Aya

This is actually a very complicated and contentious matter! I've been involved in a few very interesting conversations about Highlander names. For instance: are the trait-based names inherited or are they strictly earned? But, looking at the names provided by the wiki: Male Aethlwold Hunter Hunfrid Longblade Lewenhart Boarsblood Female Sigberta Strong Orieldis Blacke Bergard Thorne Notice the female names? While "Strong" could be an epithet, it is also a common English family name, as are Blacke and Thorne. None of these match the epithetic nature of the masculine names. Why? We really don't know (though I do have a favorite theory). What we do know is that "Morrison" fits this pattern very well. It is not a "Midlander" name, it is a Hyur name, perfectly well-suited to both.

That's really terrific! Such a lovely style

Oooh, a sketch artist at the Quick Sand! I'm looking forward to meeting you! ^^

[align=center][/align] [align=center][The Rabbit Hole - Crimes Against Nature Part Seven][/align] While the pair strolled casually through Old Gridania, the young women was given a moment to collect her thoughts. If she had known her date better she would have recognized the change in how he carried himself. The swagger, the air of superiority and success. As it was, she tried not to fidget with her small purse as her mind wandered through the possibilities of the afternoon. For weeks she had suspected that an unseen hnd in the Wailers was moving things behind the scene to cover up the events at Toto-Rak. In this opportunity there was a hint of hope, accompanied by the ever-present whiff of danger. Her recognition of the stakes was something she did her best to conceal behind the cheerful confidence that so often seemed a blissful lack of awareness to others. It was the charms of her feminine allure that had found her in this situation; the manners of which came more than naturally to her. Some were learned: the natural hip-swaying motion of her walk had been perfected in the tunnel-like streets of Ishgard's deep Foundation, and was emphasized further by the steep heels she always favored. The selection of sweet and simple fragrance was one borne of experience as well as preference. The natural shapeliness of her form only provided the core of a figure shaped by the rigors of conditioning and the demanding life of a dancer. The character and manner were all her own: the natural girlishness that seemed to draw those of a certain persuasion toward her without the need of ever casting a hook. And so it was that she now found herself in the company of one enamored Wood Wailer: Weylan, the last surviving member of the crack unit known as the Sixteenth Spear. She had heard of their grim end: met out by the hands of a mad woman— void-touched ghost of an innocent woman framed for the heinous slaughter of children. She had met the father of one of Weylan's fellow soldiers. She had heard more of the tale than she wished. And now she wondered why this man had survived. By what miracle or design he had escaped the fate of the others. And by what fortune he had fallen into her lap, firmly caught on one of those unintentional hooks. As they walked his mind was similarly occupied, but by a very different character of musing. His eyes focused rather intently, and unbashfully upon the sight of her exposed cleavage, bared in such un-Gridanian fashion. The challenges he pondered were how to keep his step, and not trip, while maximizing his time for ogling. The name of the open-air cafe that Aya guided them toward was "The Rabbit Hole." It could be found tucked away beneath young trees in what was once a forest clearing along the northern end of the Old Town. Charming and rather quaint despite its recent vintage. there was always a quiet energy about the place as patrons gathered under the branches and at tables and benches sipping the tea and other warm drinks or sampling the chocolaty confections that are their specialty. As the pair entered the space, Aya slowed their walk and announced their arrival, "We're here!" Her companion only temporarily drew his eyes away from the objects of his fixation so as to nod along with her, "You're right. Perfect spot." She turned toward him, swiveling side to side on her hips in an expression of pent up energy as she turned that bright grin upon him. "What about something to drink? I think I'll have some honey-tea, its their specialty!" Weylan nodded, regarding that grin with a chuckle as he drew his hand up to his face, pulling fingers down both sides of his jaw he seemed to think about it. "Yeah, guess I'll have one too. See if they'll throw in a shot of whiskey for me." He cast a glance around her at the small covered pavilion that was the center of the 'Hole. It was built around a large trunk, the rafters of its crafted roof