Berrod Armstrong

Everything hurt. That in itself was not unexpected, nor was it any sort of hindrance. It had been a few days since Berrod's outburst in Schism; days that had been occupied with intensive training and assisting the Resistance when needed. Atop the Circles of Answering Master Armstrong had pushed him again and again. The younger monk had been convinced that the training would be his end -- but Ronsen only showed Berrod that he was too strong for that. Strong as he was, Berrod was not invincible. His left arm was still quite sore from the kicks it had been forced to endure -- not to count all the other blows that it had sustained during their training. Ronsen had done his best to provide some sort of healing...though time would have to do the rest. It wasn't a problem; Berrod was no stranger to soreness. He was very grateful for the moment's respite on the third day's sunset; the skies darkened as the sun sank beneath the wall in the west and gave way to the sweeping cool of evening. The monks had taken a short trip from Schism to the Velodyna to bathe. Berrod was grateful -- the day's grime was heavy upon him and he stank terribly. His clothes were soaked with stale sweat that had become far too sour to ignore, and his body had gone a stage beyond musky to the unbearable. Master Armstrong fared no better, and grumbled about smelling like 'a minotaur's armpit'. Their clothing would need to be washed the following day and left in the sun to dry; fortunately they carried interim outfits in their packs. The younger monk wasted no time in stripping down; he was still letting his hair down as he sloshed into the water. It was yet warm; the land below still afforded its heat -- night would come to claim it swiftly. The water was only waist-deep where he waded, but it did not stop him from submerging himself completely for just a moment. Refreshment coursed through him; every muscle sighed in relief. The outermost layer of filth was shorn from him as he emerged, and so began the active effort to wash it all off. Ronsen made his way a few yalms past, and set to bathing both his body and his gargantuan red mane. For the life of him Berrod had no idea why his master kept it that long, it seemed like such a hassle. He'd never asked, either -- something like that was none of his business. In the end, he didn't care about it for more than a momentary wonder. His cause for concern, however, laid in the myriad scars that mapped Ronsen's body. Cuts from blades, claws, and even a few puncture marks were all painted onto the broad muscles of the older monk's back -- many of which Berrod did not remember being there previously. A frown pulled on his lips as the other man dipped below the water to get himself properly wet. It couldn't hurt to ask, really. The pair hadn't had much in the way of small talk, and the topic of scars was as good a starting point as any. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the awkwardness to come. Ronsen emerged from the water like a wild beast; his hair flung water in an arc that splashed quite a line in the river. Fortunately Berrod was not hit by it -- that would have been an irritating circumstance. The older monk had resumed washing himself off, when he caught Berrod staring. Granted, it was not an unsavory stare; Berrod had just been waiting to start the conversation and had simply forgotten that gaping at another person was rude. Still, Ronsen's face crumpled into irritated displeasure. "You're staring," He grunted, "Stop that, that's disgusting. You're disgusting." It was Berrod's turn for a facial contortion. First, a moment of confusion, then a move to outrage as the other man's words registered. "What? No -- get over yourself, I'm not starin'." A moment's pause. "Well -- I am, but I was waitin' for you to come back up so I could ask you something about your body." His hand made a general gesture in the other man's direction. The horrified look on his master's face both angered and entertained Berrod immensely -- though he hastily sought to clarify before things could escalate further. "I mean your scars. You've got a lot more than when we parted ways last. How'd you get them?" That was enough to defuse the affronted and potentially accusatory air about the master, whose presence simmered as he simply continued bathing. "When we parted, I went to see to some unfinished business," He offered vaguely, "I'd say that you have too few scars." It was his turn to squint and stare -- which was evidently not at all a crime, "And they're all so light-coloured and faint. I have to strain my eyes to see them. I had so many more at your age." "Yeah, well, maybe I'm just better at deflectin' harm than you were." "Our training in the Circles would say otherwise." Berrod had to chuckle at that. "Fair. You trained with the Fist, your trials were harder than mine, by far. I was just a refugee -- that and I had you and...and Gem to protect me." It was strange to see how much Ronsen's face lit up at the mention of Berrod's mother's name. It was a painful-looking mix of fondness and sadness that made Berrod feel like a fist was closing around his heart. For just a moment, he wanted to smile...to remember her, to laugh with him about her. The woman he always had in his heart, mind and soul, even if he never mentioned her to another -- no she was too precious to share like that. Far too precious... ...which is why he sent a lashing splash of river-water in his master's direction. "Oi, oi! What's that look about, ah?! Don't be makin' that kinda face when I'm talkin' about her! Pervert!" For a reply, Berrod received a well-aimed dousing, courtesy his master's sweeping palm. "Pervert?! Calling me that while you're staring at another man while he bathes! Gem was a dear friend and I wouldn't betray your father like that, even if he was dead!" Berrod was going to kick even more water at Ronsen, but curiousity stilled his hand -- or leg, in that case. "...what was he like? My father. Gem always talked about him, but she was biased, you know? I only see his face in dreams, and I don't remember what it looks like when I wake up." The older monk scowed and grunted. "He was annoying, just like you. He was a proper Ala Mhigan, though -- dark skin, bleached hair. Strong. Everyone was surprised when you took after your mother." That fist around Berrod's heart closed tighter. How he hated to yearn after what was lost. "...did you get on well?" "No, we didn't. People thought we were always fighting over your mother, but it wasn't like that. They were short sighted and foolish. We just clashed on a lot of things. I respected him greatly, regardless." Berrod had opened his mouth to ask more, but Ronsen lifted a forbidding hand. "Finish your bath, and let me finish mine. I'm not going to talk about these things while standing naked here with you on an empty stomach. I'll cook us something and you can ask all you like. It's about time you did, too -- you were a damned constipated young buck." While the younger monk suffered the urge to clam up out of spite, he was truly desperate for Ronsen's accounts of his father, and of their life before. It was something to make him feel even more attached to the cause, something to fuel his fists as the worked toward liberation. It was something that would make it easier to join in on conversations with the twins about family. "You got yourself a deal."

