Berrod Armstrong

http://40.media.tumblr.com/9225dbb897657cebe19b5eacdf39dee2/tumblr_nnjn8pCeG31robwlio1_1280.png[/img] So ready.

And rolled me a Xae-gal. Not anime looking, nor does she look childish, waify, helpless or dainty. Beautiful, yes, that ain't a crime. Short, yes! No charges. Feminine, definitely! Also good! She looks dangerous, however, and I enjoy that. All it took for me was some tinkering and an open mind. I'm really enjoying the new race! I'll name her Mom'Ra. https://41.media.tumblr.com/1fe8777712513f0526d09d83cd8ee265/tumblr_nnh7wu8JEr1robwlio1_540.png[/img]

Poking in, because why not. I love them. I love them all. Anime and otherwise. There are so many things you can do with them I couldn't even decide. Here's my guy. https://40.media.tumblr.com/210c098f9f06c22fcf3875bebc34a9da/tumblr_nnh2wmRtJT1robwlio1_540.png[/img] Codename: Sex Fiend (*sweats*) I have my concept for him but that's under wraps until release. His appearance is subject to little changes, but this is basically it. Also, there are so many ways NOT to make them look anime or whatever, if that's what you want. Explore it and see. I don't think Sex Fiend looks animu at all. Not that I'd mind if he did. It's a Japanese MMO after all! I knew what I was potentially signing up for.

When Berrod recovers and returns to the Grindstone, I'd be happy to interact with Oak! Usually he's more or less the healer battery there-- but he's been absent this month for story reasons. He'll be back soon though!

WANT. FULL STOP. I can settle for the samurai-esque ponytail and the combovers for now, though. I want a crewcut so badly. I keep hoping we'll get one and then they give us some weird animu hair. Crew cut or long male ponytail go

Aaron has come very, very far and I am proud of him!

I don't know about celebrities, but I usually throw Berrod around Ul'Dah and Thanalan, with the occasional visit to Gridania and Limsa Lominsa. Currently he's in a hospital bed, but when he's active Berrod takes daily trips to Eustace the Levemete in the Quicksand, and frequents Pearl Lane.

Warren's story threads are ridiculously addictive.

I had almost no intention of using the DRK lore anyways, but I kinda feel like they should have just called them Knights instead of Dark Knights if they were going to make them... not so dark. In either case I'll reserve my opinion on them until I can see their job quests. I'm pretty sure the 'Dark' comes from the source of their power and not their moral standing!

It was not at all mentioned that Astromancy had no connection with Ishgard. They just gave a history of the art, and apparently its origins are Sharlayan.