taking on the look of large boughs, the entire structure looking perfectly at home in the forest. The sight did not fill him with optimism, but worth a shot, right? The blonde let out a cheerful laugh, as if he'd been joking with her. She covered her lips with her fingers as she turned away from him and walked slowly toward the pavilion. Though she wore a bright smile, there was as internal chagrin: "He's going to make me pay for the drinks? Some date!" Weylan took a few steps, choosing a spot with a particularly fine vantage point. He relieved himself of the burden of his spear, leaning it against the back of the bench before taking a seat. His eyes had never let go, their focus shifting side to side as he watched the curvy sway of hips. As she reached the counter she pushed her left toes near against the bottom of the counter and leaned forward, bent at the waist as she offered a friendly grin to the young woman behind the counter. The motion was most intentional, a favorite from evenings as a barmaid, and one made all the more effective by the snug fit of her leggings upon the shapeliness of the form outlined by her hips. Her companion hadn't missed a moment, and once more drew his hands along his jaw once more as she seemed to so nonchalantly lean across the counter. It really was his day wasn't it! The pause at the counter gave her a moment to collect her thoughts. She had a good idea who he was, but he seemed to have no idea who she was beyond a pretty face. This gave her an advantage. Few men ever suspected her of an ounce of cleverness, but fewer still who were so infatuated upon just meeting her. She would just keep this up to see if she could learn anything... besides, she glanced back at the young man with his confident features and his shock of dirty-blonde hair, he was kind of cute! It could be worse. It was a few moments before she joined him at the bench, his smile greeting her grin as she approached him. "Ah, take a seat!" He gestured to the spot beside him, before taking a wincing taste of the tea. She straightened the skirt of her tunic under her as she took a seat, crossing her legs and slipping her free hand between them. "Now where was I..." he continued. "Ah, yes! The Sixteenth. They only took the very best, so getting in wasn't easy." She turned awestruck blue-eyes upon him again, "I just can't imagine! There were only sixteen of you?" she asked with all the intentional manner of innocent curiosity. He looked back with an eyebrow cocked before letting out a hearty laugh as he shook his head. "The Sixteenth," he repeated with extra emphasis, "The Sixteenth Spear." He reached to his side drawing out a leather-covered metal flask. Meanwhile a look of wide-eyed realization came ever her; soft lips hanging open for a moment before she seemed to flush in embarrassment. He chuckled lightly and then nodded along as if helpfully walking her through something that she already knew, "You know, the First Spear, they stay at home and sit on their asses. But the sixteenth?" He swelled up with pride, "The Sixteenth takes the fight to where it belongs. To the poachers and criminals who're ruining the Twelveswood!" She nodded along, keeping up her well honed part as the clueless blonde. She looked downward toward her lap as she drew her free hand up, thumb touching to her lips, "So there are more than sixteen of you..." she said with a voice just above a whisper. Weylan cast his blue eyes toward her again, giving an amused smirk that was endearing in its own way. He unstoppered the flask, pouring some amount of the liquor within into his tea. "Aye, so you see, to get into the Sixteenth you have to prove your skill in the line of duty. No easy feat, as they've got strict requirements." She sipped from her tea, regarding him through the tops of her eyes as she looked over the rim of her cup. "Right, so you see, we were out in the Near Shroud, when we saw some tracks. Bird tracks." He leaned toward her, "Now the other lads wanted to return to base and report the tracks, instead of doing anything about it. Not me though." He sat back up, lips pulled partly to the side. chin lifted with a stern pride. "No, not me. See? Me 'an the Ixal we've got a history. Attacked my home. Killed a few of my friends. I don't run from any chance to fight Ixal, and I wasn't about to let them get away that easy." He continued with his story. How he had followed them, alone braving the hostile wilderness to track down an enemy camp and surprise them. "I came across a group of about five of 'em, with two of those wolves they like to train. Savage things..." She listened intently. Eyes often widened, looking at him with some intensity. It wan not entirely feigned, "Lousy squad left me on my own. What else was I supposed to do?" She knew that he might have exaggerated. Perhaps