Ryanti

It'll be the only time I can actually convince myself to go to bed before Midnight. SO I CAN GET UP AT 4AM WEEEEEEEEEE.

“Doesn’t mean you can’t ever spoil us.” The young man said back. Ryanti remembered the first time they had stumbled into the mess hall all of those days ago. It was different back then. He remembered feeling the same feeling one would feel if they were on stage for the first time. It was frightening, and he remembered being so nervous. Nervous over being accepted, nervous over looking the part. Nervous over winning everyone’s trust. He wasn’t sure how far they have gone within this week of sailing, but it was nice to not feel those bad feelings anymore. He felt normal now. Comfortable. So did the rest of the crew. Jonathan was always walking around like he owned the place, though. Ryanti believed that man only had one mode; hard work and hard working. Eighty-five tried to shake off her emotions with a light sigh, burying the thoughts by distracting herself with a sudden ambush hug. Her target (or victim) was none other than Susuroon. “Susu!” She shouted with excitement as she nearly caught the Qiqirin off balance with the sudden advancement. “Good morning!” Young Seventy-Seven smiled lightly when Marjanie passed him. He really needed that acknowledgement, that assurance. Sometimes it was hard to face the situation that you were all alone in this waning and creaking vessel. He had felt terrible, absolutely terrible about P’welro, and the past few days had been quite heavy on him. In the back of his mind, he still wondered how he was able to partake in the vision that she experienced. Being a part of this Unit meant that Ryanti was incredibly used to being taken somewhere else, to witness a story or a memory, or something important. But this was not a dream induced by residual aether, no. This was different. He could not quite pinpoint the reason it happened, but it just made him concerned even more for P’welro and for everyone else. He had grown close to these people. Already he was thinking about how he could possibly see them after everything was over. However he had already been chastised by Jonathan a night or two ago. Something about keeping his mind in the moment. That was what their entire crew was doing, actually. All of them wore incredibly heavy and focused faces when they were not solemnly distracted by something. They were all deep in thought about the mission they were about to perform. The aura about him foretold that their job was –very- serious and –very- sensitive work, perhaps sensitive unlike any other sensitive mission Sounsyy had been on to date. It was nice, then. To have slept well for once. “We all received adequate rest.” Jonathan responded to her statement. The blunt man sat himself down on the bar’s end, and began to pick and choose from the food that was available. He was very specific in his choices, making sure to only ingest the healthiest of the mix. He even proportionalized it so that it would create the best situation for his digestive system to absorb. “We’re very thankful of the efforts of this crew to assist us. My men are ready. If all goes according to plan, we should be sailing north by evening’s bell today or tomorrow, with no further incidents. We need time today to focus on chores of our own, which including cleaning our equipment and getting it ready.” “Does that mean we can party after we’re done?” Eighty-five mentioned, with a giggle. She had swiftly came back to the bar top and sat herself down. The hug from Susuroon brought a bit of her old self back. Jonathan smirked a little bit and actually managed to snort. Holy crap, he was showing emotion! Then again, he had enjoyed himself quite a bit that last night. He had actually demonstrated to the crew that he knew how to play a lute. There were other reasons why his fingertips were calloused besides business and building boats. “Not exactly. We would still have ultra-sensitive information on board. We would have to be very vigilant until the cargo is transferred. Then once the Roehmerl returns to friendly water, then they can party.” “But we’ll be gone by then...” She said, her words trailing off. She silently took a clean plate of her own and began to pile food on their randomly. While she had briefly became her old self, she was now once again despondent in her facial expression, seemingly consumed by thought as she quietly ate at nowhere near the pace that she used to. “I see that you got some rest yourself.” Ryanti mentioned at the Captain, his glance examining where the dark bags under her eyes used to be. “You look better without those black lines.” Like he had before, Ryanti had taken a seat next to the Captain. He smiled a little awkwardly and paused for a moment, taking a little bite out of the food he had placed on his plate. He looked equally serious. His eyes were filled with determination, and preparation. It was the very familiar look, a look of someone about to go to work. He was mentally preparing himself from venturing into the darkness, with no idea of what to expect. But something pulled at him, the very same feeling that allowed him to sit next to her. There was a feeling, something that he could not explain. A feeling that their fates were tied together somehow. That there was something he didn’t know. It scared him. “The only words that we could discern was ‘stand firm’. That was all that happened. I saw nothing else. It was just all black.” He mentioned, in a quiet and empathetic voice. He had no clue that Sounsyy had seen so much more. The will of the artifact did not speak to him anything more than was necessary. For him, he just had to know. For the Captain, however… “Whatever happens… we’re ready. As ready as we will ever be. Don’t worry for us… we’re in this together. You got pulled into all this, so… the best thing I can do is make you happy you were.” He had nearly looked at her. Nearly smiled. But during Ryanti’s reassurance, something was happening a few seats down. “There once was a woman I knew who would always sit in the corner of the room during lunch hour at my old