Berrod Armstrong

Literal Sexy Devil Burning Blood.

+1

...I can't answer this question here. ...for reasons. /sweat

I think that's a fair bet. Warren's got a hot date with his waifu before the Grindstone. Warren has a waifu?! ... Define hot date. Well, I mean, she's also a wife. I'm not aware the "u" drops off in the event of actual marriage. Also, this board is Safe for Work, so... One overseer with afterglow, coming right up

Inter-racial relationships thrill me OOC, because it opens up a lot of avenues for roleplay. I'll use Warren's marriage to Sei as an example. Berrod was at the ceremony, and while he was very happy for them both, he still muttered and wondered why Warren couldn't find himself a nice highlander girl to make some babies and keep the blood thick. He's an Ala Mhigan-blooded Highlander to the core, and while he may not have any active hostilities against the other races, courting them is questionable. He makes an exception for Roegadyn, but only because they most closely match his model of what an individual should be -- traditionally. Long story short, he doesn't think it's strange, he just sorts of laments that people do it and water down 'good' bloodlines.

No more Toms? ((Do it)) I'm not sure if I'll be on but if I am and you need a person I can roll in. Since I'm not RPing really he'd be a merc for hire etc. No more Toms, I think! Someone else'll have to be the redshirt this time lol. I may bring Berrod, or Blood!

It becomes an issue when Square goes to the lengths they do to prevent certain cutscenes from being hosted on YouTube or the like (end of T12 comes to mind). I still have a working link to that cutscene somewhere, I usually give it to people who want to see it.

Berrod Armstrong walked in a hasty, urgent stride as he made his way across Fesca's Wash. The next cluster of Grindstone matches under his watch was about to begin, and he wouldn't be seen slacking. In his path was Caleb Agron, hanging around to spectate -- and perhaps help in the event assistance was needed. To an outsider's view the collision was one that held the danger of breaking out a fight -- Berrod's right shoulder thumped solidly against Caleb's; only the latter's bulk kept him from staggering backward, it seemed. A green glare met blue, challenge and irritation on the faces of both men. With a grunted mumble Berrod pushed forward and went on his way. He turned his head back to scowl at Caleb, who returned a dirty look to keep things even. A fight was avoided, it seemed, and an outsider was able to breathe a sigh of relief that a spontaneous highlander brawl had been avoided. Anyone who was more familiar with the pair knew better. As Berrod's shoulder crashed into Caleb's, fingertips found each other for a moment's touch; just a grazing of skin -- all they usually allowed themselves in public. The push past was met with resistance only so they could maintain contact for as long as possible -- fleeting a period as it was. The glare between them was encrypted, adoration and appreciation wrapped beneath deceptive layers of hostility. When they looked back one last time, it was a promise to later compensate for the temporary lack of intimacy in a most vigorous fashion. Berrod walked away to his matches, a light smile on his face -- quickly wiped off for the purpose of intimidating those under his charge. Caleb had the luxury of keeping his little smirk as the words murmured during the collision repeated themselves in his head. "I love you."

Confirmed for best laugh of the week

Might toss a character into this! /rubhands

Balmung is still open!