he wasn't as brazen as in his telling. But, as she looked at him she saw a young man not much older than herself. He had been through much. The Sixteenth would not have taken on such a young soldier without good reason. "Aye, I found the Ixal. Cutting down trees! They had one of their balloons there, loading it up with poached timber." As the telling continued she found herself unwittingly enthralled by the tale. By the thought of this young man and the danger he faced that day in the wood. Of the valor he mush have shown, even if he put the old solider spin on it now. "I made chase! These were Ixal, remember? Savage beasts, worse than poachers, if anything could be. What sort of protector would I be if I suffered even a single one of them to live?" He slipped his hand to her thigh, giving it a good squeeze. The sensation brought her back to reality. The valiant warrior gave way to the bore. She tried not to gasp. She squirmed slightly but he seemed not to notice. He continued to regale her, working his way through his tea faster than she did her own. She wondered if there really was anything in his tale quite worth it after all. As he finished the story of his adventure, she brought her hand up to her chest, laying it flat above her heart. He gave her a delighted smirk, "Got a commendation for that. Proactive justice. That's when the Sixteenth started asking about me. They need good trackers, people who can work independently." His hand lifted from her thigh and she almost breathed a silent sigh of relief, but it soon slipped around her back and settled upon her opposite hip. "So aye, I was a perfect fit." Rather than relief, it was a surprised gasp that escaped freely from her lips and for a moment she tried to wriggle free. But, Weylan either didn't notice, or didn't care. His hand pulled her tighter, drawing her hips against his. She looked to him for a moment, almost aghast, but she she was still curious just what he might know. She took a soft, deep breath and recovered her composure. She regained her smile, softly tuning it toward him more of her curiosity, "They came and recruited you after that?" "Yep," he nodded with a huge grin. "Came to visit me at the barracks. Whole host of interviews with the new squad captain. Damn fine man. Fuckin' shame. She lifted her blonde eyebrows, leaning slightly toward him as she cast an inquisitive gaze. She knew, but tried to give him the opposite impression. "Such a shame that he had to die, and some lousy fuckin' adventurers can't even be bothered to get him a proper burial. If it weren't for them— wouldn't have this mess in the Shroud to begin with." She canted her head, taking on her most confused expression. "You haven't heard?" He looked at her more closely, keeping his snug hold upon her hips as if to comfort her. "The whole Shroud is full of void-corrupted criminals. And half the damn adventurers are helping them, not that the authorities won't stop denying it." He looks at her more intently yet, his hand wandering slowly up her side. "But let me tell you. I'm doing something about it." She did her very best in that instant to hide her surprise. There it was... her intuition had been right. But, just what had he been up to? She pressed him further, in her own manner. "But..." she stammered in a light, but concerned voice, her blue eyes looking at him filled with a mixture of worry and impressed curiosity, "That sounds dangerous!" That's just what Weylan liked to hear and he sat up tall, gently stroking her side with a firm hand. "It is. But I would do anything for the Shroud." She leaned a bit closer, curiosity winning the struggle over her expression, "What are you going to do abut it...?" He lowered his voice, a tone of seriousness coming over it. "Corruption spreads even to the highest levels. I can't tell you much. But we're cutting out the rot right at the core." His hand continued its rough embrace, pulling the fabric of her tunic all out of place. He seemed to gaze off into the distance as if contemplating the enormity of the task before him. Aya seemed somewhat taken aback, feigning the same irritation he had already shown to nudge him into revealing if he were working with anyone, "You're not working with adventurers are you?" He retorted, sneering, "No, of course not. Its just us Wailers. We're the real protectors. And don't you worry, we're taking care of it. Right to the very top." "Oh?" She turned toward him, drawing her hand to his shoulder. "Like the ones you're patrolling for, or is it one of those elite units you were talking about joining?" He nodded slowly with his chin proudly out-thrust. "The most elite. Veterans who still remember what it was like before." He smirked with an undisguised pride, as if he already counted himself among their number. "Not like these