school. When anyone approached her to try to talk to her, she would always say something about how she preferred to eat alone. Something about enjoying the flavor in silence being a better experience for her. Of course when you were in the kind of school I was in, you learned to deal with people that may or may share the same cust-“ It looked like Forty-three was rambling again with some story of his, like he always seemed to do. Some individuals loved hearing his tales, but Eighty-five wasn’t really feeling it that day. She had her fist resting on her cheek and her eyes glinted towards the Captain. It was obvious Forty-three was trying to help, but… “Thanks Forty-three. Really. You don’t have to. I know you care.” The Lalafell looked at her with a bit of a frown, feeling a little helpless in aiding her. “Ah… I see. I’m sorry, young lady. My thoughts just wander sometimes.” Eighty-five sighed a bit, shaking her head. No, it was true that she was suffering on the inside, but… there was something more pressing right now. Something more immediate that she was having a hard time dealing with. She was certainly struggling with it on the inside. “No. It’s okay. Just… just…” And so, right when Ryanti finished his words, the entire mess hall stood still in sudden silence as Eighty-five suddenly groaned out loud with a booming “Ugggghhhhh!”. Ryanti immediately turned around with his hands up for some reason in some sort of protective posture, being caught completely off guard. Jonathan nearly choked on his food. Eighty-five suddenly stood up, after banging her two fists upon the table in front of her. “I just can’t take it anymore!” She yelled out. Had she finally lost her mind? Was all of this too much for her? She was a new person to this after all. Still green and still a reasonable rookie. It would have been realistic to have thought that. But no, it wasn’t for any reason any one could have guessed. If they didn’t know her. Within moments, she had stormed out of her seat, walking behind Forty-three… Jonathan… Ryanti… and finally, hitting the brakes when she approached right behind the Captain. “This… THIS.” She viciously commented. What could she possibly be angry about? Just then, her hand had reached out and grabbed the hair band that tied up the Captain’s brunette hair. Within moments, she had yanked it off! The hair had rather sloppily fallen behind the Captain’s head! “We’re gonna fix this!” Jonathan just stood still, his food still in his mouth. Perhaps he had forgotten to chew. Ryanti raised his hands up a bit and shook them back and forth. “E-eighty-five, what are y-“ He tried to say, but then was silenced by her whipping out a comb from her pocket. “Sssshhh!” She harshly mentioned to Ryanti. “If she’s a friggin’ Captain then she’s gotta have the hair of one!” Ryanti made a slight noise of surprise and leaned a little back from her with wide eyes and clenched teeth. Oh, there was nothing the crew could do about this. The shock had begun to turn into repressed laugher. Her scorn in a matter between two women and fashion issues was so high that one would get ripped to pieces if anyone even came near her. “Miqo’te sailor girls are all the same these days. They don’t give a whoop about ladies fashion!” She exclaimed, combing through Sounsyy’s hair to try to get all of those neglected knots and split ends out. If any time she had tried to look back or protest, she simply said “Just keep eating, ma’am! I’m in the middle of saving your womanhood!” Her obscene comments about the state of her hair nearly drove the mess hall mad with laughter. “That perpetual wetness ain’t from water droplets from sailing the seas, honey. That’s from your hair weeping!” She had gripped the woman’s hair a bit and pointed her comb at the Qiririn. “Susuroon! Get the wine opener!” She fully combed throughout Sounsyy’s locks a last few times. It had looked much more velvety now. Like a light brown blanket of hair. It had gone from fighting the Captain to serving her. “Twelve’s Graces I need to send you some things after this mission. Susuroon!” She called out again, the Qiririn arriving in time to hand her the wine opener. “Now stand still, -please- stand still.” She begged the Captain. First, she grabbed a thick bit of hair from one side of her hair. She placed the churchkey of the wine opener through one half of that thick bit, and then layered the other half over the churchkey. With a twist of the wine opener, she had created a braid. Even Ryanti had grown red in the face and laughed under his muffled lips, covered by his hand. Eighty-five was created a thick braid on the side of Sounsyy’s scalp. “We’re halfway there.” She said with a sigh and a swear under her breath, pinning the end of that braid at the back of her head up with a bobby pin. She repeated the same process on the other side. This labor was taking a lot out of her. Mentally more than physically. “I hope you remember what I’m doing ‘cause I ain’t gonna be around here for long.” She complained, forcing more laughter out of the group. It was a great distraction for her… at least she would be able to fix –this- problem. “This is a crash course girl, because you shoulda learned this at fourteen. No butts!” A few twists, a few tugs later, and the young lady grabbed whatever hair remained, and squeezed it –tightly- together. Moments later, she snapped it up into a ponytail, and combed the hair down until she was satisfied. She snapped the comb down upon the table next to her, and unhooked the bobby pins. It stayed! “Clean dish, Susuroon! Get the cleanest one!” She ordered, pointing a finger at him to have him hurry. Hurridly, the Qiririn went to go find one. He returned moments later, holding up the cleanest dish he could find. It was not as perfect of a reflection as a mirror, but it sufficed. She held it up to the Captain, showing her face by bending herself over her. “Now –that- is what a Captain looks like!” Amid the clapping and the whistling cheers, Ryanti still sat. The little smile on his face lingered, but the sparkle in his eyes were much more evident of a smile than his lips were.

