Roen

Hm... considering that Roen is in Coerthas currently as a sellsword helping with the defense of Ishgard... ...maybe I will poke one of you for an invite. >_> It can at least help me see who is around the area for RP things?

((The current portion of this post occurs sometime after this post.)) Then. Raelisanne Banurein stood at the edge of the precipice overlooking Camp Bluefog. As dry and unwelcoming the rest of Thanalan was, Northern Thanalan was thrice more so, with a plethora of deadly beasts, a distinct lack of vegetation, a strong Garlean presence, and even cults taking root in deserted pockets of the region. Harsh environs fascinated her; it was under the most severe of conditions that the need to adapt and change was the greatest. The woman regarded the jagged stones that made up the mountainside, absently following the upward spiraling curl of the blue wisps of smoke that emanated from the Ceruleum Processing Plant to the north. Despite obvious audible footsteps behind her, she made no move to acknowledge the approach of the Highlander woman who made her way up the ramp. “Ah. Here you are,” the dark skinned woman greeted her flatly as she stepped up next to the scientist. “Miss Delial,” Raelisanne answered without turning. “How are things.” “I’ve been… occupied. Though things have been quiet, too, in the city.” Delial’s tone was neutral, if not careful. The last time Banurein and Grimsong spoke was before the Highlander was going to deliver a head of Aylard Greyarm, as a message, to the Resistance. The Kinslayer--as Grimsong has been known in the past--had been quiet since her attendance of the Royal Ball in Ul’dah. Raelisanne knew of the woman’s goings ons of course, but expected a report from the Highlander none the less. “We are to release Mister Wolfsong soon.” Her eyes still looked to the grey landscape and the giant boulders beyond. “I am nearly done with him.” "I may have already got that covered, actually." Delial rolled her shoulders. "We shared some words, Roen and I, at the ball just recently. A trade, of sorts. Master Gharen's life for the last scraps of the Resistance cell here. I expected it would have been an easy choice. The Resistance means nothing to her... or so I would think. She's quite sentimental, that one, of people she does not know." "She was always a foolish girl." Her words were clipped, but her placid expression did not waver. "But even if she refuses, she will get her wish. You will see soon enough that Mister Wolfsong is no longer himself." She gave Delial a sidelong glance. "I will equip you with the necessary equipment to control him until the release." "Ah? You've... done it then. His soul?" There was but a smallest lift to the corner of Banurein’s lips. "He is undone." Her gaze returned to the camp below, idly watching a line of recruits doing push-ups. “What emerges remains to be seen.” "Name a time and a place. Roen will be eager to collect, no doubt. As will I." "I will warn you Miss Delial,” Raelisanne tugged at the cuffs of her white gloves. “Mister Wolfsong will not take kindly to your presence, lest he is subdued by methods I give you." "That goes without saying,” Delial said wryly. "I also wish to see the last cell of the Resistance gone." Her eyes paused at a speck of dirt on her sleeve. "She will hand them over. She has no choice in this." Grimsong sounded confident. "You have a few suns.” Her eyes narrowed behind her spectacles, but the calm tone in her voice did not change. “Use it as you will. Mister Wolfsong should be ready in less than five." Delial nodded. "As you say, little dove. I will make the arrangements." "That will be all." Raelisanne lowered her hands, her eyes going back to the landscape. There was a pause, the Highlander lingering by her side. "A... question, if you would humor me." "Speak, Miss Delial." "This... Hm. Those creatures you... used." There was a pause, hesitation in the woman’s voice. "The damage... is it permanent? Will he just... live on like this?" "The voidlings.” Her lips pressed primly. “They will continue to swim within his veins. His aether feeds them. They will go more hungry when given more aether." She glanced to the darkening sky, her face blank. "I suspect they will try and heal him at some point. They have the capability to find more hosts