others. The ones've got me patrolling? They're part of the problem, too. All their bureaucracy gets in the way of real justice." Aya drew in a deep breath, offering those wide-eyed impressed eyes up to him like bait upon a hook. They glanced downward, as if she were thinking, and then back toward him as he gave her side another squeeze. "They're such a special unit of the Wailers... and they want you?" She thought of the old wailer: Arden Wood. He had lost his son in the Sixteenth. Could his son have been the Captain? He knew something of what happened it Toto'Rak, could he be one of these veterans? He nodded, with delight in his eyes, "Aye. They know what's what, but they're old and they need someone young and strong to help. That's where I come in." He smirked, "And with my history of taking on rough jobs? Yeah." So there were more... she made mental note of everything he said. She focused on keeping her demeanor relaxed, amused. Her eyes stayed wide and flirtatious, her movements playful. She pursed her lips, giving a soft little giggle as she adopted a teasing tone, "So do you have any help with this or are you too worried about competition for joining the unit?" He glanced a bit side-to-side as if scanning the area. "Yeah, yeah. Mmm, a few others. Just a few. Have to be careful, though. Never know who might be listening. Hey— just stick with me and I might introduce you." He emphasized the offer with a suggestive grin and a possessive squeeze of her side. Hey eyes shone with an unfeigned excitement. "Yeah...you mean it? Really?!" she leaned closer, fighting to keep her voice quiet in her excitement. "You'd introduce me to the most elite Wood Wailers in all of the Shroud?" She narrowed her eyes, conspiratorially, "They're not like... the Grey Lances, or anything like that are they? I can only imagine what sort of secret code name they must go by!" He grinned back, but there was a hint of something different in his expression: trepidation. "Yeah, really. I gotta make sure, though, y'know?" She looked back, blonde eyebrows lifted with with a baffled disappointment lifts those blonde eyebrows, "Make sure of what?" He grew slightly defensive. "Check with my friends. You know. Make sure they're okay with you stopping by." She had to convince him to let her meet them, how could she let an opportunity like this slip her by? She pursed her lips, pushing her head away from him and tilting it back his way and looked at him out of the side of her eyes. Clearly not impressed, "Where's that brave Lancer you've been telling me all about?" He looked at her, his lips pulled taut for a moment before they drew back into a smirk. "You're right. Hah. He's right here." He nodded to himself and gave her another squeeze. "I'll take you to meet my friend. I'm supposed to meet him in a week or so at the Boar." He chuckled lightly, "He'll be happy to see you." Aya's pursed-lip teasing gaze erupted into a radiant, ebullient grin. "Oooooh, I just can't wait!" she squealed excitedly. Her heart skipped a beat within her breast. She stood at the edge of a precipice, but she did not know how deep. Weylan grinned broadly at hep excitement, giving her another gentle squeeze. "Aye. I'm lookin' forward to it, too. Though, think I need to get back to work. How about we meet for dinner sometime?" She nodded in agreement, keeping the full begrudgingness of the request to herself, "That sounds nice! Monsieur Weylan, Brave Shroud Lancer!" she settled back into the seat and grinned at him. "Lady Aya, beautiful flower of the Shroud. Fear not, we will keep you safe." He leaned toward her, his romantic offering no doubt deserving of a kiss, right? Rather deftly, the girl slipped her finger before his lips. She canted her head and grinned brightly at him, "Oh Monsieur, not on the first date! It is a saying of ours!" She girded herself, knowing that the charade must for now be maintained; clever improvisation would only get her so far. On the cheek, she thought, but make it good. She leaned forward to give him a gentle kiss on the cheek. She allowed herself to linger for a moment, before opening her eyes slowly, long dark lashes moving before his eyes. At last she looked at him with own bright blues and slowly withdrew, a warm, purse-lipped smile upon her lips and a hint of her lipstick left behind upon ruddy cheek. Weylan grinned like a boy, seeming to overcome his disappointment for now. He released her, stood, and finish.e the last of his tea in a single drought. "Aye, aye, fair enough. I'll come find you for our date!." He unhooked his mask from his belt. Aya nodded, grinning as she watched him don the mask, and then waved to him as he returned to his patrol. One bullet dodged. For Now. But just how deep can this all go? [Credit to Nihka for the RP scene and her creepy character, Weylan!]