Oh my god I have so many. And a lot of them are recent. I could mention some right now. T13, being mesmerized so much by Ankh Morn that I simply watched the Warrior use Holmgang and forgot to cover him. So I basically just sat there and watched him die. Countless times on T7 back before the nerf of destroying my friends with the scream. Sometimes when I was tanking someone I would turn around but the hitbox would still be hit and they would still get stacks. Being annoyed at the healers until I realized it had 5 stacks GG. Wondering why the Ninja/Dragoon/Black Mage pulled hate before realizing I don't have shield oath on. In a T13 farming party. After the patch that kept it on. I could go on and on.

This is just simple headcanon here, but I think it's one or two possibilities. 1.) All people. Yay! Everyone can move to Ishgard and things will be like it was in the past before they closed their doors. 2.) Only adventurers. AKA every player character. But not the average schmo. I think the former makes sense more to me because in my headcanon, I just can't see the devs allowing only the WoL and his party in when the whole idea of the expansion is opening up an entire new part of the country to a swath of adventurers, which is how the devs portray the players running around. Maybe it'll be a slow and gradual process, as any wave of immigrants in a country creates... issues. But yeah. They also said in the Live Letter: "Since we have added Ishgard to the city-states, there will be a market-board here as well." Around 8:36. So in my head-canon, I reason that... if they're opening the market in Ishgard, then that must also mean trade is going to commence between the North and elsewhere now. So that's just my opinion on it.

FFXIV is one of the few MMO's I know of that have a veil on that sort of thing. Unlike most MMO's that have their one 'spot' where people aren't afraid to be loud on shout chat, that kind of stuff is mostly underground. It's there if you want to look for it, if you know what doors to knock and passwords to say for said doors to open for you. But it's not out in the open. I'm no stranger to the jokes people make about Hermit's Hovel and various places around the Wanderer's Palace, with the hot springs and changing stalls and stuff. As well as the immense database of Quicksand jokes. But if you go to either, I doubt you'll run into more bad experiences than good ones. So if you are expecting a bad experience (or have expectations that are way too high), you have a better chance of being disappointed than anything. But again, taking this subject and turning it around to suit the thread... the idea that people aren't running around shouting for debauchery aka 'Goldshire-ness' is an example of roleplaying etiquette. I can't really tell you why it is this way, but I believe that part of it has to do with how hard it is to make a character on here so people from other servers can't really sneak on here that much. Though I -want- to believe that the RP community here on XIV, as a majority, have respect for one another's public space if that makes sense. Unlike someone who pours thousands of words into reporting nothing but negative experiences they have on some thread on the official forums. Out in the open.

Nope, you certainly aren't. Shows the value of knowing all the sides of the story. What kind of bothers me is that there's a damn good chance some newbie to RP looking at Balmung or whatnot is gonna come across her thread and change their mind about coming here. But really, though. It took multiple posts to even get a response from someone else. So let them live in their own world I guess. At least that person isn't naming everyone.