I am a firm believer that it is not the culture that defines the character. While aspects of a race should certainly brush some tone over their perspective of life and choices, it should not be the tool that chips away their monument of their life. Unless, their life was in a highly regulated cultural thing.... then I guess uh? However, I am also a firm believer that it is the life the character lives that will define how they are. A certain seeker we all know that likes his towers certainly isn't falling into tradition. If a character has lived a life where tradition and culture more... common to his race has less weight, he shouldn't actually end up being SUPER TRADITIONAL MAN. If he is, it should be a choice he makes based on his life rather than an archetype placed on the character. In the case of my highlander... he may be from a certain lost nation that was destroyed by a certain mad leader, but he holds very little on to traditions and nationalism. This is HIS Eorzea not the land of men who now lay six feet underground. Culture does not equate to species or race. Culture is usually more locative, though not necessarily (ex - some indigenous cultures in eastern russia and western alaska share more similarities than differences). All the same, the larger the disparity in place/local ecology/method of survival (nomadic cultures vs farming cultures etc) chances are the bigger the gap in cultures. Culture is also the baseline of what everyone knows in terms of how they act around others and what they grew up believing. It defines certain behaviors. While, yes, as you get older you can choose to overrule some of these things, a lot of them stick with you. Were you taught that you should have a firm handshake? Look other people in the eyes when you talk to them? Greet people when you enter a room? Wish people well on an endeavor? Be comforting when someone you know is grieving? Those are all cultural, and there are a ton more. This is why diplomats are so important -- it can be terrifyingly easy to offend someone from a different culture without realizing it. Many cultures share similarities, true, and those similarities increase as globalization occurs, but just look back to first attempts at diplomacy between cultures to see how this wasn't the case (Lord Macartney's trip to China being a big one). which is why I was like 'screw u square' and tossed just about everything written about keeper culture. While I would agree with this in general, if a fantasy universe defines a certain race by it's culture...I wouldn't really bother to disagree with it. What culture IS can change depending on how a world is crafted. I don't think this is what Square has done really, but it's something to note in terms of creating a whole world!

I never thought of that before! I'll just hop back on my male Keeper Miqo'te and start a traditional clan based group that's highly matria- Whoops. What, exactly, is stopping you from making a Making Connections thread wanting to gather people to buck societal trends? I mean, there's a god damned Garlean FC and you're upset there's not a pre-existing off-beat RP culture for you? I said it in another thread today and it stands: Nobody here is obligated to cater their precious RP time serving someone else's need for a story. You want a traditional clan-based RP group? Then gtfo of the cities and go back to not being a part of traditional Eorzean society. Whoops. No one's allowed to judge me, I've got my reasons for being more blunt than others. One may need to appeal to others to nourish that sort of initiative, and it seems that the poster in question is determined to do anything but. ANYWAY. HIGHLANDERS. I'M CURIOUS. How do you roleplay your characters? Well-integrated into their respective pieces of Eorzea? Clinging to the ol' warrior tribe in the mountain ways? As pretty princesses? TELL ALL!

It is just as the writings predicted. Why don't you go get me some lottery numbers yes. ALSO WELCOME NEW PERSON

That is the purpose of etiquette.

...I started using Pingzapper and the improvement has been stupidly good. Unreal. WTFast didn't cut it for me. Anyway, I can only hope this is preplanning as well. Or maybe a measure to show the big boys 'HEY. WE NEED THIS AND THIS AND THIS. PLEASE GIVE SO WE CAN MAKE MORE MONEY'. Hngh.

I don't think it's just FemRoes. I've seen quite a bit of GLBT disposition across almost all the races. Can confirm. There've been more than a few nights where the Grindstone turns into a Taco Bell after the first elimination round. I AM NOT ASHAMED OF THAT SENTENCE AT ALL. Female roes as played by thirsty males: A realm reborn. Sounds mean, but it's a big possibility! Lovely Roe ladies with other lovely Roe ladies... /collartug what...was the question again? ...and when does Balmung open...?

A lot of people have the wrong idea about them in general so if you even show hints of promiscuity then you're going to get slapped by the judgemental hand of Lord Stereotype. I find this a good question. For example -- up until recent developments I played Berrod as a very sexually charged character. He sometimes went out of his way to display his attractiveness, down to the sort of clothes he wore. He had zero problem calling lewdly to women in public, and would often strut about with a blatant "You definitely wanna fuck me" attitude. Yet -- he never got the reputation of being a gutterslut. Was it because Highlanders don't have the same sort of societal construct as Miqo'te? I could never figure it out. Well, if a MIQO'TE does it, it's being slutty. If a Manlander does it, it's just RPing. Obviously we're suffering from fantasy racism. :roll: And if a lalafell does it, a black van shows up in my dri- http://img.gawkerassets.com/img/17l7jakm8bipkjpg/original.jpg[/img]

A lot of people have the wrong idea about them in general so if you even show hints of promiscuity then you're going to get slapped by the judgemental hand of Lord Stereotype. I find this a good question. For example -- up until recent developments I played Berrod as a very sexually charged character. He sometimes went out of his way to display his attractiveness, down to the sort of clothes he wore. He had zero problem calling lewdly to women in public, and would often strut about with a blatant "You definitely wanna fuck me" attitude. Yet -- he never got the reputation of being a gutterslut. Was it because Highlanders don't have the same sort of societal construct as Miqo'te? I could never figure it out.