Berrod Armstrong had not seen when the Highlander landed on his right flank. Rather, he'd felt it; the way the hair on his face and body prickled with the slight disturbance in the air about him. It was only a split-tick afterward that the yellow of the other Highlander's cyclas registered in his peripheral vision -- though the familiar garb did not at all mitigate his alarm. He had simply been practicing -- no, not quite practicing, that was just a fringe benefit. He had been working off the recent frustration that plagued him for the past few suns. The fiasco had started with a Lalafell client, and ended up in an ambush from which he and Athe barely escaped. The very memory of having to run away fretted him greatly, and so he opted to pour his anger into something constructive. His visitor however, had managed to erase the entire affair from his mind in an instant. Berrod wasn't particularly proud of the manner in which he darted away from the other Highlander, but he knew full well that it was perhaps very wise. One ambush was more than what he had tolerance for in such a short space of time; two would be downright unacceptable. With some distance between them he was able to get a good look at the man. Even for a Highlander the fellow was huge, and towered over Berrod by half a fulm. His skin was dark brown and littered with scars of various sizes. He seem crafted more of stone than born of flesh, from the stiff appearance of his skin to his statuesque, gargantuan build. The cyclas upon his body was well kept but clearly worn from battle. Scratches and dents showed even through the polish on his gloves and boots, though the feather on his headdress was new. He was the very image of a member of the Fists. It was for that reason Berrod addressed him in an almost reverent fashion. The redhead clasped his left fist into his right palm at chest level, then bowed slightly at the waist. "Brother." In comparison to the other, Berrod was a far sight less elegant. In his dusty white slops with a lack of shoes he seemed quite like a vagrant -- and that did not even take into account the ruddy, unshaven scruff of a few days along his jaw. The neatest thing about his appearance was the tied tail at the back of his head that kept his hair in check, though that was soaked with sweat just like the rest of him. A horizontal purple bruise marked his bare chest almost from nipple to nipple-- the sore prize he had received from the recent ambush. Regardless of it all, he stood proudly and presented himself as best as he could. The other monk inclined his head slightly to the left, and a hint of intrigue shone in his eyes. "You bowed to me," he observed. His voice was as deep a reverberation as Berrod's, though the speech was slower. "An odd thing for a self-crowned King." The monk's words set off resounding warning klaxons in Berrod's head. He made no effort to keep the wariness out of his body language; tension seized his frame. The demand that followed was very direct. "Who are you?" The dark-skinned monk smiled, but it was not a pleasant smile by any account. "Let us first examine who you are," he countered, "Berrod Armstrong. Refugee, taken in at some point by a remnant of the fist...whose heart you must have broken terribly when you became a damned bandit no better than the ones you grew up struggling against. You survived the Calamity and continued your ways, which eventually landed you in a life of destitution in Ul'Dah. Thus came your rise from rags to riches, which saw you cavorting about with your buggering-mates on each arm, a pretense of caring for my people and my homeland, and a claim to something no sensible member of the resistance will allow." Berrod had meanwhile done his best to keep his composure; the knowledge the other man had demonstrated regarding him was not something gained overnight. He kept his face even, though quite a bit of color left it. "I wish only to work with the resistance toward a common goal, not undermine them." "Do you, Berrod Armstrong?" The monk contested, "Is that what you believe? Is that what your paltry alms to my brothers in the streets of Ul'Dah have convinced you of? Do you think that your blood or your knowledge make that a thing to take for granted? Is that why you feel content to return to your lavish home, eat heartily, drink merrily and then retire to gargle the balls of your pet Gridanians?" The words cut through Berrod like a hot blade, with each slash removing a chunk of his pride and purpose. Nevertheless, the other monk continued, "Because those who fight and die every day