Berrod felt as if his face was going to explode. It was true that he had quite a temper, but recently he had learned to still himself in the face of the many aggravating circumstances and provocations he faced on a daily basis. The not-so-simple ritual of breathing, thinking ahead, and remembering his place had served him well many a time. In that moment, that ritual was experiencing a critical failure. The source of his ire was no less than his master, Ronsen Armstrong. Together they had traveled the dust-blasted landscape of the Fringes and entered the temple carved into the very mountainside by the first monk. The first Fist of Rhalgr. Schism was its name. Berrod had been told tales about it by Master Armstrong himself, but this was the first time he had ever laid eyes upon it – much less stepped inside. It was a dark, cold place, replete with the architectural stylings associated with the old order, including a statue of the Destroyer himself. The two Highlanders did not buy their entry easily; they were made to combat frigid spectres of spirits without rest, given corporeal form in one of the most horrifying fashions – bhoots. Nevertheless, the pair had persevered and their obstacles laid low. Berrod had felt a fresh exhilaration in the victory…until Master Armstrong chose then and there to have words with him on the very topic that would ever return. “I am glad to be back here again, though my nostalgia is tainted with a sense of disappointment and sadness a tits state.” The man’s cold, pale blue eyes seemed to glimmer in the limited stream of light, “In many senses this temple reminds me of you. Strong; a call for nostalgia, a place of hope…now ruined…rife with potential yet bereft of the will to realise it properly.” Berrod was glad that it was too dark for the absolute crimson at his neck, ears and nose to be visible, though he still imagined that Armstrong felt the heat that radiated from his fury. He stiffened in that awfully telling way that he usually did – and his master saw prey fit for the taking. The fuming Highlander wanted nothing more than to shatter the other man’s jaw with a good swing…but he knew better. Ronsen Armstrong was already an imposing man by his own right – Berrod was tall among his kin, but Armstrong had the advantage of three ilms over him. While three ilms did not seem like much, combined with thick, corded musculature and damn near unbreakable bones, Ronsen was less of an old man than a golem made flesh. It was true that age had lined him slightly, and faded the red of his hair into a wild, coppery mane…but it had not brought weakness. Not a whit of it. The master knew as much, and so continued on his train of thought. “You did one thing right, I suppose. You carried things on as I had asked, just in case…though your choice of pupils leaves something to be desired. I’ll admit that there are a few who showed great promise. That there was even one is a boon that a beggar cannot afford to be particular about. I’ll do what I can with them. You can rest and return to your pirate and wood-bloods.” Berrod must have given something away in his expression; Ronsen’s own face perked with intrigue that tilted his head just slightly. The younger man was only barely able to perceive it through the haze of his fury. “Ah,” The master hummed, “I’ve struck a nerve. I’ll not apologise for speaking truths, these circumstances are of your own making. We should continue – I want to keep this promise to you at least, before we part ways. You should be honoured that I’m still bothering.” “Shut up.” The words had left Berrod’s mouth without thought, and without even a moment for him to consider restraining them. The moment that followed was a deathly silence; Ronsen stopped talking and his entire face froze mid-word, while Berrod himself felt the chill of the cavern nigh snatch the soul from his body. Never before had he spoken thus to his master, and with good reason. Master Armstrong was a relaxed man because he was a powerful man, and that power was shamelessly brought to bear when applying consequences to ill thought-out actions. Very carefully, the master gave the estranged pupil a chance to retract. “What was that?” The tone feigned a hardness of hearing while still threatening dire retribution in turn. Berrod, however, had already decided to commit. If he was going to die there he’d die satisfied. “I said shut up. I’m not afailure because I didn’t turn out the way you wanted me to. I’m not weak because I’m not strong as you. I’m not a bad teacher because my students are odd.” He jabbed a finger in Armstrong’s direction, “What I’m worth ain’t for you to measure. Never has been.” Ronsen stood and listened with a stony calm that usually settled before a