Competence is not a requirement for canon. It is shown several times over that Hildebrand blunders his way through difficulty with coincidence and sheer dumb luck. In a world where the warrior of light flies around a giant crystal to save the world, where the moon falls and cracks open to reveal a very angry dragon, and where we ride around in big ol' horsebirds and call upon the STUFF OF LIFE to cast magical spells...blundering and luck doesn't require any suspension of disbelief at all. As for the MSQ thing -- I'm pretty sure he's covered up to avoid a spoiler in the event that the player does the 2.2 MSQ before the Hildy side-quest. As Sounsyy said, ONLY the members of the Syndicate and the Sultana are allowed to sit at that table, and it is otherwise mentioned that Godbert is definitely a member of the Syndicate. Given that there are no other discussed possibilities for the robed figure in the untriggered MSQ cutscene it stands to reason that it's him! If they introduced Hildibrand to the MSQ, I'd have absolutely no problem believing it. Hell, I put up with Biggs and Wedge. Honestly if Minfilia can be part of the MSQ I welcome Julyan with open arms. Maybe she can beat the crap out of that whiny barbie doll quest giver and use that skillet to save the world oh my god someone get yoshi p on the phone i have great ideas for 3.0 msq. Heavensward can wait Julyan's time is now

To address the first paragraph, let's take things a step further. Both miqo'te and hyur are 'races of man'. So rather than a miqo'te being a 'hyur with cat ears and a tail', a miqo'te is actually a MAN with cat ears and a tail -- similarly in a fashion of a hyur being a MAN without cat ears and a tail. There is absolutely zero pressing need to emphasize the differences; that is entirely on the discretion and style of the roleplayer and SHOULD NEVER be judged as 'right or wrong'. They're standing right in front of you wagging the damned tail, use your imagination! If roleplayers were made to adhere to this as a standard, then my Roegadyn would forever be heaving his barrel chest, my elezen would always have to draw emphasis to his neck and I would end up lacing every one of my lalafell emotes with popoto allegory. For those who are accused of 'ignoring' the lore. I take that with a grain of salt. I have seen many Seeker characters who are city-born and raised, and therefore completely oblivious to the tribal culture of their race. Nothing wrong with that at all. In addition, it is entirely up to the roleplayer to decide how their character feels about the miqo'te social structures. If they decide to give them active disdain for it because they can't really take to it OOC -- that is their right. It's pretty awful to expect other people to play their characters exactly to those expectations. That third point of yours is more or less a rehashing of the first. Miqo'te aren't so much a 'hyur in cosplay' as they are men with 'this and that feature'. They're men. That's the core of it. Anything else is just dressing that a roleplayer can either choose to elaborate on or not. As much as I side-eye at some of the catboy/catgirl fetishists, I've run through the MMO scene long enough (and it doesn't have to be that long!) to know that THAT GROUP of roleplayers who fetishize the race are in no way near representative of the whole. Man, every game with a hot body is gonna have someone playing the body to get off on it. It's a fact of life -- and not AT ALL in any way representative of the majority of Miqo'te roleplayers. Hell, I play a highlander because GODDAMN THAT BODY -- but that's not the only reason, and it certainly doesn't define me as a roleplayer, writer or person. I think when someone looks through the lens of expectations -- especially awfully specific ones -- they are bound to be disappointed when -- hey! Different people have different ideas, and approach things in various ways! I've been around the roleplaying block in this game a few times and seen a LOT. The things you're complaining about are not as widespread as you think. They're just very visible because they stand out -- and two out of three of them aren't really an issue at all, just a matter of player preference. In conclusion: Different strokes for different folks, but don't expect the strokes to all suit you. To clarify: 'Men' is used in the context of 'mankind' here.