in the name of my homeland and my people may not share the same view." Berrod found himself at a momentary loss for words. What the other monk spoke of -- it had occasionally niggled at him, but it was just a doubt in the back of his mind that his own arrogance had become very effective at crushing. He was accustomed to being a man who was followed, and if the path he chose offered hope, why would they not follow? Having his efforts to help aid the refugees on the streets called paltry had a severe effect on him. Were the care packages not enough? Were the food hampers insufficient? Was the employment he offered through retainership no good? Doubt near suffocated him, and the other monk began to appear to him as an avatar of terrible truth. Yet...something was amiss. Berrod knew himself, and he knew that he usually took great pride in his efforts, even if they were a little. When he lived on the streets he did what he could for his fellow refugees. When he terrorized the sands of the desert he had done it for their sake. He knew that he would not allow his life's passion to be so casually belittled, and was very accustomed to feeling anger before doubt and despair. His ambition to claim the throne was only intended if no one worthy was willing and the people needed it of him, otherwise he would dedicate his life to serving the one who would ascend. Why then, did he feel so crushed by a few words from a stranger? Words... Words. Voice. Sound. Air. Throat. The realization hit him like a charging Aurochs; the other monk was using the power of the fifth against him! Through his voice he had sought to lay Berrod's will low. Berrod reeled; he had never witnessed this application of it before. There was a point of further confusion, however. An open, active chakra was something that always shone like a beacon in the night to him. He sensed nothing from this man. His thoughts must have registered plainly upon his face, for the other monk offered him a mildly astonished look. It was odd how the man's worn and solid features seemed capable of such child-like wonder. "Ohh? You sense it?" his eyes narrowed in further scrutiny. "Ah, no...you're guessing. I can see it in your eyes. How accurately, I wonder?" "How are you doing that without me seeing it?" Berrod demanded. It took considerable willpower to even speak in the voice's wake. The other monk levelled a stare at him that may have usually been reserved for a dullard of a child. "A man tends to be unable to see when his eye is closed," he offered thoughtfully. "Though some men remain blind anyway." Berrod comprehended the statement at once, and suddenly knew what he had to do. Already he had begun directing his aether between his eyes, and prepared to open the sixth with it, he would surely see through the other's trickery, and show the bastard some tricks of his own. The dark skinned monk continued to observe him; an arrangement of pitying scorn folded his face. Then he vanished. No more tricks. Open the sixth, the mi-- Berrod was not exactly sure if he saw the monk before the great, dark hand grasped his face into its palm. He felt the activation violently interrupted, then saw brilliant explosions of color behind his own obscured vision. Agony ripped through the entire back side of his body; he had been slammed down onto the ground, and savagely so. "I have heard your praises among a few," the monk murmured. The disappointment in his voice was palpable. Berrod had not yet regained his senses enough to properly realize that he laid sprawled on his back beneath the yellow clad man, bleeding from the back of his head with the monk's palm still gripping his face. "But...you could not even sense my chakras, much less resonate with them. The time it took for you to open yours, why the delay? Knowledgeable you may be, but your execution is shoddy. Your master would be ashamed to see this." The mention of Berrod's master incensed him. Though he could not see, the Highlander's fist raised to deliver retibution, aiming at a guess with intent to snap his assailant's arm at the elbow. He did not get the chance. Before his fist could even connect, he felt a very gentle palm upon his stomach...followed by the maddeningly excruciating ordeal of having nigh every bone in his body shattered. Thankfully he only had to endure it for a moment before darkness took him. Those nearby, however, reported a tremendous and concussive upheaval that pelted dust and rocks several yalms into the air, though it was mostly dismissed as a mining detonation or yet another overly eager thaumaturge initiate.