[align=center]Day 8: 0400 Hours Garlean Exploratory Naval Vessel: The Ganesha Simulation Room 004[/align] “Advanced Gauntlet Simulation Procedure: Defense Course completed. Your current tally for today’s training session: One thousand, three hundred and twelve successful parries. Two hundred and fifty-six successful ripostes recorded in a total of… ten runs. Would you like to continue?” The robotic voice hummed from the administrative console in the room. The place was a hexagonal shape that contained one door per side of the hexagon. The entire space was thirty fulms by thirty fulms. The only lights in the area were dim LED’s that traced the bottom of the sides of the walls, circling the room with a deep blue ambient glow. In the corner of the southern side of the room laid the terminal, which stood out from the floor in a cylinder shape. The monitor faced the entryway of the room, which laid opposite of the center of the room. Within the room stood a man. His trousers were loose about his legs yet tight around his waist. They were jet black, with bloody red stripes on each side. His boots were thick and durable, plated on the top with a light layer of reflective steel. He was an imposing man of medium bulk, a Hyur Midlander standing at a full six fulms tall. There was not an ilm of body fat on him from what any average man could see. He could hear the heartbeat within his own chest. It was irregular, like it always was. With a harsh breath, he blew the stress out of his mind. He was not a normal man. The injuries upon his body were immense, and partially unnatural. Scarification existed on both of his arms, and one enormous slash mark was stamped on his chest. Various spots of his back and neck were burned as if with torches. But these were only the natural wounds of war that he carried. What was the most compelling fact about him was what was done to keep him alive from the much more serious injuries that happened to him. In several very specific and intricate spots on his body, steel alloys and cybernetic components were woven into his skin. To replace tendons… joints… even muscle. At times, the light blue glow from the Ceruleum fuel that coursed through those steel components like adrenaline would to normal tissue illuminated the parts when he stressed them. They were heating up, just like a computer would, and cooling down when he became less stressed. The age upon his face would place him in the mid-forties if it was left natural, however the modifications to his body had seemingly stopped his natural wrinkling of his facial features, reversing the process and allowing his face to look slightly younger at around a man in his late thirties. He had a full head of hair with locks that bent and curled around his scalp in a wavy form of an Imperial style, yet it had turned grey very prematurely due to the effects of having Ceruleum in his body. But it was half of the overall components that kept him alive. After an incident involving Allagan artifacts, his body had been on the brink of death. But Garlean technology kept him alive, despite destroying whatever fortune his family name had left him. The man, known by the name of Terminus Sas Garvus, did not care. His family’s fortune was from his old name, a name he had discarded decades ago when the Empire took over his homeland as a little boy. Fascinated by the strength, beauty, and power of the Garlean Empire, he had tossed away his lineage by the time he was a man. To him, his old name was the name of a child. A savage that lived in a muddle of filth until saved by the civilized world. Over time, he had grown fascinated by Allagan technology. He had grown fond of serving the Empire via providing them with material to reverse engineer. He had no interest in its people or the values of the society that existed millennia’s ago. To him, their time was over and it was his responsibility to utilize their works as tools and leverage, just like everyone else, in order to promote the wealth and dominance of the Empire. His greedy exploits and selfish pursuits allowed for him to misuse and abuse Allagan left-behinds. One such indecent nearly destroyed his body, but his resolve to the service of his Motherland was infinite. Even as his natural aether left him as Hydealyn called for his soul, he denied her the gift of it and kept himself alive by feeding on the aether of prisoners and criminals. His foreign lineage allowed him the use of magic, which he exploited as well to do just that. Just like anything else. This training session was boring him. The magitek battle-bots standing around him idly was cakewalk to him even on the highest setting. What the modifications took away from him in the form of taking years off of his life and leaving him forever uncomfortable with permanent respiratory problems and irregular heartbeat, it gave to him the strength of five men and the stamina of three. The cybernetic enhancements had elevated his reflexes and strength to unprecedented levels for his race. He could hit with the power of a Roedagyn and even beyond, yet still with the speed of a Midlander. His eyes, which used to be blue but now a dull red due to his aether issues, glanced over to the training console. He made his way over to the console, firmly pressing down on the initiation button again. “Advanced Gauntlet Simulation Procedure: Defense Course initiated.” The robotic voice stated from seemingly all corners of the room. He stepped into the center of the room, and closed his eyes, waiting for the beep. He had taken something from the panel, which he then glanced at. It was a rebreather mask with a circular piece on the bottom of it in the shape of a collar. He bent his head slightly forward, and the attachment automatically snapped together around his neck. He placed the rebreather over his mouth and it locked into place with another snap, connecting to the tiny implants on the sides of his cheeks with magnetic connectors. His loud and full breaths could be heard from the mask the instant it was placed on. He heard the beep, and the metallic contraption came to life. They began their procedures of swinging, stabbing, lunging and snapping at him with advanced procedures from a program studies from the martial arts and styles of all of the nations they have conquered so far. The man brandished his sword and began to defend himself as if it was nothing. His body moved in cohesion with his footwork. He was incredibly precise and straightforward with his blade work and defense. Over time, his movements seemed to go faster, as if he was trying to entertain himself. The cybernetic parts of his body illuminated with a very dim blue, showing some stress, but not much, even as he began to defend himself with one arm. As he did so, that arm moved at a pace no normal man could keep up with. Light squeaks emanated from his Ceruleum parts as they moved to rapidly defend, defend, and defend. His rebreather increased in breaths as he got more and more agitated, more and more bored. Finally, he just could not take it anymore. He began to methodically reduce the training bots to bits one by one. He dismantled, dismembered, and disabled them in… colorful ways, barely breaking a