Interesting! I just heard this for the first time the other day, and honestly I thought it all just sounded of gibberish :-X I heard "est" so many times! But its neat to know that its significantly more involved than that, and that quite a bit of thought has been put into it!

[align=center][/align] [align=center][Meeting Weylan - Crimes Against Nature Part Six][/align] Another day... it was like purgatory. For a soldier of his ability an assignment to patrol the city was anything but satisfying. He let out a sigh, slightly ruddy cheeks puffing beneath the wooden carved mask that covered his eyes. His free hand pulled back through strands of dirty blonde, kept just kempt enough to avoid the attention of his temporary superiors. Temporary was right, he reflected for a moment, they wouldn't long keep a soldier of his caliber down, no, no. He stopped by a still puddle, a remnant of the torrent that had fallen that morning. In the full brightness of the afternoon sun he glimpsed his reflection. That combination of soldierly wear upon his features, with that hint of devil-may-care decorum. "Now that," he thought to himself, "is an elite soldier." The wood wailer turned back toward the route of his patrol with the morose manner of the habitual underachiever, metaphorical hands stuffed firmly in his pockets. He ambled with an unconcerned air, leaving the amphitheater behind as he approached and then passed the grinding rumble of the millers industry. The suddenness of the sight was what seemed to catch the breath in his throat. Of course, Weylan was not unaccustomed to the sight of lovely women. But, that sight of the shapely blonde poised against the railing of the small bridge ahead wasn't just just a pretty girl. He'd been staring at this girl over lunch nearly every day. That lovely, smiling blonde from the poster. It didn't really take much to bring Weylan's lackadaisical stride to a halt, and this certainly qualified. He peered a bit closer, squinting behind the mask. From this vantage he could only see her from behind, but that figure, the long light, blonde hair that fell across her back. He sucked in a breath through pursed lips before pulling them back into a grin, an unnerving expression, as he regarded the girl from a distance. It was her, he was as near to certain, the girl from the poster in the Sleeping Boar. He pushed his shoulders back as he started again for the bridge. Now there was a purpose to his step, but no hint of the usual Wailer cadence. He sauntered onto the first few planks of the slightly arched wooden span. It was her, no doubt about it now. She seemed preoccupied, gazing out into the flowing stream without a care in the world. He paused for just a moment to take in the outline of her figure once more. She was wearing something of a huntress' outfit: tight forest green leggings, and a white tunic belted near her waist. A leather hunters harness, or a facsimile of one, looped its straps around her far shoulder. But, the cut was altogether more risque: the tunic hugged her feminine curves below the shoulders, holding fast to narrow waist and then the curve of her side as it widened toward her hips. And then the boots, high and dark leather with steep heels that screamed of the provocative wenches of Limsa rather than the quiet forest paths of Gridania. He stepped to the right side of her, setting his spear against the railing as his eyes turned their attention upon her. There opened before him another pleasant surprise: where a shroud huntress would have tightly cinched the bodice of her tunic, this one stood loose. Not just loose, but open, seeming like it must have beet cut for the purpose of exposing the form of the decolletage that seemed so barely contained within its confines. He watched as it seemed to swell, rising against the fabric as the woman took in an audible breath of surprise. He slowly pulled his eyes up, not wanting to allow them to waste a moment of this opportunity. Up and up they drew scanning further than he'd anticipated to take in her full height. At last his eyes settled on her eyes, nearly at his own height. Oh, but there they were: those lovely blue eyes wide, and looking right at him. For a moment he imagined that poster and the way she seemed to smile right at him as he gazed longingly at her for minutes on end from the bar, "Hello miss." He greeted her politely, a light but amused smirk on his features. She smiled softly, there it was, he thought, and then looked him over, eyes quickly scanning up and down, seeming to pause for a moment upon the mask he wore over his eyes which lead to a little hesitation upon her carmine lips. Slender feminine fingers tapped gently against the wood railing, until after a moments pause she shifted her hips, and offered a warm smile his way. "its just a perfect day isn't it? Nothing quite like a little sunshine is the afternoon." That voice!! He liked it even more than he had imagined: the light silky tone, and the play of her delectable Ishgardian accent upon every word! He nodded, "Good spot." He turned toward the railing and leaned heavily against it, elbows resting there as he hung his hands out over the water. "Good company