if given enough time and aether." Gravel whispered below the Highlander’s feet as she shifted her weight. There was a slight dip in the woman’s tone, a change that Raelisanne would identify as one of discomfort. "Ah," Deilal said after a long pause. "I see." "They are a creation of mine.” A hint of satisfaction leaked into her words. “I mean to test their tenacity in the field. And this is the perfect opportunity." "Quite so,” Delial’s voice was flat. "I... wonder, though. Would Roen be that much more inclined to return, if... with Wolfsong as he is?" There was another pregnant pause. "Or... do you intend to..." Raelisanne released a quick breath through her nose. “She would see nothing but a waste of a man. A shell. A snarling beast. What would she see in one as such." Delial was staring at the scientist now. "...they are blood. I do not know if they trust my word on it, but... she loves him regardless. I don't imagine she'd... no. She would not leave him if she thinks she can help him." Raelisanne narrowed her eyes, a frown threatening to darken her countenance. "You may be overestimating this sibling attachment, Miss Delial. If she tries to heal him with aether, she too will contract the voidlings.” She released another breath through her nose, her expression turning placid again. “She will need to turn to me to cure it." "Ah." “But his mind is beyond help." "I don't expect that will matter much to her." Raelisanne gave Delial another sidelong look, this one much sharper than before. "It is irreparable. How long do you feed a sick rabid dog before you realize you need to put it to rest?" Grimsong did not meet her gaze for long. She glanced instead to the path behind her, the way she came. "...He is blood," she murmured at last, as if that was all that mattered. With a blink of an eye, the scientist’s expression returned to the blank mask. "He is a beast. Sooner she understands that, sooner he will be put down. Or. He may kill her. And all those around him." "As you say. Yes... I expect it will... eventually come to that. Very well." The woman bowed at the waist. "I've wasted enough of your time. I'll make the arrangements." "It is an experiment I will look forward to seeing to completion." Raelisanne curled a small smile, actually sounding pleased. "Do what must be done, Miss Delial." "Always have, my dear.” The Highlander’s pale eyes turned a shade darker as she nodded. “Always will.” ________ Now. Raelisanne watched as the bare chest of the man rose and fell with even breaths. The room no longer echoed with screams, its cold steel walls ever sterile and impervious. It had stood as mute witness to many of her experiments, from dissections to transformations. More often than not, and much to her displeasure, most ambitious of her experiments ended with a dead body, a corpse of yet another specimen that was unable to endure the stresses that had been put upon it. Death was never her goal. After all, it was in the mind and soul of a living being that the potential remained limitless. As her gloved hand came to rest over the heart of the man who laid upon the steel platform, the woman canted her head. Her attention went from his short but disheveled black locks, to his unconscious face. It then followed the mid-line of his torso to the scars that remained over his abdomen. The two gunshot wounds were barely visible, just a faint web of scars remained where once there was a gaping hole that was quickly draining the man of his life. Soft velvet gloves slowly caressed the pink fibers of aetherically stitched flesh, and the skin beneath her touch responded with goosebumps. Raelisanne smiled. The man stirred, his lungs suddenly filling with a deep inhalation, as if the body suddenly remembered how to breath. Eyelashes fluttered open, and amber eyes flickered about the room, as if to try and get his bearings. He had always been quick to adjust and adapt, she recalled. Now she remembered why she had missed him so. “Where…” His voice was hoarse and cracked, his throat not having had the taste of water in suns. “Welcome back to the realm of the living, Mister Taeros.” Raelisanne canted her head, regarding the man with an expression that almost touched a smile. Her gloved hand came to lay once more upon his chest. “We have much catching up to do.”