sweat. When he was done, the bots laid upon the floors in scraps and pieces, smoke billowing from everywhere. “Violation: Offensive Moves Utilized in Defens-“ The panel began to say, before the Tribunal disabled it by punching the failsafe with a finger. Terminus snorted in a rather pissed off manner. Oh well, he thought. It was useless to continue this daily. They were no match for him. “I told him that this will not suffice.” He said outloud, referring to his Tol superior that fancied a vacation while sending him alone to practically do his job. What a lazy fool. “I shall have to order only the latest batch of models from now on.” He told himself in a deep and sinister voice modified slightly by the rebreather. He marched to the door of the room. His skin was beginning to burn. He needed another cleansing. His first of six per day. -- [align=center]0500 Hours[/align] The cleansing felt nice. The showering water, blended with medicinal fluids at a ratio of 1 for every 100 drops, helped to soothe his eternal wounds and clean them for now. Until first lunch anyway. He was in full dress now. His crimson Imperial Coat of Plates, signifying his rank of Tribunus Angusticlavius and the Commander of the Garlean Manipulus on the ship, hung from the center of his deep black armor. Like most of his rank, it was partially standard Garlean fare, and partially customized just for him. He had armor on his neck that were plate of Garlean twine cross-stitched that hugged his throat and cupped his chin. His rebreather rested on top of it. Garnishing his outfit was a brilliant crimson half-cape that hugged his left shoulder and fell all the way to his feet. (1) The men and women that walked beside him felt a lump in their throat when they were next to him. Unlike the Manipulus that were stationed on the ship, Terminus was considered a very staunch idealist, and even an extremist. His incredibly intimating posture by nature struck fear into the hearts who served him, although it also commanded absolute obedience and respect, which was why he was tasked to uncover what had been discovered: a derelict Allagan Starship from a few generations behind their downfall, carrying valuable data of an unknown sort. However, not everyone was afraid of him. Awaiting at the end of the Bridge, overlooking the main deck stood a woman one fulm shorter than he. She was another Hyur Midlander, with raven black hair tied up in a professional manner with occasional swaths of her hair sticking out from her loose knot on the upper-half part of the rear of her scalp. (2) She wore glasses with black-laced rims, complementing her rectangular lenses. Her cold hazel eyes pierced through those lenses with a very strict and sharp sense of self. She was very attractive, and if the men (and perhaps women) on this ship were not afraid of her too, they would probably be fighting over her right now. She observed the main deck and examined the Garleans upon it. Unlike the Roehmerl, the Ganesha was mostly powered by Cereleum motors on the rear of the vessel, allowing it to sail multiple times the Roehmerl’s top speed with minimal effort. The men upon the deck had duties much less involving the sails that remained (which were concentrated on the rear of the vessel in a circular design), and more duties involving routine maintenance of upkeeping the immense firepower on board the main deck, and of course the enormous pride of the Ganesha, the massive Magitek cannon that could split a Limsa ship in two with one shot if it was spot on. The female Ala Mhigan native smirked. The men and women here were easy to win over. They were hesitant about two foreign leaders at first. But learned very quickly about insubordination. When the bridge doors opened, the tall man entered, his cape flowing. The men and women underneath the bridge, managing computer terminals, did not dare to look. With guile, the Tribunal proceeded to address the woman once he had reached her, crossing his arms and glancing out at his men. “Primus Ordinarius Silverstien, I see that you have persuaded the deck hands to keep their pacing on schedule this time.” He said with his signature ominous voice. “I merely did my job.” The woman stated, adjusting her glasses with a smug expression. “Of allowing these men to do theirs.” Terminus laughed slowly with a gruff manner at her comment, closing his eyes for a moment before re-opening them again. His pale red irises focused away from the deck and to the side windows, where he could see the water. They were making great speed. The Easterling ships had three days prior and they had already caught up to them: The might of the Garlean technology at work. “We are making splendid time. In a matter of mere hours we shall arrive at the approximate location of the Allagan Starship. Once there we will immediately begin an introspective surface drilling, followed by the extraction of anything and everything concerning value to the Empire’s cause.” Terminus spun around on his feet, raising his voice so that the men and women on the bridge could hear. “Continue your recourse! Impress me with your work ethic and you will be rewarded with bonus compensation and paid vacation!” “SIR YES SIR!” The Garleans responded, happy and motivated in their efforts to impress their Tribunal, who had damned well impressed them. It was unusually different from his normal routine, which was more fear-inspired than promise of reward. But it was because he was excited – excited to discover what was down there. In a few hours, he would get to see what laid dormant in the Indigo Deep. The woman in question, a woman by the name of Cynthia Silverstein, turned to face her Tribunal, whom had begun walking back from the bridge and towards the door again. “We will have to slow down our nautical pace within the next two minor cycles in order for the Easterlings to stay with us. The total combined time before we reach our destination is hovering around the four hour range.” “I am aware, Silverstein.” He responded, the doors to the bridge opening and closing behind the two as they made their way back. “These damned Easterlings and their bed blankets for propulsion are getting on my last nerve. Hopefully with this massive success a Legatus will finally approve my bid to compose our scouting party of entirely Garlean vessels, however spread thin we are the dimwits will realize just how important my work is for the Empire.” He paused for a moment, smiling underneath his rebreather. She had been a loyal and persistently efficient woman so far. “And of course, your work Misses Silverstein.” “You compliment me sir.” She said to him, with a slight smile that could tell anyone that she loved being told good words. However, her face turned a bit serious when the Tribunal stopped. He seemed preoccupied with something in his pocket. It was a triangular piece of equipment about the size of a palm of a hand. The metal it was made out of seemed… strange and foreign. She could see that it was emitting something, and that the Tribunal was occupied with it. “But I must ask, what must you be peering at every so often?” She said, as she took a peek from behind his shoulder. The imposing man suddenly snatched a hand upon her