too..." She let out a soft laugh, comfortable sounding he thought, as she gazed back out toward the water wheel that turned majestically over and over on the other the small pool. With her right hand she pulled stray strands of her bangs back behind her ear, unable to contain a little smirk of her own, though it was not directed his way. "Well, that's as good a reason as any to take a break on a busy day, right?" She grinned a bit at the suggestion, glancing his way as she released her hand, a flicker of playful mischievousness in her expression and voice. He barked a laugh, showing her his broad grin. "Aye, that it is!" His gaze appraised her again. Appreciative of that little smirk and the curve of her face, now exposed. He felt a little flush of pride, "These day's it's just patrol the city. Just waitin' for a new assignment, of course. New elite group to have an opening." His voice was confidence, and he puffed up his chest a bit, turning slightly toward her to emphasize the broadness of his muscular shoulders. The brightness of the smile she turned his way was just what he had hoped to see. And then there was the way she raised those blonde eyebrows with an impressed curiosity, signalling just how badly she wanted to know more about him, he though. "Elite?" she asked with fascination. He grinned back, proudly, and stood up to his full height to offer an authoritative nod. "One of the sixteenth. Well, was anyway. Unit's gone so I'm waiting for a new assignment." He grimaced, "'Pending review' they say. Troubled times like this, you need people out in the field protecting the city. Protecting people like you." She took in another breath, listening and watching his display looking all the more impressed for the telling. "The Sixteen?" she asked mistakenly in her innocent, fascinated way, "That does sound elite!" He puffed up even more, grinning with the broad intensity of a man who sees everything going according to plan. That said, despite his best efforts, he hardly looked old enough to be elite. "Yeah. Best of the best. Gotta be, to hunt the poachers that risk the deepest parts of the Shroud." "Yeaaaah...?" came the dazzled reply of her light feminine voice. She leaned closer toward him, eyes widened with those blonde eyebrows still raised as she seemed to hang upon his every word. There was a taste of her perfume... vanilla, peaches... "You've hunted in the deep shroud?". He nodded a bit, slowly. His gaze drifted downward. The combined effect of her fragrance and the enticing view offered by her bodice, especially as she leaned his way, was enough to momentarily bring a stop to his train of thought. He couldn't really help it, after all, They were right there. He wasn't even quite sure just how long the savoring moment lasted, but he was brought back out of it by the sound of her voice. "Are you okay?" she was asking with concern. He whipped his eyes back to hers, followed by a quick downward double-take, before nodding emphatically. "Oh, aye, aye. As I was... sayin' I plan to go back to the deep shroud again. 'ventually. Once the higher ups get outa their own asses. Just tryin' to make the best of this lull. He paused for a moment, his eyes glancing downward for a moment again as he resisted the urge to stare. Then he tilted his head just a bit, returning her quizzical gaze as he gestured slightly toward her, "How about we go get some drinks? I'll tell you 'bout how I got into the Sixteenth." The woman lifted her head back up, while the fingers of her hands crossed on the railing. She seemed to be considering his offer for a moment before she offered an energetic little nod, "Oh that does sound interesting! I'd love to hear!" She beamed that bright grin of hers right towards him, "Where did you have in mind?" she turned toward him for the first time giving his eyes the sudden pause of distraction once more. "The Canopy is nice, but it's so full of adventurers these days." he said with derision. "Nothing but trouble for the Twelveswood if you ask me." He paused for a moment, drawing a hand along his jaw before speaking thoughtfully, "I know a few better places, but they're a bit rough for a fine woman like yourself." She giggled softly at his last comment. And with a glance away she bit her lower lip and thought for a moment herself, while Her right hand idly played with the cinch string that tied (or didn't) her bodice. "Well..." she cocked her hips a bit, before looking back, "There is a nice spot for tea nearby." "For you? he announced with an air of chivalry, "I'll drink tea." She laughed, looking terribly excited in the way that she moved, "Perfect!" He seemed to puff up even more, casting an immensely proud grin her way as he drew his hands up towards his face, "Ah, just lemme take this off." His fingers unhooked the mask, and drew it off. Freshly revealed blue eyes scanned up and down the body of the woman in front of him with admiration. "Much better. Let's go find this spot of yours." She grinned with a nod, "Oh!" she stopped suddenly in the middle of her turn to leave, "I'm Aya! she smiled brightly back toward him. "Weylan," he grinned back. [Credit to Nihka for the RP scene this was drawn from!]