Ishgard!!! I looooved Coerthas setting when I did the MSQ quests through it. The unforgiving environment, the theocracy, and every bias and paranoia that came with it! I want more Ishgard lore. I want to explore Ishgard. I am very excited to see how the story plays out there. Also more lore on Au Ra please! While I will not be playing one immediately, I am interested to see how others will introduce/RP their Au Ra characters. I would LOVE to know the naming conventions already...

"This Banquo is very interested in ye. And if he be the one that be gettin' ye in danger..." "...then Miss must take care not to allow this danger to reach herself." "He finds me useful, at least fer now. I am not worried, at least not yet." "No unnecessary risks, Miss. Please." "Don' underestimate me, North. I got my reasons." "...It does not change how I see you. It does not change that I want to know you are well, or at least fighting to live a life." "How could you say that it does not..." "I knew what was going to happen the moment I agreed to go with you."

Oh HO. Very nice!!

Thank you Freelance, for all you have done, and all that you will continue to do on the technical side of things still! And welcome Melkire! Good luck! I don't doubt you already know what to expect from the job. -hands him the buck- -not the bat-

[[Events of this post follows this post.]] Roen woke with a start. A sense of dread pressed upon her chest--so much so that she had to gasp for air as she sat up. It was an odd feeling. She was no stranger to nightmares, but this latest dream--even though she could not recall the details--felt real, ominous, and urgent. The paladin had to lean over the side of the bed, hands gripping the edge of the cot as she collected her breath. Her eyes glanced to the hearth and the fire that had long died over the span of the night. Goosebumps began to creep up her arms as she drew the thick woolen blankets over her shoulders; the haze of slumber was quick to retreat in the face of the ever present chill that hung in the air. Slipping her feet into a pair of fur-lined boots, Roen padded her way to the hearth, bending next to the pile of kindling to restart the fire. She took care not to make too much noise, her eyes going to the rest of the barracks where another mound of blankets rose and fell with quiet snores. She knew not the names of the mercenaries that she had shared the barracks with, and they never seemed to care to know hers. She kept to herself, did not speak much, and did as she was told. They left her alone for the most part, save a few glances or leering stares. But her armor and sword kept any harassment at bay; most mercenaries hadn’t come to the frost-cursed region of Coerthas expecting any indulgences or comforts. As the paladin took up the flint and tinder she paused, a memory on the edges of her thoughts rising to the fore. She suddenly recalled one of the earliest lessons with her brother regarding sword fighting. She had met Gharen near Stonesthrow and he was teaching one of his other pupils a lesson on building a fire. A shy and somewhat fearful Miqo’te named Anzil Oenomaus was set to the task of starting a fire while Gharen and Roen sparred. But it was only a moment later that a spark had caught onto Anzil’s hair and he was screaming in panic. Roen recalled with distant amusement the horrified expression that the young Miqo’te wore after she dumped a bucket of water on his head, as if that was a fate worse than his hair in flames. She and Gharen had tried their best not to laugh out loud, for Anzil’s mortification was clear. As the small flicker of flames began to take hold of the kindling, the paladin found herself staring at the fire, her thoughts lingering on those memories. A part of her was surprised to find herself remembering those days long gone, before all the sorrow and the darkness. She had pushed all thoughts of family and friends aside since that day in Aleport, and it was easy to not think about anything since her arrival here in Coerthas. So why did thoughts of Gharen return to her unbidden now? Pulling the woolen blankets tighter around her frame, Roen made her way back to her cot. She paused when she spotted the kite shield leaning against the corner of her bed, along with the rest of her equipment. Perhaps I have shut out the rest of the world long enough. It had been since Starlight that she had spoken to her brother, and the last words they had exchanged were ones of anger and conflict. But he did send her a Starlight gift--a small woven doll--perhaps in an attempt to reconcile things, along with a missive wishing her well. Never having had the gift for the written word, Roen wanted to find him then to speak to him in person. She too held hope that the rift would be closed between them. But then she was arrested by Coatleque and thrown into Taeros’ dungeon before she got the chance to even write him. Since then, after the escape and all that had followed, she never again had the chance to reach out to her brother, or anyone else for that matter. But now, just for a moment, she found her thoughts wandering to all those she had left behind. Her brother, Gideon, Kiht… and so many more. The cot creaked as the paladin settled into a seat, her eyes going to the small satchel next to her pack. It held parchments and ink. Her fingers curled and uncurled under the blanket, still reluctant to reach for them. What would she say? She did not even know where to begin. It was then that the doors to the barracks swung open, the cold morning air rushing in and threatening to extinguish the hearth flames that were just gaining some life. “Time to go, ladies and gentleman.” Idristan Tournes stood in the doorway, fully armored with a large shield hanging from his back. He wore his usual expression--a mixture of disapproval and impatience, his commanding tone never loud but always sharp. A few grumbles came from the other cots, but no actual protests were voiced as the mercenaries began to rise and gather their equipment. Roen did the same, ignoring the chill that greeted her skin as she set the blanket aside, reaching for her breeches and armor. The letters would have to wait.

