Aya

Would be happy to meet you sometime

Welcome to Balmung!

Flynt is a Kerbit* who does not enjoy being stuck in the vacuum. That is all. *Also known as a Kerbal

Clio's got a way of adding a little dose of fun to whatever she is involved in, and there's hardly anything that could be better than that! I think Kaguya was inadvertently skipped! I don't think that we've ever had the pleasure of meeting, but I've heard Flower's name come up so many times, always in a positive light! I also have simply gawked at her wiki in the past, I think it came up on the random link thing! Just lovely. Ella's may be a WiP but already has a terrific piece of artwork

Zhavi? Like one of the few people that when I see her name on a post I go, "Oh I have to read that!" Is that how I got here? Maybe :-D

Very interesting :-X And very annoying!

Wish our game time would overlap! Your fellow sounds like a fantastic character, just the sort I love to meet, and love to see! Welcome to Balmung!

I've always appreciated the way Koporo is a more serious Lalafel! He strikes me as the sort of no-guff military Lalafel who is probably something of an idiom in Ul'dah, but rarely actually RPed

Persistence is really all you can do! What sort of RP are you looking for? I guess that really differs between a lot of people!

1) .... do I even have to do this? ^^

Are you on Balmung?

Aya cannot afford to own a Chocobo, nor would she have anywhere to house the bird. She rents from a porter as needed So far that's only really occurred in one story.

She needs another box of chocolates!

Welcome to the RPC, and welcome to Balmung! I'd say the best thing you could do to get started is to just try to meet people in-game and engage in some casual RP. The Quicksand in Ul'dah is a good place for that! You could also look at upcoming RP events to see if anything sounds interesting. The biggest problems with both of those are that there can be a lot of people around which can make for a lot of simultaneous chatting: especially for a non-native speaker it may be hard to keep up.

Aya is thankful for a place to sleep, a place to make the gil she needs to get by (I couldn't say she were thankful for work itself!) Thankful for safety, for friends, for a free life outside of the frozen walls of home. Thankful for Thanalan's barren expanse, and for Vylbrand's beaches. For the sand beneath her toes, the sun on her skin, and the breeze in her hair. Most of all, though, thankful for you guys!

[align=center] [interlude - Crimes Against Nature Part Nine][/align] Long fingers of sunlight seemed to stretch across the horizon, and played menacingly with the sharp mountain peaks rising imposingly in the distance—the final gasping attempt of the waning day to keep its grip upon the parched deserts of Thanalan. The dark of night would soon swallow the landscape, quenching the heat of the solar-scorched landscape and basking it in the looming chill of silver moonlight, the herald of onrushing winter. High above the landscape, perched upon the cresting crown of one of Ul'dahs high towers a spark flashed against the backdrop of falling night. Encouraged by several determined puffs, and shielded by the cupped fingers of a feminine hand, the ephemeral flicker gave life to a dull glow. A wispy string of smoke began to rise from the bowl of a long and slender pipe. Itself perched unnaturally upon the outstretched hand, and pursed lips of a young woman, who herself kneeled precipitously upon the curved surface of the turret. A drawn hood partially shielded her tender features from the howling early-winter gusts, that bore up great clouds of sand and grit. Exposed finger tips had no such protection, and she tried not to wince as she carefully controlled the puffs of breath through the pipe stem, encouraging the embers within the bowl to light its contents. She couldn't remember the last time she'd freed the pipe from its simple hiding place. It had been at least a year since she withdraw it from its quiet case, tucked beneath the intimate attire of her small chest of drawers. The tobacco itself had been surreptitiously pinched, all the better to avoid any suspicion of the vice. She tilted her head back, forming her lips into a wide ring, breathing out a ring of smoke that drifted lazily upward for a merest moment before being blasted away by the fierceness of Thanalan wind. Bright blue eyes scanned the horizon from behind the protective edges of the canvas hood. How long had she been gone? Moons, it seemed - and moons it was. She couldn't deny that something in her had missed the sight of that empty, barren desert wasteland. Missed the scorching sun, and the chill frigid nights that it left behind as it hurried on its daily cycle each evening. She tightened her lips around the pipe; even the Shroud was no longer enough for her to forget her adoptive home. Despite the length of her absence, everything had seemed to quickly return to normal: Madame Momodi acted as if not a step had been missed, not a beat gone unnoticed in her barmaid's absence. She was already working shifts again nearly every evening, and making the rounds on market days. Routine, that's all it was: only her dancer friends seemed to make more of it, welcoming her home with a weeknight party on the town. That said: they seldom needed much of a reason for a good celebration. She closed her eyes, lending focus to the feel and taste of the fine smoke. She allowed the fragrance to wash over her and felt the mild exhilaration of its touch upon her lips. Despite these appearances, she knew things were far from normal. The trouble of the Shroud still upset the tranquility of her private moments. The horror of what she had seen: the way the Earth swallowed the most elite of Gridania's soldiery, the white-clad Twin Serpents, at the behest of a renegade Conjurer was too much to banish. A renegade, yes, what other term could there be? But a renegade with just cause: an impossible to forget truth that had been shared with her that unexpected evening upon the Float. What is a Padjal gone bad? A master of Succor and Void. A looming terror, a menace waiting to unleash itself upon the Shroud, as he already had his innocent, and not-so-innocent victims from Toto-Rak. She opened her eyes, scanning the barren landscape as the last moments of sunset played out upon it. The conjurer, Liadan, seemed prepared to give up everything to deal with the threat posed by the villainous Padjal. But, her attention had its flaws. Compassion directed her every effort toward the impossible goal of saving the damned. Void-touched souls who were beyond the redemption of mortal hands. No emotion played upon her features as she contemplated the situation. Her blue eyes were unusually cool as they surveyed the fresh nightscape. Her fingers now strained to clutch the pipe against the force of blasting wind, which whipped the aroma of pipeweed swiftly away from her perch. No amount of effort to save the ghosts, as the pipe-smoking blonde referred to them, would bear fruit - and certainly it would not aid in the grand struggle unfolding in the deep shroud. No, Liadan's effort was compassionate, but misplaced, as was that of the Ishgardian Dragoon (as should be expected). There were mysteries to unravel, but more than that, there was a threat to stop - a threat to defeat. Vulnerabilities to seek out, plans to uncover, and plots to foil. While Liadan and her allies darted from symptom to symptom, the wily serpent worked his coils tighter around the Shroud itself. Keeping secret his darkest venom, which he would prepare and unleash at a time of his own choosing. She clutched the pipe tighter. Lips tensed as her entire body clenched, while her free hand drew her coat tighter around her to ward off the chill that now hung in the star-lit night. The Serpents protected him. What of the Adders? What of Hadrian, what of Arden Wood? The old wailer whose son was killed when Weylan's unit, the 16th Spear, was nearly annihilated. The old man had known something, something he was loathe to admit. Whatever they were up to: it seemed to escape others' notice. How deep their plotting went, or how much it mattered, she couldn't know. But, if not her, then who would look into it? Their knowledge was deep: perhaps deeper than any non-Padjal in the Shroud. They had been there. They had known. Now what? She closed her eyes. When she slowly opened them, they were directed downward at the high rampart wall whose top was dozens of feet below her. She was no Hearer. No void-master, or studied arcanist. Neither a Dragoon, nor a Shroud hunter. Not even a bard, whose stories and songs could inspire others. But, she knew there was still more she could do. Would have to do, if conscience was to be her guide. It was a precarious position, like her perch, and similarly it would not be dangerous, provided she kept her poise. She slowly drew the pipe away from her lips, letting out an audible sigh. At last she had to admit to herself what she already knew: this quiet return to Ul'dah was a mere interlude. She would not stay away from the Shroud for long, even if her return would be more circumspect. She drew the pipe in once more, savoring deep as it worked like an energizing balm, calming her, while setting her mind free for contemplation. "Just an interlude..." she repeated out-loud, speaking around the stem that perched on her lips, to no one in particular.