Do not let stereotypes stand in your way, though they can enrich you RP! Your idea is absolutely fine, and I don't think you will encounter any resistance to it

Well said Warren. Showing the effects of experience is very easy with people you interact with frequently, since the effect can be directly observed. There is also story-telling, I suppose, but that can fall into either of the above categories

I don't "show" it in any particular way. It informs the characters psychology and dialogue, and that is really it. I don't place much weight on capability (it should be plausible and fit the needs of the story). (I suppose it does effect plausibility quite a bit! But I try not to think of things comparably because without a settled intermediating system that sort of fleshes it out, there's really little grounding for it beyond what I mentioned above.)

The Fate 14 system is a version of a system (I believe it is called Roll-20?) that Verad introduced to Balmung for the running of organized events I am with C ("Setoh"), the topic deserves its own thread, and I agree with the idea that the Fate-14 characters should not gain power over time.

Welcome to Balmung! Happy to meet up in-game sometime if you'd alike, either in Gridania (in the near future) or else when Aya is in her usual role as a barmaid at the Quick Sand! She may may be a little friendly, though!

I am always happy to meet new players and introduce them to RP!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wVDg8nAuoic

National treasure... that's the way it goes ^^

CC QQing to CC about Q's? Did I get that right? ^^ (sometimes I feel like DF is broken and I requeue...)

No room for foxes...! *tear* ^_~

[align=center][/align] [align=center][Of the Flight of Birds - Crimes Against Nature Part Five][/align] Not Plot Related The steady flow of the little brook filled the air with a quiet babble. The banks had once been steep, but the slope had evened somewhat in recent years. Another guest had speculated that the brook must be spring-fed on account of the clean clarity of the water, but that evolving bank told a very different story. A story of Spring melts in the highlands to the north. Of the low faint sun of the Northern winter, and the annual return of longer sun-filled Spring days that seared away snow and sent lowland streams bursting their banks. An annual return of warmth that had been on hold since the calamity; replaced by the bitterness of endless winter and the dearth of hope that every Spring had once held forth. Nearby, beneath the shade of picturesque trees rested a comfortable-looking lounge chair. It was of just the sort one would imagine in Gridania: dark wood and reed detailed with such intricacy that it would seem to have been crafted by nature itself. It was a comfortable chair—dangerously comfortable. Aya's eyes had long since closed, locking away the visible world, allowing her to embrace the world of sound. To open her mind to the delicate, pleasant sound of a forest brook. To the wind rustled leaves, drying already but still clinging to summer green with the desperation of early Autumn. And to the boisterous and energetic songs of dozens of birds that flitted about the branches. A familiar song caught her attention; eyes lazily opened, casting about in the direction of the chirpy-little voice. She scanned the branches of a nearby bush, hearing again that lilting little song. A voice she knew from childhood. A song that had meant hope, and the essence of nature to a girl trapped within the stone cage of the Tower City. A hardy little breed of sparrow that liked to roost along the walls of the city in those better times long since gone by. He sang once more, a drab colored little ball of downy feathers that finally caught her sight. She watched as he turned his head about, dark little eyes scanning her and their surroundings. How many years had it been? She thought back, remembering the smiles of yesteryear. In migration already? She thought: he lives to the north, there food must already be growing scarce with the arrival of cool winds. She canted her head slightly, in unconscious mimicry of the little bird. Dangling earrings jingled with the slightest movement of her head. Could he have toughed it out in Coerthas? It seemed so unlikely. Where had he been? Had he too escaped that land? Had he flown from home to find succor? To escape the endless life-and-hope-swallowing snow? A slight smile pulled upon plush, carmined lips. She wondered: could he have found a new home? Gyr Abania perhaps? She smiled somewhat more broadly, the thought of this little bird having reversed her own course in life brought an excited glimmer her eyes. "If I were as free as a bird..." she voicelessly mouthed. Wondering still. He was gone. The quick little rustle of tiny wings and he was out of sight into the denser foliage just beyond the edge of the landscaped clearing that was the boarding house's garden. The more terrestrial bird closed her eyes. Her wings were limited to her imagination, which briefly flew to the hillsides and open spaces of her birthplace. To the Highland forests of Gyr Abania of which she could only dream. The dream could not long last, though, and soon she rose from the comfort of the forest chair. She drew a pocket mirror to check that her hair was still all in place, that her makeup was still perfect. She was worried about the show that evening, but, on her way back inside she turned back to take one long look back to where she had been lounging. To the bushes where the birds sang. To the spot the little sparrow had perched. She closed her eyes and heard his song. She closed her eyes and imagined his flight. She closed her eyes and saw her home as she'd have seen them as a bird free flying amidst the clouds. She saw both of her homes; no, there had been so many more in her own long migration: all of them. Unfolding beneath her as she soared upon the winds of memory, through the breadths of time and distance She opened her eyes slowly. And with a soft, genuine, smile she tuned about once more. Her eyes were upon the evening that awaited her. But her mind still thought of home, of memory, and of the little bird who reminded her of it all.