[The events in this post happen after this but before this.] I owe him. I owe him much. Goldwind raced up the steps to the entrance to the Church of Saint Adama Landama, a long trail of dust left in his wake. The paladin scanned the graveyard as she slid off her bird, the vermilion Brass Blade chain-mail armor rustling with her hurried steps. Roen had rushed back to Thanalan from Gridania as soon as she had received Mister North’s letter. She had thought him safe, if she was far away from him and with his infamous employer disposed of, she thought the valet out of harms way. But he did not believe the same. “As of the incident some days past, it has become abundantly clear to me that my presence in Ul’dah will, and only ever did, bring ruin upon those I held close and dear. It took an attempt on my life for this to become evident, but having recognized this, I can no longer allow it. I refuse to become a liability for Miss, fatal or otherwise. Tonight I will reclaim what Ul’dah has taken from me, and take my leave.” Roen recalled the strange distant look that had come over the valet when she left him in the infirmary, but inflicted with exhaustion and disquiet of her own, she had fled to the Shroud. As she was readying preparations to travel to La Noscea in search of Nero, the butler’s letter had arrived. Despite all that weighed upon her thoughts, the paladin could not ignore its contents. “It has been a privilege to aid you. When you think back on our time together, I pray you remember not the allegiances, but the people that comprised them. I will do the same.” Gideon North was saying goodbye. Perhaps forever. Roen could not let it be. She could hardly believe that he somehow had blamed himself for the peril he found himself in, let alone believe he posed a threat to her, when he had been nothing but a pillar of strength and wisdom. She could not simply let the letter be his last farewell. And knowing what his plans were for his previous young master, Dynitar Aerstorn, Roen knew precisely where to find the butler. She spotted him easily amongst the tombstones, digging at the ground with a massive spade, his dark red suit stained with lichyard mulch. From the height of the dirt pile next to him, the paladin could tell he had been at this for awhile. His movements stopped when the spade thunked dully against a wooden surface beneath his feet. “Mister North,” Roen called out, pulling off her turban and mask. "Miss Deneith,” he answered, but did not turn to face her. “I should have known better than to dally overlong driving off the attendant." "So... you are truly leaving?" "I have little other option, Miss. I am now a target. Our connection must be severed." He returned to digging, still not looking at her. The paladin approached him slowly, looking about the lonely graveyard. "You were in employment of a man who has now gone missing. Are you certain you were the target?" Gideon sighed. "Miss, losing one master is a misfortune. Losing two is a pattern. And being the target of a direct assault? As my master was the target of a calculated effort to eradicate his family?" "Neither was a failure on your part. Nor do the fault of their misfortunes fall upon you!" He spared her a glance. "If you tell me that this is a coincidence, Miss, you demean me, my masters, and their memory." Roen shook her head, her expression sorrowful but still determined. "Not a coincidence. But also not your fault." "Fault has no part in it. The fish has no fault in being caught. But Miss cannot deny that I am now a target, and that those most closely connected with me are, little by little, eradicated." He exhaled sharply as he returned to his task. "This is the safe way, Miss. Leave." She watched him clear away the remaining dirt covering the coffin, then her gaze strayed to the objects near the dirt pile next to him: a collection of bone shards, strange humours, and some other odds and ends. She knitted her brows. “I do not wish you talk you out of anything you wish to do. Or what you think is best for you or your young master. But..." She paused, her voice softening. "I do not wish to say goodbye." The next glance he gave her sharp. "Did Miss not hear me? This is necessity. Wishes have no part in it. Leave." Roen straightened. "I did. Loud and clear." She stepped towards him. "I will not go. I promised to aid you." She swallowed and gestured to the coffin. "...In this." There was a slight constriction to her throat as she reminded him of the task she had agreed to long time ago. It was when she had revealed to the valet that Nero had been the one that killed his former masters. She was desperate to commit to some kind of recompense for the man, to comfort him in his time of distress. Even if it involved the very unnatural process of trying to bring back the dead, under whatever circumstances. That made Gideon blink. "...You still intend to, then...?" She frowned but nodded. "I said I would." He stared at her for a moment longer, before beckoning her. "Help me pull this out." He lowered himself to the side of the grave, grunting as he gripped one corner of the coffin. Roen hid a grimace as she lowered herself as well, taking hold of the other end even as she eyed the broad coffin, one that was of a Roegadyn’s body size. When the two heaved it up and out of the dirt hole it was in, she found it somewhat lighter than expected. She stared at the dirt covered coffin as the valet looked over it anxiously. She wanted to silently ask for its forgiveness for the disturbance of its rest. Gideon then ran to the dirt pile and his collection of items next to them, sorting through it with frantic energy. “Can you open it?” he called out to her. “I may be able to wedge my sword in between the seams to loosen the nail…” She knelt beside the coffin, fingering the edges. But even those words came slow and hesitant. "Please, Miss." Gideon turned and stood by the coffin, massaging his fingers. He stood watch as she worked the scimitar into the corner, wiggling it deeper then using the hilt as a pivot to loosen