mighty storm. His eyes never left Berrod’s – even as the younger man continued to rant. “You humiliated me in front of them, so much so that I don’t know if they like you very much. That’s not what I care about though. I don’t care about what you say or do to me. The way you’re goin’ now though – they’re gonna be miserable with you and I hate that idea. I hate that you moved from a man who just wanted to make sure that the art lived on to an arrogant old bastard who doesn’t know when to mind his damn business and let people do what they need to do to grow.” That finger struck out again, “Stop talking about my family, they got nothin’ to do with you. If this is how it’s going to be, then you can choke on your swivin’ promise.” Berrod was not given a chance to breathe for the next section of his tirade. Ronsen stood before him one moment, still and disdainful. The next, the older monk’s instep was but an ilm from the side of Berrod’s neck, moving with a speed and force quite capable of messy decapitation. He was fast. The younger man had only a fraction of a tick to process all of that and move accordingly. Ronsen’s leg connected with a hastily presented left forearm, braced with Berrod’s right hand. The student’s feet shifted apart on the stone walkway as the impact sounded as cannon fire in the cavern. Pain exploded through his flesh and bone – which did not snap, for a mercy. Armstrong peered at him without expression, his leg still extended. Berrod suffered only a moment of conflict, but it was a moment that cost him dearly. Several rapid snapping kicks lashed at his guard from that very leg. They assailed him with such intensity that it was all he could do to stay standing and weather the onslaught. His arm felt like it was about to shatter, and his hearing was assaulted by the whipping crack of it – the cavern only served to echo and intensify the din tenfold. There was no choice left for him to retreat and retaliate. Berrod could at least match Ronsen’s speed, though his left arm was useless for the time being. He blasted back in with a straight thrust toward the older man’s solar plexus, hoping to catch him in the follow through of the kicks. The old man was not so unwise as to leave himself open, however, and managed to turn the charge into a throw. Wrapped hands clutched Berrod at the wrist and belt; Ronsen used his standing leg as a pivot and took his student’s momentum to task. One spin sent Berrod flying toward the foot of the Destroyer’s statue. He rolled roughly along the dusty floor and collided with the pedestal. Spread-eagled and dazed on the floor, there was no hope for him to defend. Ronsen was over him in an instant, and pressed one of his gaiters firmly onto the younger man’s throat. The master glared down at him with unmistakable killing intent. “Do you believe those words so fiercely that you’re willing to fight me to defend them?” He asked calmly. The older monk even had the grace to lift his foot a little and allow Berrod a reply. Berrod was not deterred, for the first time he felt a clear sense of purpose – even if it meant that his throat would be crushed for simply declaring it. He believed in himself, he believed in his pupils, and he believed in his path – and so he spoke. “I believe in ‘em enough to fight and kill you to protect ‘em. I believe in my students, and I’ll protect ‘em with every breath I’ve got left.” The words came out as a bit of a breathless snarl, but they held weight nonetheless. He stared into his master’s eyes with conviction – no anger, no hatred…just purpose. Ronsen nodded. “I see.” His foot applied pressure once more; Berrod was prepared to struggle to the last. Then…he removed it, and exhaled with an exasperated inflection that made him look twice his age, “It’s about bloody time.” Poor Berrod was all but sure that he was about to die. While the reprieve was a relief, it did leave him quite flummoxed – too much for proper words, at first. “Buh…?” The master simply deadpanned at him, then beckoned, “Get up, you look so stupid like that. You finally regrew your damn stones. I’ve been waiting for that since you came the first time. We’re going back outside to climb the rocks and visit the Circles of Answering. Rhalgr knows you need the practice.” That was all he said; Berrod was only granted the sight of Ronsen’s broad figure traversing the walkway once more toward the cavern’s exit. “Are you gonna train me?” he asked somewhat hoarsely, “I thought I wasn’t your student anymore?” “You’re not, fool,” Armstrong chided. His back was still to the younger man – though he stopped. “You’re my peer. I’m not going to train you. I’m going to train with you. Hurry up. The sooner we get this started, the sooner I can keep my promise.”