shoulder and squeezed with cyberneticlly enhanced force. Immense pain went through the woman’s body, and her professional and snap-headed demeanor faded into an instant as she yelled in pain to the grasp, forcing her look away as she grabbed at his hand, her feet spazzing a bit. “I am afraid that is for the Tribunal’s eyes only.” He said with a hoarse breath as he let go, causing her to stumble a step or two before losing her composure. She dusted off her military garb of pure black and saluted him. “My apologies sir.” “Now leave me.” He ordered her, and within moments she was gone. With no one around, the man slowly clicked the button in the center of the triangular artifact once more, and stared at what it had displayed in front of him. “Finally, something worth my time salvaging again.” -- [align=center]The Roehmerl 0700 Hours Indigo Deep[/align] The early morning sun had passed about an hour ago. The scheduled time for the unit of Jonathan’s was to wake up at eight o’clock when things went according to plan. This was how it always was since they began this lengthy and memory-laced journey together with the crew of the Roehmerl… when things went according to plan. Yet inside of the small room, where they had been nesting since the beginning of this grand adventure, everyone was awake. Except for the legendary Captain Pamido of course, who slept like a damn log all the time when he did get to sleep. “I am not saying that there hasn’t been multiple incantations of the word ‘firm’ in regards to how it can be interpreted.” Said the voice of Forty-three, a man known to be rambling like this, especially when it came to deep discussions of matters involving mysterious dreams they were having. Unlike the Captain, the three members of the unit that did have these dreams had a much briefer version of the Captains. It was merely the sound of a voice, an otherworldly voice. A voice saying ‘stand firm’. “One could say that standing firm would mean to not fall off the side of the ship like that poor lady. Having another storm upon this could confirm that.” He continued. Then came the voice of the leader of the unit, the former Ala Mhigan Drill Instructor. “That voice was not one of ours, and not one of theirs. It was told in a commanding, yet anxious way. It was a warning. A warning to stand ground. The Captain of this ship is not so gaunt in the brain to write it off as a mere passing of another storm where there isn’t a single dark cloud in the sky.” “All I am saying is that we cannot adequately confirm that this was a direct message that our mission is going to go up in smoke! We need to rely on our heads at least equally to the dreams we have is all I am saying.” The Lalafell consented, sighing and folding his arms being huddled in the corner. “I want my staff back.” Ryanti had been up earlier than any of them, yet had not said much. Even before the morning light his eyes were open. He had seated himself upon his mattress with his back against the one window in the room. In his hands he held a notepad only about a quarter of a Fulm long. He was more anxious than ever on days like this, when he knew that it was the big day, and that anything could happen. He wasn’t sure how anything could prepare him for the task he was about to consent himself to. For what fate or destiny laid out before him. Ryanti was a deep-thinking, concerned man at heart. He had thought much about the journey he has experienced so far, and thought deeply about the people of this ship and the people of his unit. In the first section of the small notebook, he had already written much. The pages were thick with his own private thoughts, his own private concerns, and his own private wishes. But there were many other things written down too. At one point, he had written about Fruhsuun’s humming and Fruhsuun himself who was given a chance to write a few things in his notebook too. It inspired Ryanti to ask others during leisure time to put something down in there as a memento. He was able to get a good bit so far. One poem from Marjanie and a recipe from Susuroon (Who Ryanti had to write down himself because Twelve forbid the creature got his hands on it). Some stick figure sketching of his unit destroying their enemies from Eighty-five and some advice about random facts of life from Forty-three. Jonathan, after eons of persuasion, finally had written something down in there as well. It was… instructions for how to build a rowboat the ‘Jonathan’ way. A bit bland and impersonal, but Jonathan was a private man. Ryanti also had a section for private thoughts: a short diary of sorts. He wrote about his feelings, experiences… and the trip. He also wrote about others. Many words were written in there about Pamido’s stories. About Jada’s skills. There was a great bit about P’welro, and of course, about Sounsyy herself. Those were the hardest to look over after he had written down those words. They also were the two people Ryanti wrote about the most in his book. Now he was on his third section of the notebook, divided by tabs. This was where he doodled random sketches as he saw fit. But this time it wasn’t random. He was taking a lot of time with these sketches. He was being serious about them. All the while, through the hours that he stayed awake alone, he doodled, and thought about those people. He probably didn’t have time to do something for everyone. Actually, he knew he didn’t. But he at least wanted to do it for some. As for what that was, well, who knew? Ryanti had not showed a soul that part of his notebook yet but his own. “Why don’t we ask the Keeper.” Forty-three finally said after that long moment of silence. “Ryanti – what do you think that message meant?” Ryanti took a few more seconds sketching out the bits of a sketch he had planned to give P’welro, looking up slowly from his doodle with a bit of a sloppy stare because of his intense focus recently. He sighed a little, adverting his gaze from the Lalafell, pursing his lips a little bit. “That they are watching over us.” He murmured finally, slightly embarrassed over being so honest. But he said it like it was nothing. Like he felt he knew. “That we’re going to make it.” The Lalafell frowned a little at Ryanti’s notion. It sounded a bit too romantic for a man that was raised in medicine and always second-guessing things. Jonathan however smiled in a little rough manner, and closed his eyes and sighed, trying to rest while he could. They had one hour left, after all. One hour… The only one that did not talk was Eighty-five. She was still on her side, pretending to be asleep, her back facing the rest of the group. She huddled her arms next to her breast, and for the most part had a very sad and despondent look on her face. Concern filled her mind and doubt lingered upon her stomach. Why was it that they were getting the dreams, but she wasn’t? Why was that? She understood that she was new, but… why? It scared her. It scared her so much. So many times she had thought to herself that she should tell Jada… and during one of those serious moment in the last few days, she had. She told her that she was only one not getting the dreams, and it ate at her. She felt alone in this group. And it hurt.