the nails. “We will right this wrong, we will fix this flaw,” he whispered, a wide-eyed electric intensity to his gaze. "Mister North..." Roen paused after the third corner was loosened. “Is the research complete? On what has to be done? What will happen?” "Enough, Miss, enough that I have something to go on, but we have no time!” The valet answered impatiently, waving her concern off. “I have no time! I have to use the means available to me.” "Why the hurry? Should this not be done right?" "It will be done right. I will do it right." He knelt by the coffin, as if staring at it would open it faster. "I cannot stay any longer. We must go. The young master has been here long enough." Roen approached the fourth and final corner of the coffin. "Mister North. It is best to do these things precisely. I know not the exact science of such things but..." She exhaled with a grim expression. "So much is at risk. Do not let an assault by a masked man, or assumptions that may not be entirely true, rush you into things that you will regret later!" Gideon shook his head, frowning. "Should I not have let you persuade me to enter Taeros's employ, Miss? That I might 'regret' it later? This is far more important than anything I have ever done, anything I have ever been!" Roen stiffened, staring at him. "That is precisely why you cannot hurry through this." The butler did not want to listen. "It is why I cannot afford to wait, Miss. I cannot miss this chance. My only chance." He glanced nervously toward the church. "They could be here any moment. I cannot stay here. And I cannot allow him to stay here. I should not even have allowed you to stay here." He paused, staring back at her. "Did you really intend on helping me at all?" His words were cold, accusatory, and with a tinge of desperation. Roen blinked, her jaw set. She knelt down and worked her blade into the fourth corner to loosen the last of the nails. As soon as the nails popped off, the valet lunged down and scrabbled at the lid, his face twisted with wide-eyed expectation. Old wood clattered to the ground as he all but tore off the lid. But the contents within froze both of them. The coffin was full of nothing but a half-fulm of sand. "I-I..." Gideon fell back stunned from the coffin, his mouth hanging open. His eyes darted this way and that, from the head of the coffin to the foot of it, as if to disbelieve what he was seeing. Then he swallowed and lunged forward again, scrambling on all fours as if to try and get to the side of the coffin. He leaned over the side and furiously pushed aside the sand within as if digging deeper would bring a new discovery. "No. No no no no no no, no, no..." Roen stood still, watching as the valet frantically raked through the dirt with hooked fingers. “...Where is he?” He gasped. “WHERE IS HE!?” The valet nearly collapsed from the force of the yell; he immediately turned to the church, in apparent fear, then hurried behind the grave--hiding. He buried his face in his hands. The paladin knelt by his side, her voice firm. “Mister North! He is not here.” “I… I…” Gideon seemed lost. His eyes glistened as he looked about. Finally when he exhaled his held breath, his frame slumped forward. "He is... not here." Roen put a gentle hand upon his shoulder. "But he must be somewhere." The valet slowly turned his gaze back to her. "Miss Deneith..." He paused, swallowing. "...Roen, what should I do?" She let out a patient exhale. "If he is not in the coffin that was intended for him, under a tombstone that bears his name... then there was a purpose as to why someone would go through such lengths to make others think that he was." Her hand lowered to his, gripping it tight. "We will find out what that purpose is." Gideon nodded, his breathing starting to calm. "Perhaps this will lead you closer to the truth of things. And... maybe the true whereabouts of your young master's remains." She bowed her head slightly, as if peer up at him as she continued to hold his attention. "There must be records. Who arranged for the burial, the production of the tombstone. Someone must know something.” "...I... I see." The valet closed his eyes. "So, I... I am to return, after all?" He let out a hollow laugh. Roen curled a reassuring smile, the best one she could muster. "You are to do... whatever you wish to do, Gideon. But this is not the end of your journey yet." She leaned back as she released his hand, placing her own upon her lap. Gideon stared off into the distance. "...I'm…” he began, then shook his head. "I'm going to have to fill in this entire... godsdamned grave again,” he said flatly. But soon as those words left his lips he blinked, glancing back at her guiltily. "And to say such things to Miss, after all that she has been through..." He cleared his throat. Roen exhaled, suddenly reminded of her weariness. She glanced away just for a moment, looking to the church as if to collect herself. When she turned back to Gideon again, it was still with that faint curl to her lips, and the fondness to her gaze remained for him all the same. "If it was not for you, I would still be in that cell,” she said softly. "And if not for Miss, I would still be hiding in Gridania." "Then we are a fortunate pair for meeting each other, aye?" the paladin murmured as she rose, dusting herself off. She extended her hand out to the valet, who took it and stood as well. "Yes, Miss Deneith. And what harm could befall such a lucky duo?" He spoke with a tired warmth. Her lip twitched for a moment, as if to threaten a grin. “Indeed.” Roen regarded him for a moment longer before turning toward the church. "I will go seek out a shovel. I am certain we can fill this before anyone notices." She began to pull the turban and the mask over her eyes again, to resume her Brass Blades disguise. "Now then,” the valet muttered as he walked alongside her. “Fill in grave, book a room, wash my face, do damage control." "Aye. The face. It could use a wash." She curled a wry expression as the two headed to the church, leaving the empty coffin behind them.