No problem! Some users outside of the US will experience the speed roller coaster. Don't worry, it'll go up to your max speed enough to complete before long!

Remember if it gives you that big error message window, go to internet options and delete your temporary internet files!

Downloaded -- their compression really impresses me tbh. 6 gigs? Lol.

I made an alt to go meet new peeps and RP and stuff and it's been cool. Dodging all the hulabaloo and having a ton of fun. *Mod edit: Cleaning happened. Have a nice day!

So... look. I'm one of those Balmung people that transferred over to Mateus to help get settled and promote community growth. How's it going? I'm going to lay down some fucking data here, since the conceived notion that Mateus isn't growing or isn't becoming more active is 100% incorrect. The Mateus RP Hub has grown so much that events are happening daily. They aren't just spur of the moment activities either, there are planned out events happening constantly where it used to be weekly or bi-weekly. The RPM, the RP linkshell of Mateus, is getting ready to open it's 3rd linkshell. That means we are quickly hitting 250 active players. This is a mains only linkshell. Mateus itself has grown by over 700 characters in the last three months alone and is the second fastest growing server behind Cactuar. You know something about Cactuar? It's the largest open server on NA. Mateus is the smallest even after the 700 people. Hell, Mateus has gained 16% of it's total population in the last 3 months alone. This doesn't include anyone under 35. Between my poll and Leggerless's poll, over 400 people have given their vote to support Mateus. With the RPM/RP Hub growth coupled with server populations flourishing it is plainly obvious that not only are people rolling on Mateus there are also transfers (such as I) going to bring Mateus up. Your notion that you think so few are willing to help is wrong when data and events say the opposite. If you feel like more should be done pick up the slack yourself and help build up Mateus. This.

LOL. I keep typing Susano'o and outing myself

Pretty sure it's a mask. Maybe. That's what I thought at first, but apparently there's concept art of wolfpeople wholly furred going around. Havent found it myself but 2-3 separate sources have reported it (mrHappy among others) I thought it might actually be a new race planned for us, but given their samey faces, I suspect they're a beast tribe, if so. Their tails were wagging. Probably a beast tribe tbh.

Lakshmi is so pretty...jeez...

Share share! It doesn't reflect my character's canon, but it's more of a 'Warrior of Light' thing. Simple line, really, just variations of: "Open the Seventh! Let it break the limit!" I don't know how something so simple can entertain me after all this time, heh. Mine aren't too closely canon either really . The one for my mch was when I was a treasure hunter after all lol. Dragoon's was a persona I hope to forget >~>; I like yours though <3. Maybe I should do something regarding the deities... Also I just wanna note I welcome any macros, even for raises lol. I like seeing people's raise macros. I know folks typically use them to indicate who they've selected for a raise (in case more than one person dies and the healers have to share the rezzing load without confustion), but when they add a bit of flavour it makes things more interesting. I take a peek and maybe chuckle a little.