Captain Broenbharsyn -- or Barry, as he was affectionately called -- hauled himself into a nice inn room for the night. Vesper bay sported only two of them available to the public. One shite-hole overnight, and another more luxurious accommodation. His stay at the well-equipped establishment had been paid for by his client; among other comforts. Food, drink, a small amount of gil to gamble away at the docks...everything but a good whore. The man who had bought his business seemed too proper to endorse that sort of indulgence, at any rate. All that shiny paladin plate and properly combed blond hair. He hadn't hesitated to give him a bottle of worn-labelled rotgut however -- a treasure in the eyes of any old sea hound. Broenbharsyn wasn't much of a young man. Pushing forty-four summers the old sea-wolf had already begun to see salty greys in his wild black hair and beard, and his pale green skin wrinkled around bright blue eyes. Half-drunkenly he pushed himself into the room after having tried two other doors that wouldn't yield to his key. It was spacious, with a large bed -- for all the good that would do without a good missy -- and several other luxuries; a desk and chair, a dark armoire, even a few poncy decorations here and there -- a floor length mirror, too. A door led off to the privy and bath. He'd heard that there was hot water, and a bidet to wash his arse. Fancy, fancy. With a grunt he plodded over to the table and set the jet black bottle of booze down on it. While he had decided that he definitely preferred a feisty dancer girl as company, circumstances dictated that he'd be cradling the bottle for company before bed tonight. He made his way to the bed and pressed a hand onto the mattress. Firm, with soft, silky sheets. Nice, nice, the high life was his tonight. No salt-stiffened board of a blanket to fight with for once. The nightstand contained several bottles and vials of things, probably perfumes, oils and whatever else rich folk dipped themselves in before bed. Against his better judgement, Barry opened the little drawers to check for any stray gil a previous patron may have left behind. Nothing. Perhaps it was foolish guilt, but the good captain received a vague impression that someone was watching him from behind. The great sea-wolf turned, only to behold the door and the writing desk with the bottle on it. A deep, rattling chuckle left him, heavy with the fumes of alcohol. The booze didn't approve, it would seem. Speaking of booze, the sudden need of a mighty piss gripped him, and so he plodded over to the privy door. The inside of the place made him whistle -- a large tub, with a shower -- as well as the fanciest looking damn privy he'd ever seen. A flushable one, gods-damn! He noted the hot water toggle on the shower as well and -- there it was, the bidet! Unfortunately -that- implement didn't look Roegadyn sized. Oh well. At least there was a nice face basin with soap. Usually he'd leave the door open, but tonight, this luxury demanded the intimacy of a closed room. The captain relieved himself in a timely fashion, forcing himself to be far neater than he usually was -- he even washed his hands this time, with soap, too. When it was time for him to open the door again, something stopped him short. Years of sailing had given him an uncanny sense of when someone was in an adjacent room -- it was a wonder, some of the things his shipmates got up to when they thought he was asleep. At that moment, with his hand on the door's handle, he felt a distinct presence in the room beyond. Someone pacing slowly, by the sense of it. Very quickly he ran through what he had done when he'd entered the room. Had he bolted the door shut? Likely, it was habit, but now he was unsure. A cautious hand went to a dagger on his hip, ready to brandish it in the face of the intruder. With all the hopes that it was just someone who stumbled into the wrong room, Barry wrenched open the door and held the dagger high. "Oi...! ...Ah?" There was no one there. His only company for the evening, as had been when he entered the room, was that jet black bottle of booze on the desk. A quick glance at the door confirmed that he had bolted it shut, and what presence he had felt beyond the door had evaporated. A rasping snort left his nostrils as he tossed the dagger onto the desk; the captain discounted it as the effects of intoxication. That sorted, he moved to sit on the edge of the bed and removed his boots. Perhaps it was the booze, perhaps it was luck -- when he leaned over to slip them off, something appeared in the corner of his eye. A distinct black shadow right at the edge of his peripheral vision. Barry grunted and turned his head in alarm...but there was nothing there. A steady unease grew in the pit of his stomach; three close occurrences of feeling someone was there, they could not be easily discarded on the excuse