[[The gift of the shield is mentioned in this post.]] The kite shield was beautifully made. Its edges were reinforced, its surface polished and old dents smoothed out; the emblem upon it shined as a reminder that it would be nothing but stalwart in its defense of those who stood behind it. Roen could only stand there breathless and frozen as she stared at the gift that the mail moogle had delivered into her hands. The paladin had not opened it immediately; she had a caravan ambush to check on, and had tied the well-wrapped package onto her chocobo saddle as she rode with the Elezen knight. And as was suspected, they had found more groups of aevis devouring the fallen caravan, nothing left but a wreckage of wagons and mangled bodies in the snow. The group of knights made quick work of the scalekin, driving swords and lances into them, putting an end to yet another group of dragon thralls in an endless string of many. But after the last aevis fell, Idristan would brook no further argument. He ordered her to return to Whitebrim Front for rest and sustenance, for their patrols would begin again in the morn. So it was within the barracks that the paladin found a moment’s pause, and she laid the package onto the bed and unwrapped it. Roen stared at the shield for what seemed like hours, the hearth flames lending its metallic surface an orange glow. The letter that had accompanied it was still in her hand, crumpled in her grip as her fingers clenched around it. “I hope that this new kite shield allows you to continue to mentor others and serve you well. You are a true Paladin, Roen.” Those were Kage’s words. She had not thought to hear from him again. Not since Natalie died and they had drifted apart. He was lost to his grief, and Roen had been swept up in Nero’s revolution. She had wistfully thought of the Lalafell and others during Starlight, friends and loved ones that held a special place in her heart. She had sent Kage a gift of a white beret, as a reminder of times of long gone. And now the shield and the beret both seemed to stare back at her, their very image spearing her clear through with memories and emotions she long sought to bury here amidst the frozen mountains. “May we never falter.” Those were the words of her oath that she had recited many times over. It was a mantra she had fallen back on when she felt hopeless and lost. And yet she had faltered. “Remember who you were.” She had told Kage this when she wrote to him during Starlight. And yet it was she who was now eager to forget. Then his voice came unbidden from the depths of her memory. The one recollection she desperately did not want returned. "You and I will become a sword and shield. I will slay those who encroach upon us. You shall defend justice and the innocent. An apt analogy, no?" Before she knew it, Roen had snatched up the shield from the bed and quickly strode to the door, throwing it open despite the gust of frozen rain that greeted her. A blizzard pelted her face as she hurried through the courtyard, boots wading with haste through knee deep snow. Once clear of the gates, Roen hurled the shield into the darkness with a loud, hoarse cry. Her scream was swept into the chasm below by the howling winds, just as the kite shield landed many yalms away, skidding and spinning upon the icy ground until it came to a stop at the edge of the ravine. Ice cracked and crunched beneath her armored weight as the paladin collapsed to a seat on the frosted ground, her eyes forlornly looking out into the night. She refused to shed more tears; those she gave to the sea as were the last, the remnant shards of her shattered heart falling there too. But no more tears after. She had promised herself. The paladin remained there, alone in the night, wanting the cold to numb her senses again. A thin sheet of sleet had cloaked her frame by the time Roen rose again, stiff hands pushing up against her knees to regain her bearings. She turned back toward Whitebrim's gate, intent on quick strides back to the shelter. Instead, Roen plodded through the snow to the cliff’s edge and bent to pick up the kite shield. Its emblem still held onto the dim light that was behind her, glimmering ever so faintly. She did not notice the numbness of her fingers as she brushed off the dirt and ice from its surface, her weary eyes going over its dented but dauntless surface once more. Releasing a long breath into the night, the paladin turned and made her way back to the fortress, the shield in hand.