Share share! It doesn't reflect my character's canon, but it's more of a 'Warrior of Light' thing. Simple line, really, just variations of: "Open the Seventh! Let it break the limit!" I don't know how something so simple can entertain me after all this time, heh.

I have one for my limit break ability usually! I used to have one for Perfect Balance way back when I first started playing, but when I figured out the monk opener I got rid of it. The LB one always tickles me because it makes it so much more dramatic than usual.

People tend to group up and go make their own open world RP. A hub is...nice, but honestly, the culture of the server seems to lend more to finding your circle, and then finding all the RP you want within that circle -- and the other circles that intersect it. If one does not yet HAVE a circle, then the largest hub is the Quicksand. Outside of the Quicksand, there are several temporary, repeated hubs that come in the form of different weekly or monthly events (Grindstone and other fight clubs, social events hosted by various FCs, as well as the pop up RP initiatives -- among other things!). Balmung seems to have gone beyond the custom of traditional/conventional hubs. That, and with social media more prevalent than ever, a lot of people take to those platforms to make their contacts and find groups that are right for them. Those options tend to be more fruitful than the hope of cultivating a new hub after hours and hours of presence and effort that not everyone may have the time for. If someone someday decides to do it, great! That would be super awesome -- but so far it looks like the alternatives have been winning out.

I kind of laugh at this. People are so vocal about how much the MSQ sucks, how much they hate it, how much torture it was -- then want to spin and say that new people SHOULD DO IT AT LEAST ONCE before applying jump books. I've done ARR+Heavensward eight times. I think that people should mind their business and let folks decide for themselves what the hell they wanna do lol.

I'm outfitting one of my alts to go exploring in one of the low pop servers. Can't hurt to run around and help out a budding community here and there. And maybe also colonize a house or something. I've been curious for some time.

The thrill of doing MSQ for the first time. The initial gear climb. My first tries (and wipes) against raid bosses. Essentially that entire new expansion experience. I'm in love with it. Roleplay wise, looking forward to just seeing how everything affects my characters, and how I can use the new zones and zone lore to take my FC to new places and adventures.

https://68.media.tumblr.com/cbee754512ab376043d5dbe72b88de2d/tumblr_inline_opc7lmcNoE1r6gcke_540.png[/img] “You should think on what your master told you,” Ginny advised carefully. The dark haired Midlander woman had deigned to pay Berrod's home a visit with a basket of fresh vegetables in tow. She'd been surprised to see the man tending a garden of his own, though she knew better than to comment on it. Berrod's pride and sense of masculinity was a fragile, stupid thing. Instead, she had opted to deliver the vegetables and very casually ask for a mug of water. He'd brought out a pitcher and two mugs for them to share while they leaned on the bordering wall to talk. Eventually he'd managed to confide his latest adventures and misadventures in her, and as ever, she had counsel -- especially on what his master had said. “That I should stop buggerin’ men because if I do, I’ll get disease?” Her pretty face contorted into exasperated discombobulation, and her arm gripped her mug in a manner that spoke loudly of the urge to pelt it. “Wh-- no, you idiot, not that part! The part about opening your -- things. What were his words again?” “Ah, yeah," He murmured. In a more confident tone, he repeated the mantra that had been offered to him -- a reminder of a lesson taught years ago. "Open the chakras to open the body, open the spirit to let it flow through, and open the mind to direct the stream.” “He didn’t say that lightly, I'm sure. That sounds like one of your obscure training clues.” “Yeah, it is. I learned that sort of teachin' from him, after all. Still...I’ve opened my body, an’ opened my spirit -- I’ve opened my mind, too, so I dunno what else I’m supposed to do.” “Hrm -- if you think you’re done there, then I don’t think you’ve opened your mind quite yet,” She hummed behind a sip of cool water. It was then that it hit him. He blinked up at Ginny twice, dropped his mug, and grabbed the sides of her head. Her forehead endured the assault of a wet smooch atop it. "I love you," He groaned. "We've been over this, I'm engaged now," She grunted as she raised the mug for use as a bludgeon. It was enough warning for him to let go of her -- Berrod wasn't much of a gentle man, and had been squeezing the sides of her head quite hard. "Yeah, to that runty rich boy, I know -- but that's not what I mean. You're right. You're absolutely right. I still need to finish openin' my mind. Finish directin' the flow. I've been only directin' half of it so far -- the rest I've been dammin' up...lettin' it trickle because I'm afraid of it. That needs to change. Rhalgr's Levin, Gins, you're bloody brilliant." Slowly, she lowered the mug and set it onto the low wall. "I'll take your word for it, Berry. It sounds like you figured out what he wanted to tell you," She smiled at him in that warm agonizing way that reminded him of feelings he worked every day to forget. "So I should head home and leave you to it. Tell the boys I said hello, will you?" Berrod grunted and stopped to gather his own toppled mug, along with hers and the basket of vegetables. "I will. Tell your fiancee...bah. Don't tell him anythin'. I can't stand the bastard." "I'll send him your best!" "It'll be a lie!" "I don't care!" She had turned and whisked away down the street, trailing the scent of her perfume. The smell of it made him feel alive, good...and guilty all at once. Ginny hadn't been off the mark though. There was work to do, and the sooner he started, the better. https://68.media.tumblr.com/626d8894f8bb8b8128a9df22563cea66/tumblr_opc754tggC1w3s4hfo3_540.png[/img] ((Tumblr post here!))