of being drunk. Was the room haunted? Perhaps -- which would be just his luck. Fancy fittings and a damned ghost. Still, ghost or no ghost, the sea wolf needed to get some sleep -- after a nip of the gift rotgut. Both boots were flung into a corner, and his shirt floated down upon them soon enough. Barry stood, stretched and took a moment to admire himself in the mirror for a moment. Softened belly notwithstanding, he knew he still had it; barrel chests were all the wenches needed to curl up on after a good romp. Too bad there were no wenches around. That alone drove him to turn and reach for the bottle on the desk. This time, he saw it in the mirror, definitely saw it -- a silhouette, fleeting as it was; hyur sized, black as the darkest night. It had just -stood- there, and the moment he moved his eyes to properly gaze upon it, it was gone. It spooked the good captain in earnest, and made him seriously reconsider the offer of accommodation. He definitely wouldn't be staying here the night. Still, a sip or two of his free booze couldn't hurt before he dressed and departed. Except that the bottle was gone. Barry had turned his back to the mirror to acquire it...and it wasn't there. Vanished. Did he move it? Was he that drunk already? No; he'd just seen it, hadn't he? Damn it all. The large fellow made an awkward rotation, searching oafishly for the one source of his comfort for the evening. When his eyes glanced at the mirror he snorted at himself. There it was, on the desk, blind fool that he was. A curse muttered from his lips as he turned to the desk to swipe it up...and met only air. There was no bottle on the desk. Teeth of cold dread sank into the captain's neck; he had to force himself to look at the mirror, for every fiber of his body screamed at him not to. The black bottle sat neatly on the desk; a reflection of nothing. Barry only allowed himself to be a fool for so long. With no regard for the damned boots or shirt, the sea wolf pelted toward the door and made to undo the bolt. Unfortunately, the metal did not budge, even with a grunting application of mighty roegadyn strength. Against his better judgement, he glanced back at the mirror to check the status of the haunted bottle. Oh, how he wished it was the bottle that had been reflected. The dark silhouette stood in the mirror, right next to him at the door with a firm grip on the bolt. From the way the head was turned, the thing was -staring- at him. With an unmanly yowl, Broenbharsyn released the door as if it had burned him and stumbled back to crash into the desk. Both his hands scrambled for his dagger -- for what good it would do -- but it was gone. On instinct, he looked into the mirror to see if it had eaten his trusty stabber too, but that was not there -- nor was the silhouette. "Navigat'r save me." His moan of terror was almost childlike and primal. Yet, with the thing in the mirror gone, he was emboldened to make for another escape. If he couldn't get the bolt open, he'd ram the damned door down. To his full bulky height he stood, snorting again at the barrier between him and freedom. He took two steps back, tensed, then rushed forward! More than three hundred and fifty ponze of roegadyn might would surely render the door to matchsticks -- and bugger paying for any damage in a haunted inn! Before Broenbharsyn reached the door, a deep piercing gash opened in his throat, spraying blood liberally onto the wooden walls and floor. The wretched, doomed captain stumbled backward with a surprised gurgle and toppled onto his back, dead before he hit the floor. He managed to get a final, upside-down glimpse of the mirror before he left the material world, however. The dark silhouette stood guard at the reflection of the door, with his own trusty dagger held in hand...right at the level where a roegadyn's throat would be.

Yessssssssssssssssss

http://40.media.tumblr.com/f8843a31c95bc984ac2b9e13a584d394/tumblr_nitwfvdkJe1robwlio1_1280.png[/img] "Hm? Just prowling around, prowling around..." http://41.media.tumblr.com/05785f74e83810d9eb1ce501d27d4bd4/tumblr_nirce9qyaA1robwlio1_1280.png[/img] "Think what you will of me; I am not an evil man. I just enjoy more harmful vices than most men. Are you without vice, my friend? No? Then I have every right to strike at you, as you have sought to strike out at me. Come. Let us see whose vices will be perpetrated past this day." Burning Blood, my...less than savory Hellsguard.

I'm just grinning here because I really enjoy how Godbert Manderville has evolved from a simple quest NPC in Bronze Lake to a side story character who has taken on more life than the main character of that side story. Yes. Need more characters like this. Develop them! Intrigue us with them. Kill them if you want but at least let us have our fun first. I also enjoy you guys for looking so deeply into the NPCs themselves! Fun stuff.