berrod's Barascrawls

  2. Berrod Armstrong

    Let's Play Koechiap!

    Another leve another gil! A business order for a large amount of fish-pickled brine has come in from a culinary group looking to recreate an Othard seasoning! There's fish to be caught, pickling mixtures to be concocted and money to be made! A tidy sum to be made--hopefully enough to compensate for reeking of vinegar and fish when it's all said and done! [A social event with 'busy work' activities. This will take place in two parts--the initial retrieval of the fish and then the pickling bit. Come for fun, talk and fish! Open to all both early and late-comers!]
  3. Berrod Armstrong

    Cardamom, What a Loss!

    A leve has been picked up by Tarot to help escort a shipment of rich spices and coffee beans from Vesper Bay to the Gates of the Sultana. Payment for the job will be divied up based on the number of helping hands with a bonus of beans and spices for anyone who helps should things get delivered smoothly. [Expect social interactions with a chance of very low-key battles. Encounters may be random but may include other hazards outside of combat! Late-comers welcome!]
  4. Berrod Armstrong

    Bulletin Board

    Berrod saw the savage triumph in the dark eyes of his opponent when his leg swiped an ilm short of what would have been a finishing blow. The opposing Highlander had managed to push back at just the right moment, even after being led into the spot where he had stood. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to Berrod at all -- he had been told that the man was skilled, and their intense bout had only served as proof. Caine was his name -- a greedy bastard of a Highlander who stood just ilms short of seven fulms. The man’s body was packed with dark muscle, draped in loose, flowing tan cloth that allowed both breath and motion. Quite a bit of that cloth had become stained with dirt, blood and sweat during the fight -- some of the blood and sweat were not his own. His dark brown hair was securely tied into a compact bun at the back of his head -- though a few strands had come loose and matted to the side of his scarred, bearded face. Inky black eyes regarded Berrod with nothing short of astonished killing intent. Berrod himself was dressed in ironic wares -- he’d donned a pacifist’s vest to meet his master that morning, only to be sent on a mission of murder. The gauntlets, bottoms and boots were of the standard Ala Mhigan variety. All of it was soaked with sweat and well-dusted. His exertions and rolling about on the floor had seen to that. Blood poured out his nose and smeared from a cut on his chin; it dripped to form a spotty, sweat-mingled delta upon the cleave of his chest. Two nasty, purple bruises marked his flank. The fight had taken its toll. Yet, his finishing move had come short -- just one ilm short, much to Caine’s wild delight. The follow-through of the kick had left Berrod’s flank exposed, an opportunity that the dark-eyed Highlander full well intended to exploit. It was no easy matter; several of the flurrying, spinning kicks prior to the final missed one had crashed hard against his guard -- one had even crashed right into his chest. Both of his arms screamed in agony and his breathing was a chore. Still… still his chance had come. His victory was assured. For that reason he met the Armstrong’s eyes with smug triumph...only to see a cold, murderous finality in the other monk’s green gaze. It was a chilling thing, that stare. Where Caine’s exultation had been wild and whooping, Berrod seemed to regard him in a manner that marked him as undeserving of life. In that bright green there was no remorse, no deliberation. Just simple, solid, nigh mechanical purpose that revolved around utter confidence even in the face of apparent folly. Caine found himself only momentarily intimidated before pure fury took hold. His outraged served to put motion back into his battered arms. Biceps bunched, forearms corded, and all was set in motion for a twin strike that was meant to reduce Armstrong’s kidneys to paste. It was only after his arms pushed forward that he noticed the tiny, spherical distortion in the air between them. It had been left in the wake of Berrod’s leg, and in his haste to launch a counter-attack he had missed it entirely. The little sphere suddenly doubled in size, and with it came an alarming increase in wind-aspected aether. All at once it became clear where he stood in the outcome of their conflict; why Berrod’s gaze had remained so cold and confident -- why he seemingly had no qualms about missing the kick. There was no way to escape it; to stop it. Both his arms flanked the sphere -- just as it expanded into a spherical, cyclonic blast. The last sight Caine saw was that of both his arms being reduced to red mist and shattered bone by the expansion of the sphere. It was quick and painless. The resulting detonation of wind and lightning aspected aether flung Berrod back several yalms. He had yet to perfect the technique to the point of actually landing properly, and therefore tended to count on it as a finisher. The aftermath left him far too slow and vulnerable to allow otherwise. The sturdy highlander hit the floor in a dusty roll and skidded a yalm or two as the contained tornado raged within its sphere. It dissipated just as he lifted his head to survey the devastation; there was naught left of Caine save for a fine red spatter on some of the nearby shrubbery. Slowly, painfully, Berrod got to his feet. He felt every last blow Caine had landed on him. None of them had been wasted. He’d need rest and healing before he went after the next. Yet...taking a life had never been something that sat easily, or well with him. The weight immediately settled upon his heart, to the point where he began to swim in the physical pain of his injuries to distract himself from it. The nagging, knowing dread that Caine was only the first was something he could not shut out. There was much work to be done, much blood to be spilled. As he limped to the spot where Caine had met his end, Berrod considered the irony of the accidentally donned pacifist’s vest. It was meant to be the attire of Gyr Abania’s protectors -- monks who had sworn to defend. To wear it as he murdered wasn’t right. Next time he’d wear something else. Or perhaps he’d wear it again -- to show exactly how far he was willing to go to protect his friends, his family and his land from Bloodblade’s shadow.
  5. Berrod Armstrong