Welcome to Balmung and the RPC! I can tell you from experience when I first joined FFXIV without knowing anyone, that you can play this game solo for a very long time. Especially leveling and doing dungeons and such. It isn't that you are doing anything wrong, it's just that route is easily available to you. Of course, if you are looking for roleplay, soloing and leveling all day isn't fun. Aris has already given you some very good advice. You are likely to find more random and walk-up RPs in Ul'dah, and since you are headed that way for gladiator training all the better! But there are also plenty of great RPers and RP going on outside of Ul'dah too. Also, attending public RP events, like the Grindstone on Saturdays just outside of Ul'dah gates is a good way to meet some RPers. What I also did was lurk in the forums and picked out a few players to contact and PM'ed them to see if they were willing to RP with me. A random meeting if you will. Joining an RP oriented (not necessarily IC mind you) LS is also a great idea, since you can then get acquainted with a group of RPers in that LS. You can peruse through the LS folder and see what perks your interest. I wish you good luck and lots of fun!

Roen's backstory is the foundation from which I draw upon for her motivations and outlook. But Roen is a very private person so much of her history is not widely known nor is it readily shared. When I created the character, I wanted certain historical elements as part of the character, so her backstory was worked out to some detail. And as time goes on with her current RP, I count the last 18 months of RP as part of her history now, and all that has happened has helped her change and evolve. Where as for Brynnalia, my alt, I basically had a clear picture of her personality and that was about it. Her history was vaguely worked out in my head, but nothing concretely written down. That might change when I finally get down to writing out her wiki. And speaking of wikis... Roen's wiki has a lot of info. But I don't expect all of that to be used. I've mostly fared well in people using the wiki/posts info with good judgement in RP, whether it was sprung on me as a surprise or discussed with me beforehand. This is my OOC disclaimer on the wiki page though, and my general view on how I see it being used. "This wiki page contains details about Roen's past, especially in the History section. Some of it may be discovered by those who actively seek it out, but much of it is not generally known. General and Behavior information are free for any observant character to play off of, and the same goes for the Rumors. History is purely there for OOC knowledge and is to help with plot development with those I am involved in a storyline with. Same goes for Recent Events, Relationships, and all the stories in the Written Works section."

Welcome to Balmung! It is a thriving roleplaying community, I am sure you will fit right in.