That is one adorable baby! Congratulations! I hope mother and baby are doing well

I know that I've seen "Ser" used for females in 2.0, no idea if they've changed it or not!

Deep within the stone foundation of the Tower City, the roar of forge-fire burned hot sweating away the chill of winter winds that wreaked their havoc upon the blasted Highlands of Coerthas since the Catacylsm. Industrious hands that allowed the city above to prosper were busy with their soot-heavy work. The Miqo'te, so out-of-place in the full dignity of her Ishgardian military regalia, stood outside a squat-stone structure built of roughly hewn stone carved out of the base itself. A metal roof seemed worse for wear: it had taken a beating during the Dravanian assault, protecting the shop itself from the heaves of falling debris that had assaulted these carved-out-avenues. The loud peel of hammer striking metal echoed again-and-again from within the shop. The heavy breathing-sound of the auto-bellows forceful driving air in its repetitive inhale-exhale pattern accompanied the roar of fire that gave the full impression of a metal shop operating at full capacity. The front door hung carelessly open, allowing a steady flow of fresh air into the office in which sat the Master of the shop: the Duskwight, Dunois. The view from the outside, exposed him in profile. His long white hair, slender strands that settled upon his shoulders, lent him the dignified look of experience. With his right-arm still in a sling, and spectacles perched perilously upon his slender but prominent nose, he sat engrossed in a pile of papers from the under-sized chair of his desk. Neither the sound of hammer-strikes, nor the presence of loiters out front seemed to penetrate his steady focus.

I have to concur, its just -wonderful- stuff

Do you guys still come to Ul'dah to cause trouble? Because I want to see more of that!

Of course Eleni! ^^

I loved the idea of this event, and the performances I saw were so terrific! I'm sorry I had to leave early Here's the poem that I wrote for the occasion: First Snow When each day's new sun grows briefer and wan The bleak evening moon, will glimmer with snow And Crystal-like frost will shimmer with dawn And hoarfrost will end the bright autumn show And all will soon know, that winter is here. And all will soon know, that winter is here. When snow's first fall meets dim evening moonlight Its falling, its falling, its silent, and still And glimmers and shimmers to greatest delight A falling, soft blanket that covers the hill. We feel the great joy, that winter is here. We feel the great joy, that winter is here. Let us be ready, for bare winter freeze Each stocked and prepared, each stocked and made ready. An end to all playful diversion and ease. The season is hardship, fearsome and heady. For now we all know, that winter is here. For now we all know, that winter is here. 'Round warm fire sitting, we come and we gather. To share our good will, and wait for the cease, Of this cold winter season, would that we rather, Remember for calm - and remember for peace. We are together, and winter is here. We are together, and winter is here. In its own way, it makes things more clear. It shows us our love, and what is so dear. There is no reason for panic nor reason for fear: It is only the passing, the passing of time That one true condition, of all that has been: The dawn is the darkest, at the start of each year, It still holds such promise, and reason for cheer. So let us be still, the first snowfall is here. So let us be still, the first snowfall is here.

Melodia's a persistent and fun presence on the RPC, and has had a way of making me smile since the days of being a little Lalafel running laps! :-D

I only recently really got to meet Liadan, and I am so glad I did! She went out of her way to include me in plot as part of Verad's latest arch, and I really appreciate the RP her effort has generated. Thank you Liadan! I'm so happy to have met you :-D