    Your Gender vs. Your Character's

    I tend to roll males -- it's an odd default of mine. However, for plot NPCs and such, I really enjoy playing lots of female characters -- not exclusively, mind you, but they tend to be the most engaging of the lot.
  6. Berrod Armstrong

    Characters OOC with the Company

    Berrod's: Yukino Migite - Hingan Retainer Farrzwyn Ryssdaegsyn - Sailor that works at The Burly Barnacle Gunnar Bloodblade - Ul'Dahn Merchant and Shady dealer Brady Bradshaw - Independent Adventurer
  7. Berrod Armstrong

    The Burly Barnacle

    The Burly Barnacle is a traditional sailor tavern opening in the goblet. The proprietor, Logan Whytewood, is a retired Maelstrom galley chef who found himself working in Thanalan and missing the taverns of La Noscea. He’s bringing the sailor experience to the desert for those who seek the smokey, dim bar to toss back a few tankards while listening to sea shanties. "Yer favorite sailors down at The Burly Barnacle are waitin’ fer ya. Bring a mate or make some new ones at the bar! As long as ya keep drinkin’ we keep the lanterns lit. Stage is open fer any aspirin’ bards or other performers." Balmung, The Goblet Ward 12, Plot 33 https://burly-barnacle.tumblr.com/
  8. Berrod Armstrong

    Player RP Availability

    Berrod's: Port of Spain Time, Trinidad and Tobago (EST + 1 hour during DST, Matches with EST otherwise) Typical Online Time: Weekdays: Afternoon to Evening Weekends: Any time Special Unavailability: -Tuesday: Evening Manning The Burly Barnacle Discord Rp: Yes
  9. Berrod Armstrong

    Characters IC with the Company

    Berrod's: Berrod Armstrong - Company Co-Director Caden Agron - Adventurer/Merc Mountain's Shadow - Consultant/Non-member Brooker Bandersnatch - Conjurer Healer/Adventurer
  10. Berrod Armstrong