[[Following the events from here, this thread will be a collection of posts as it follows Roen in the aftermath. They are but scattered glimpses of her ongoing journey.]] Coerthas was an unforgiving place. The ever-grey skies afforded no reprieve from the unrelenting snowfall, and the icy temperatures always seemed to seep in beneath the armor to lay their numbing touch to the flesh and the bones beneath. But for Roen it was not numbing enough. As she pulled the length of her sword from the flesh of the fallen aevis, her chilled armor creaked in protest. Her breaths came quick and heavy, broad puffs of steam quickly dissipating into the frosty air as soon as it left her lips. Securing her footing despite standing a fulm deep in snow and ice, the paladin looked about the mountainside that was littered with bodies of dragonkin and soldiers alike. The assault on Ishgard by the Dravanian Horde seemed to grow with each passing sun. Cold and death were what greeted her since the first day she had arrived, answering the Holy See’s call for aid as many other sellswords did. But unlike them, she did not come to help a nation in need, nor did she come seeking reward or payment. The paladin did not know why she was here, only that she needed to get far away from where she was. After she had watched Nero’s wrapped body burn within its floating pyre sent adrift into the depths of Llymlaen’s embrace, Roen left Vylbrand without a word. Her friend Kiht had watched her go, sorrowful but silent, understanding that the woman wanted to be alone. The frost-covered mountains of Coerthas were the last place the paladin thought she would have come seeking an escape. This was the place where Crimson Mountain had taken her nearly a cycle ago, after all, and she had silently vowed never to return to this cursed region; its bleak desolation only reminded her of violence and suffering. But she knew she had not returned here searching for solace either. “Stay still,” Roen said quietly as she knelt before a knight, her eyes going to the bleeding wound at his side. She yanked off her gauntlet, not caring for the immediate chill that threatened to stiffen her fingers, as she worked to assess the depth of the laceration. The knight just nodded with a grunt, the Elezen’s visage remaining stoic despite the crimson flow that was rapidly staining the snow beneath him. Such was the tenacity she saw in many here -- those used to the daily scourge brought by the Dravanian Horde. “I am going to stop the bleeding,” the paladin murmured as she placed her hand against his wound, his sticky blood already becoming cool to touch. “It should stabilize things until we get you back to Dragonhead.” When the other men came to take him away, the snowfall had already turned to hail, and a gale tossed her frost-licked forlocks aside. She refastened the gauntlet onto her hand as the wagon of wounded soldiers began to roll away. “Deneith!” came a voice from behind. When the paladin turned, she saw a familiar Elezen approaching her with a cloak in hand. It was her commanding officer, Idristan Tournes, a knight-captain under the banner of Durendaire and a loyal soldier to the Holy See. He was one of a few who were willing to accept her into his ranks, despite the paladin’s few words (and even less explanation of her past). He did not care, for Ishgard was in need of anyone that could wield a weapon, and Roen had shown willingness to take any tasks given without complaint. Especially if the task involved fighting dragonkin. No politics, no negotiations -- just putting a blade to creatures that wanted naught but to end lives of men. “The blizzard is only going to get worse.” The Elezen knight tossed her the cloak. “Best guard yourself from the cold as much as possible when not fighting. It hits harder on the mountainside.” Roen nodded, donning the cloak and pulling the hood over her head. Small icicles were growing on the fringes of the fur, and the wool felt heavier with the thin sheet of frost that coated it. “Any more jobs?” Her voice sounded hoarse to her own ears, the cold constricting her throat. The knight furrowed his brows as if to protest, but eventually nodded with a sigh. “Aye. Another caravan was hit, north of here on the pass. We can join those already headed that way.” “Dravanians?” Idristan nodded with a wry curl of his lips. “Do I tell you about any other jobs?" The Elezen had joked a few suns past that the paladin had come to Coerthas possessed with one singular thought: to kill monsters. She did not seem to care for fighting anyone or anything else. The Ishgardian let out a long sigh, his frame bending slightly with exhaustion. “We can head back to Dragonhead and none would blame us for it. We’ve been at this since daybreak two suns ago. We had to exchange out our mounts with those that arrived with the wagons lest they fall due to cold and exhaustion. We could use a rest ourselves.” The paladin exhaled, ignoring the aching and cold limbs that screamed for warmth and comfort. “You go. I can join those at the pass.” The knight snorted, giving her that haughty laugh that only an Elezen could. “And let an outsider defend my homeland?” Roen could not tell if his words were in jest or if they held a hint of genuine scorn. Their disdain for those not of their ilk was as much a part of Ishgard as the icy landscape. But his tone did not affect her; in truth the paladin did not care. Idristan afforded her a small grin that did not linger long when Roen did not respond to his banter. After staring at her with a bland look he turned to where their chocobos stood waiting. “Come. Let us go slay some monsters.” Roen began to follow him wordlessly when the glimpse of color -- red and blue flitting through the blizzard -- caught her eye. It was a sight she had not seen in many sennights: a mail moogle darting her way. The moogle's squinted eyes smiled at her despite the frost that weighed the edges of his whiskers. “A delivery for you, kupo!”

"High school locker picture" was what I was told. Pffhahahaaha! I love it!

Whoa! These are awesome Bryn!

Aw! Pug-pomeranian! A friend of mine has one, they are adoooorable. Welcome to Balmung! I was going to suggest transferring to get in, but you already did that! Balmung definitely has a big RP community... hope to see you about!

BLARGH. I have plans on the 31st. Roen's been such an absent mentor.

3C! I can see Spahro can be potentially helpful... or causing trouble. ^__^ ))

<3 Thank you so much!

These things are fun. First for Roen... Then Brynn!

Roen is a woman who is trying to prove that goodness and integrity are not lost in this world. She has always been idealistic and staunchly believes in "doing the right thing" but she is learning that "what is right" can be vastly different depending on who you ask. And she herself is reevaluating her own answer now more than ever, her perspective has irreparably changed in the last year. She has a stubborn streak and has held steadfast to her beliefs in morals and justice, more so when they were challenged, and yet those beliefs have been constantly tested in the last many months. She has always defined herself as the sum of her convictions, and in her heart, this is what makes up her self worth. She will never admit this to anyone, but her ultimate goal in life is to prove her self worth, to live up to the ideals she firmly believes in. Only... she has recently gone against those virtues and broken her own moral code. Where does that leave her now?

Roen and Nero. [video=youtube]

I was listening to this mostly when I was writing/editing the final post for What You Are In The Dark. It is a sad but lovely piece, I thought I'd share. [video=youtube]

(( 2! Make that sale! ))