It's always a pleasure to RP with you, Eleni, and I certainly intend to continue!

Personal Profile Character Name: Berrod Armstrong Gender: Male Race: Hyur (Highlander) Domestic Profile Civil Status: Engaged Place of Residence: The Goblet Occupation: Adventurer, Mercenary and Proprietor Free Company: Astral Agents Social Profile See the Wiki for details! Meta Profile See the Wiki for details!

The ability to mail stuff to my alts, and a large shared bank among them.

ilu nebbs

Realms are back up and Balmung is OPEN.

“Hm. He’s handsome.” [align=justify]The Hyuran woman stood upon the edge of the sun-baked ledge, yalms above an open expanse of dry Thanalan dirt. Below, a large, red-haired young Highlander trained, tearing through bare-fisted techniques against an imaginary opponent. A simple pair of dusty white slops were his wares, already soaked through with the sweat that drenched him. Every movement he made was swift, confident and backed by the strength of his powerful build. [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]“He’s just a babe, barely out of swaddling.” [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]The second, much deeper voice came from the Hyuran woman’s equally Hyuran partner, and was laced with abject disapproval. Two Highlanders were they, dark of skin and brown of hair. The woman was lower than the man by a head, but exuded no less of a presence. Her hair was clipped short, which in turn accentuated her broad and muscular shoulders. A modest bosom trailed down to a somewhat pinched waist and thick hips, supported by what could only be described as trunks for thighs. She was clad in a replica of the Temple Cyclas, colored in the traditional yellow. There was a dangerous, strong grace in the way she carried herself; somewhat like a dancer on the verge of aggression. [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]Her partner seemed very much her opposite in several ways. He stood with brutish altitude, and bore age-betraying grey streaks in his back length brown hair. The man seemed hewn from the very stone his feet were planted upon, and was possessed of an obscenely solid and muscular build. The parts uncovered by his own yellow Cyclas were marked with the scars of a life steeped deep in battle. He was far from handsome, though his scarred mug presented as much shrewdness as it did oafishness. [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]“You don’t seem to approve at all, Guntbrand,” The woman observed smoothly, “Nor do I, for that matter. He teaches truths, but allows his wards to run wild and makes no attempt to bring them into the faith. Thus, they taint our ways with trivial aims and frivolities.” [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]“I’m impressed that he’s so knowledgeable for someone so young,” Guntbrand admitted gruffly, “Only one of the true remnants could have developed a child so thoroughly.” His brown eyes narrowed with further displeasure. “But…I agree. For all his wisdom in the art he is foolish in its distribution. In his quest to revive our ways, he has only served to corrupt them.” [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]“And then there is his ambition,” The woman hummed. The comment was inserted with calm purpose, and and by the little hint of a smile on her lips, had achieved what she had intended. Guntbrand swiveled his head toward her. [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]“What ambition?” He demanded. “Tell me, Gerdtrid.” [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]Gerdtrid responded in demonstration; she stood a little taller than usual and affixed a stern countenance to her mein, effectively mimicking masculine steadfastness. When she spoke, her voice was a deep mockery. “I will rally them around me so that we can take back our home. From there, the throne will be empty, but if needs be I will fill it until such comes who is worthy.” [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]The look on Guntbrand’s face rendered even his hardened and scarred features to something akin to an affronted child’s. His mouth hung open and both his eyes were as wide as Gerdtrid had ever seen them. “King?” He wheezed incredulously. Again his head rotated upon his thick neck, as his expression compressed into share outrage. The training Highlander below became the target of a blazing glare. “He would dare make such a claim? Lounging and strutting about, buggering a pair of Gridanian blood traitors and handing out our ways to the undeserving – while we spill blood fighting for our land! King! I would sooner see Gyr Abania brought to the sea before one such as he sits upon the throne. I care not how symbolic or sentimental his claim may be. Real or hypothetical, I won’t stand for it.” [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]Gerdtrid remained quiet while he ranted, and took a moment to admire the prominent veins along his neck. In his ire they looked like they would burst – but fortunately for him they did not. “It would never come to pass,” She assured him – as if it was necessary, “They would never accept him, even with what he knows of the arts. He’s just a child who plays in the sand while we fight and die to retake what is ours.” [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]“I would be the first to demonstrate my disapproval.”Guntbrand’s words bore a heavy weight to them, from the very tone, to the rasping snort that came afterward. He did not see the wry smile that tipped at his partner’s face. [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]“I’ll leave that to you,” She indicated with a light flourish.“I, in the meantime, must make haste to Vylbrand. There has been a lead on the Bybel of Fire.” [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]Whatever the Bybel of Fire was, it held enough significance to draw Guntbrand’s seething gaze away from the red haired man below. “So they’ve found it then? If you retrieve it, that would place two of them in our possession. You’d best make haste.” [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]Gerdtrid nodded. “Yes – so don’t spend too much time on him today.” Her chin jerked down. “Master will be expecting us both anon, with Bybel in hand.” [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]Guntbrand mirrored her nod, then turned to curl his thin lips into a malicious sneer. “I won’t. For all the knowledge he possesses, it won’t take me long at all.” [/align] [align=justify] [/align] [align=justify]“Don’t kill him, Gunt.” [/align] [align=justify] [/align] “I won’t, Gerd. I’ll just bring him to his knees. Go ahead and claim the Bybel. I’m eager for Master to read us the scriptures within.”

I'll likely level one, but I doubt it'll become a fully fledged character until the whole crazy hype phase dies down.

Duck you had me rolling the entire time. 10/10

Gosh, so hyped. UGH.

Berrod is a roaring, jovial and daring drunk. He accepts the stupidest challenges while inebriated and makes as much noise as possible. He's also a puker when he has way too much.

Neither has Berrod; though to fill the time between that content and now I focus his attention on taking care of (and maybe employing/training) the ones who have had a more difficult lot.

Great group of folks, looking forward to bothering them with SHENANIGANS in future!

Oh my goodness run. Eleni makes me think of Strawberries. Edit: Domri makes me think of a dwarven soul in a Highlander's body!

Except... he never did. He clearly explains his motivations and outright states that Raubahn was fair game because he'd betrayed his fellow Ala Mhigans... somehow. At best, it explains why he did what he did when coupled with that. His own are the Ala Mhigans - and probably when Lolorito fucks them over once more he'll have to eat his words. And then goes into the whole ramble about how the sultana softened him up and shit. I think Soussy meant Raubahn's arm being cut off. Also, dude is still a traitor. It's foreshadowing, so it doesn't have to be literal. Just the mention of cutting off an arm and betrayal is enough for it to qualify. Who betrayed who and cut off whose arm for what doesn't really matter!