Except the White Mage symbol is upside down. That's rather interesting. Well it would look odd for a rapier to point down? It would. But traditionally, inverting a symbol indicates there's something amiss or wrong, or in distress. It's just....interesting. That was my first thought too! Then I realise that they just inverted it in order to avoid confusion, to make it completely distinct from the ordinary white mage symbol at a glance.

https://68.media.tumblr.com/d8fac96b481f13945526ae13e40067c6/tumblr_inline_op6ca4WiOD1r6gcke_540.png[/img] Firelight danced off of polished wooden walls, adding orange lightning at the backdrop of the red-embered glow. The fireplace responsible hosted two large, soft and red armchairs before it, both placed down upon dark red carpet. Between the armchairs a simple stand featured several bottles of expensive alcohol and an ashtray, all of which remained untouched for the time being. A grey-haired Highlander man sat in the left chair -- rather comfortably, at that. He was a bit short for those of his kin, but his broad frame and hardened features made the mark of his clan unmistakable. Granted, he was dressed crisply in stylish Ul'dahn business attire. Loose, long-coated and adorned with gold trimmings and precious gems. An eye-patch concealed his left eye -- but not the horribly deep scar that cut through his forehead and cheek both above and below it. The other eye stared lazily into the fire, the reflective silver having adopted the red glow. Relaxed though he was, his body language spoke well enough of expectation. There was a knock on the heavy oaken door to the room, which bid no movement from him save his mouth. His voice was gravelly, yet held no shortage of authoriative confidence. "Come." The portal was opened with not a sound, and an elegantly dressed Highlander woman entered. She was far younger than he -- yet still bore the presence of a person of ten and twenty. Her own colour choice was blue; a deep, evening shade of it that dominated the outfit, down to the earrings and the jeweled clasps that held her long black hair in one. The dress had left her arms bare; it was there, without the smoothing cover of blue material, that the harsh musculature and scars of battle showed -- at least, until halfway down her biceps, from where a long pair of gloves finished the outfit. Ordinarily the old Highlander stood in the presence of a lady -- but for some reason he remained seated, still staring into the fire with barely any regard for her at all. Had it not been for the minimal beckoning gesture toward the adjacent armchair, it may have been easy to say that he'd missed her entrance entirely. Nevertheless, she swept toward the chair and sat without complaint. "Help yourself to anything you like," He offered calmly. The firelight clashed with her brown eyes as she turned to look at him a bit warily. He still hadn't looked in her direction. "No thank you, I don't partake in any of this." "That's fine. Do you know why I've called you here?" "I can't rightly say that I do, but I did attend the function you requested me to. It was...pointless, and stupid. Almost insulting, how those people live while others suffer." She seemed to catch herself then, "Though I understand why you do it." "Of course you do. Moving on, I called you here because I don't think Fyrhaerz will last long on the board. When he falls, I need you to take over. I trust you not to fall." The man's hands clasped on his abdomen, a fist cupped in a palm. "Will you do this for me, Oda?" Oda turned her gaze away from him and tipped her head back. "The resistance needs me, Gunnar. You've done much for me, but I don't know if I can turn my back on this. The time is getting close." Gunnar simply sat there in silence, his eye still on the fire. "...but if you supply my group with weapons and armour -- even a few mercenaries..." "Consider it done." "They can't know that I'm consorting with an Ul'Dahn businessman." "I'm not Ul'Dahn. I worked for this position so I could help in this way," He reasoned, "I'll muddle it as best as I can, but if people protest I need you to reason with them." Oda turned to look at him again -- she allowed the incredulity onto her features easily enough; after all, he wasn't looking at her. "You're putting an awful lot on me here." "It isn't without its reward." "Or risk." "That's how these things work, Oda. Do this for me, and you will get everything you need. Both for your group, and for your ambitions." The palm on his fist gestured subtly with fanned fingers. Whatever Oda's ambitions were, they were enough for her to lean back and consider in momentary silence. Gunnar was patient, though it wasn't long before she relented. "How long do you think Fire Heart has?" She asked carefully. "Not long," He answered with confidence -- vague though as it was. Her pause was again drawn out. "Alright. I'll take that time to prepare. If his students survive, I want them. They can do so much better than him." "I'll arrange it," Gunnar promised. "Then we have ourselves a deal," Oda declared. With that said, she got to her feet. Gunnar seemed to take issue with it, though he didn't move. "Where are you going? Sit with me a while. You must be tired after the gala, and I could use the company." Oda froze; even through the sweeping evening gown the tension in her body was obvious -- most prominent at her exposed shoulders and neck. Still, she managed to take a seat again...this time with her eyes firmly fixed upon the fire. "I don't need convincing any more, Gunnar, I said I'd do it. I won't turn back on that." In a complete departure from her self-assured tones, her voice wavered. The fire seemed to be the most interesting thing in the realm. Next to her, Gunnar slowly began to turn his head in her direction. He was blurred in her peripheral vision, but she could already see the white of his awful grin, and sensed the terrible silver of his eyes. Her breath quickened, but she steadied herself and centered her spirit -- she was strong enough to endure his pressure, his presence. For a while. Yet, every reminder of it filled her with terror, and that terror fuelled her obedience. Oda was very aware of how much Gunnar revelled in that. The glass bottles next to her began to crack, and even the fire seemed to struggle. The wood of the chairs they sat in creaked, and the air quickly gained the consistency of thick syrup. "You're a monster," She whispered. "Never forget it." https://68.media.tumblr.com/4c856f711fb0a0c2108425ea42f9aebb/tumblr_inline_op6cfhnjVl1r6gcke_540.png[/img] (( Tumblr post here!))