    Bulletin Board

    Loops' knock on Gunnar's office door was always distinct. For one, it rapped from far lower than many of his usual non-Lalafell visitors -- though the old man could always tell it wasn't a Lalafell due to its somewhat feeble impact. Feeble or no, it distracted Gunnar from his work of perusing several proposals and business plans to expand his mercenary wing of the company. They were all neatly laid out on the dark wooden desk before him like tiles of parchment, each one ready to be picked up and looked at at a moments notice. Gunnar had to admit to himself that the view of the crackling fireplace only a few yalms from his desk inspired some rather rash impulses. Nevertheless, he bid the boy enter. Loops was less than impressive for a boy his age in terms of looks. He was hyuran, that much was sure -- and very likely of Highlander stock, given his three or four ilms' advantage over other boys. No more than thirteen summers of age, he stood with a head of dark, scraggly hair that fell on either side of a smooth face that was often flat with melancholy. His eyes showed interest in few things, dull save for the spark of intelligence behind them. Usually he was dusty, and dressed in loose, dusty clothes -- but today he seemed to have bathed and put on a set of tattered but laundered trappings. The shirt was a bit too big, where the sleeves went a few ilms past his fingertips and the lower hem skirted his knees. The trousers seemed to fit fine, though below them he wore no shoes. The boy made sure to close the door behind him before addressing his host. "Hello, Mister Gunnar." Gunnar himself was dressed in his usual; a casual tunic of Ul'dahn style -- though today he eschewed the shirt underneath to leave his arms bare. With the densely packed, scarred muscles and his eyepatch, he looked quite a bit more like a desert bandit than a businessman. It was an intimidating thing, likely presented on purpose. His silver eye moved to the boy. "Welcome, Loops. I didn't expect you today. I'd have had your favourite meal catered and brought here had I known. Please, come sit." He gestured toward one of the two plush chairs before his desk. "To what do I owe the visit?" Loops scuttled to the chair and climbed into it with enthusiasm that betrayed his age. It was a bit of a scramble, concluded with a wiggle that situated him properly in the comfortable cushions. He offered a polite smile to Gunnar before his face settled back into the default, yet harmless melancholy. "I saw you walking in Ul'Dah with Ulfarr yesterday." There was a distinct attempt at avoiding an accusatory tone. Gunnar leaned back in his chair and set his arms on the rest. His head tipped to the left as he regarded the young boy. "And so you did," He confirmed, "What of it, then?" While Loops' face betrayed naught, his hands did root from the oversized sleeves to find each other and wring amidst the loose cloth. "You're enemies now. Did you kill him?" This time the waver in his voice was there, as was the tension and apprehension that took his small frame. Fortunately the latter was mitigated by the absolute sheet of a shirt on his back. Gunnar remained placed for a drawn out moment, then sighed, "I did not kill him." Loops seemed to deflate with relief, though Gunnar continued to speak, "We have in fact reconciled our differences, and allowed for bygones to be bygones. While he is not in my employ, I have invited him to remain as a companion -- and will work to make sure that his family's interests and safety are also taken care of." Loops ended up with his mouth open, and his rickety torso leaned forward. He had not the mindset to try to hide how happy he was about what had just been said -- though a wariness took him before long. "...are you deceiving him? Is it a trap for him, or the others?" Gunnar's laugh made the poor boy jump, and he had to offer a soothing apology before he responded. "Not at all, my boy. It -is- part of a design, but not a trap. You like, Ulfarr, no? You've become fast friends, if I'm correct." Loops grimaced and embarrassment both scrunched and reddened his features. "I don't like-like him," He established firmly, "I don't like boys like you." He didn't like girls, either, but that was neither here nor there. Other people were nasty. "But yes, he's my friend, and if it's not a trap then I'm glad. I don't want him to die." "I'm well aware of that," Gunnar noted, "Which is why, when all this is over, he will join us, and you will be able to build on your friendship. By extending my hand to him, I have ensured that you will suffer no loss. I know you've been agonizing over it. You no longer have to be caught between us." Loops' melancholy had absolutely evaporated -- he leaned forward with both hands clutched on the edge of the desk, eyes and mouth wide in a smile of wonder and adoration. "...that's really wise of you, Mister Gunnar -- I'm -- I'm sorry I started talking to him without your permission --" "You can speak to whoever you like, loops, you are a free man." The boy 's chest swelled, he was called a -man- of all things, freedom be damned. Joy burst from him such that he lunged, scrambled over the table (and sent a few of the documents flying besides) to tackle the older man with as crushing a hug as his skinny arms could manage. "You're the best! You're the best! Thank you, Mister Gunnar!" "Please, Loops, I only --" "No, I mean it! This is the best thing that has happened in a long time! I promise I'll repay you for it! I'll use Bobo and Lobo to do whatever you want, no matter what it is!" Gunnar lifted a hand to give the boy a few pats on the back, and was glad that the lad could not see the savage satisfaction and triumph in his nigh bestial grin. "I would like that very much, Loops. Very much indeed."
  11. Berrod Armstrong

    Mateus getting locked

    This has been going on for almost two months now. It locks at primetime and is open throughout the rest of the day.
  12. Berrod Armstrong

    Berrod's Baratastic Brawlyscrawls [Commissions open Circumstantially].

    The Agron-Armstrong-Rahzersyn family being lazy in bed on a quiet Lightsday Morning! Featuring Sarij Rahzersyn (The green Roegadyn), Caleb Agron, Caden Agron (Who is who? I don’t even know) and Berrod Armstrong!
  13. Berrod Armstrong

    Berrod's Baratastic Brawlyscrawls [Commissions open Circumstantially].

    He’s an asshole (but he’s MY asshole. Wait – no that sounds wrong…), but he’s not bad to hang out with. Most times. Meet my Mateus boy, Roderick Storme, axe-swinger extraordinaire!
  14. Berrod Armstrong

    Berrod's Baratastic Brawlyscrawls [Commissions open Circumstantially].

    This one had been on the shelf for ages! I had started scribbling on it as a warmup, and ended up finishing it off as a cooldown, heh. Berrod Armstrong and Milo Northwind, sporting fancy kicks and sword stuff! Dat Highlander goodness, yes.
  15. Berrod Armstrong

    balmung Mister & Miss Eorzea 2017

    I had a blast, thanks so much for hosting this! Now to rifle through the screenshots...