Quoted for truth. I actually busted my ass to get Miner to 50 to support my crafting. All to try to get as much money back from my investment in Miner and as much gil in general as possible to get that damn thing when it came out. But now I know it's a MSQ unlock. I'M SO HAPPY.

Two words: LARGE. ZONES. Two more words: BIG. SCALE. Ishgard is an enormous city, and the sense of scale with the new zones is fantastic. The only gripe I had about being immersed in FFXIV is that the world felt a little small and compact, especially compared to the lore that came with it. (Ul'Dah having an enormous 'refugeetown' outside of the city walls being shown in-game as two tents, for example) But now it fits my imagination. Now it feels like a world! I looooove it. Hopefully now there will be a true sense of exploration and adventure!

This is my rig. Designed for PVP.

Boooooo. So much for badass dismounts from the air. I think they were trying to prevent stuff like this from happening. [video=youtube]

Welp, we know how pretty they are. Not let's see how much they cost.

This has turned into the best screenshot thread on the entire website. Just saying.

I'm afraid I must agree. I let it slide for a while during 2.0's time, but I've really come to resent just the sheer amount of female attention when it comes to clothing options. Pretty much anything that is geared toward males, females can wear. I can only really think of two outfits that aren't (The Snow outfit and the tribal outfit) minus the default underwear. That's three outfits. Females have way more to choose from. From the latest blog alone I can deduce that women get two or three new what I assume to be level 1 glamour outfits and males only get one. Then they tried to make it seem even by showing a screenshot of the male outfit dyed three different colors. Whoop dee doo. Square wouldn't do it. Too controversial for them. What they can do is make male versions of EVERY outfit that comes out for females only. But they won't.