My own hands are full, but I'm linking this to different groups that may hold people who are interested and available! Hopefully you guys get responses soon!

You mean like this? It'd be nice if they don't contradict themselves, but you know how good they are at showing Ala Mhigo's diversity. You'd almost think there were no female Highlanders. I always assume every region has that '10% other', like in the lore book for every single place that's mentioned.

This has been the meatiest live letter in a lonnng time.

They were stronger than he was. Berrod had always known it -- it was in fact, part of the reason he had invested himself in them. The ones who were weaker never lasted. Those were more numerous than he would have liked to admit. The Highlander found himself suffering his own moment of weakness -- a moment when his own selfish pride had managed to eclipse the pride he'd felt for those who had entrusted their learning to him. It was not a feeling he wanted to fester. After all, he had devoted himself to making them stronger, and to help them become leaves on the wind to both preserve and better what had nearly been lost. An obvious answer had come to him; if he was so stuck on being weaker than them -- at least relatively -- then he would just have to work harder to maintain his ground. No, not maintain, he'd reasoned, to climb higher, to always be able to teach and guide them. He had stagnated, and it was time for that to end. True, he had accepted his fear, anger and jealousy, and had decided to be content with that...but that acceptance had not come in moderation, and he had let it all bring him to a standstill. Now, more than ever he needed to raise higher -- and also sink deeper. Playing at retirement and a so-called normal life was not going to fix anything. Learning and growing was. The Goldsmith's guild. Little Ala Mhigo. Mor Dhona. The destinations instantly etched themselves in his mind. There was work to do before the dam burst and plunged all into chaos and blood. http://i.imgur.com/BSoBGcR.jpg[/img]

OH MY GOD THIS MADE ME SO SO SO SO SO SO SO SO MAD