Then someone needs to tell those Drake Hunters in the Sagolii Desert to put on some clothes. :dazed:

I think you'll find a familiar young man there to empty a bit of his pockets. :>

Is it just me, or was the clothing physics in 1.0 better than now? I remember a lot of outfits that had loose stuff on them shaking and flailing around when you ran, but not anymore.

Marvel. DC has been having a hard time keeping up because the Disney Empire. Pizza or Burgers?

Now I have a natural urging to bring this up if I ever meet him. Somehow, someway, his proud Tia heritage will be severely challenged. He could always prove himself by ripping off his shirt.

I actually thought she grabbed a screenshot from somewhere to show people the outfit. I am embarrassed now. Where's a cool place to commit seppukku?

But then you said she! And then Miqo'te! Oh well. His proud Tia heritage was the only casualty here.

It's only the really nit-picky ones with a bit of a prickly attitude to boot that tell me things like that. But yeah, if you RP enough you'll probably get someone who will complain about it. Just remember that you can always choose to not RP with them if they don't like what you do. I find Ul'Dah to be a very prime example of a melting pot because of all the refugees and commerce that happens there. I don't see it as being homogeneous at all, even to desert natives. There are Ul'Dah NPC's everywhere with pale skin. As for your family, just make your main have a grandfather or grandmother that was pale. Sometimes genes skip a generation. There is usually a way to explain something if you want to RP it. When I was fleshing out Ryanti's family, I added in some Ishgardian influence before they closed their doors 20 years back to make another reason for why his skin is light and his hair is white. I don't see anything wrong with it IMO. Looks like something someone would wear in the desert if they wished. It's also pretty lined up with what I expect a Sagolii Miqo, as I imagine them to be more tolerable of standing the heat of the sun. The hood could be used to protect your face and your lower extremities can be protected too. Her abdomen might get red from the sun if she's out for a while, but that's about it.

- How does your character deal with killing? Ryanti's system of beliefs and values are certainly in the 'ends-justify-the-means" realm. Because of that, he is often faced with adversaries that are opposed to everything he does. He understands that he lives in a time where it is often the one that survives that not only makes history but writes the books as well. Because people treated him like shit in his youth, Ryanti has lost a lot of empathy for people he doesn't know. So he certainly is not going to deny that killing often is the easy solution to a complicated problem. - How did your character feel after his/her first kill? His first kill was sloppy. It was botched, and it left Ryanti covered in the residue of his deed. Physiclly, his body was shivering, and he was crying. His anxiety levels were off the charts and part of him felt like panicking. But at the same time, he felt very cold, detached, and distant. What scared him more than the act of murder was that he felt nothing on the inside. He was 'cold crying' in other words. He didn't know how to handle it. His mind was confused at what was right or wrong but his body knew. - Does your character mull over it later on? (Exe. The nightmares) He has had his fair share of emotional challenges because of the acts he has done. It definately effects how he feels about the people he cares about. He is very concerned about how the people he values would judge him if they see the side of himself that kills for his work in the reality he lives in. How he can basiclly do it without batting an eye. In a way, he is sociopathic towards people he does not know or who oppose him. His body count has gone up since he started taking on classified missions. He is extremely vulnerable to watching the people he cares about suffer or die. This is what gives him sleepless nights and crying in the corner of a bathtub. He is hesitant with alcohol for this very reason, as he hss a fear of that coming out. He is also afraid that all of those emotions would eventually come to the surface and he would have a sort of mental breakdown at some point eventually. But for now it is a quiet emptiness. A shadow that follows him around.

Yup. If I don't put on a shirt. I'm a yaoi whore or ERP walk up. If I do put on clothes, I become a Chinese knockoff of Ciel Phantomhive. It can get irritating. I get weird ass tells all the time from...aspiring gentlemen. I just tend to say that Ryanti's era in Ul'Dah was spent the majority of the time indoors. He never really needed a reason to be out in the sun for hours and hours until it set.

I'm a manqo'te. So if I went shirtless it involks stereotypes. And if I put on clothes it'll probably involk some other stereotype. You can't really avoid it as a catboy, just gotta accept it. Though on a serious note, anyone ever get crap from not being tanned and living in the desert? People in the desert do wear heavy clothes to keep the sun from basiclly killing them. That's usually what I do.