Sounds like fun! Sorry I have not been barmaiding at the Quick Sand since Aya took a detour through Gridania... would have been nice to meet you there!

$$$JACKPOT$$$!

Tortla! I love these! ^^

None! I don't really have to post that, but happy to make it clear :-]

The door knocked a few minutes before ten bells. It was just what Aya had come to expect. The late breakfast brought her enough time for her morning routine of exercise, meditation and bathing. The somewhat regular schedule had helped her to find a regular footing after the move to Ul'dah. In Gridania the mornings were cool and damp, accented by the drip of morning dew. Somehow that left her missing the sweltering heat that made the little room at the Hourglass something of a sweat-box during the later hours of a summer morning. Aya answered the knock with her clear but light voice, "Come in!" It would be the Boarding House's eponymous proprietor, Lea, with the morning's breakfast. Aya reclined elegantly upon a cushioned divan, draped in a gossamer dressing gown loosely bound about her delicate waist. A white towel wrapped its way tightly about her head, blonde hair still drying from the morning bath. Lips' already brushed with the carmine color smiled warmly upon the woman's entrance, their mark left upon the porcelain tea cup she slowly lowered to the saucer held in her other hand. Carrying a covered dish, Lea entered the small suite that was usually quaint and lovely. Most of the furniture in the sitting room had been moved against the wall clearing a larger empty space in the center of it. The divan had been pushed against the foot of the bed, with the chambers table nearby. Lea had become used to this, her guest had rearranged the room almost the moment she had arrived. Something about wanting some "space to move around in". It was really the reams of newspaper and newsletters scattered about the room that caught her attention. There must have been copies of every publication, newsletter and flyer in the entire city from the past several weeks all scattered about with some sort of unspoken organization organization. Though, she did not make note of the hand-written sheets of collated notes neatly stacked and just recently moved away from the table to make way for the expected interruption. Closing her eyes, Aya took in a deep savoring breath, "Oh, Madame! It must be a breakfast divine!" She grinned with closed lips, pulled back at the corners with a thrilled excitement. "Fresh Rolandberry cake, with honey and butter. Melon and apple fruit, and links of sweet sausage." Aya took in another breath, her heart skipping a moment as her eyes widened at the richness of the spread. Working for Master Vann certainly has its advantages! She leaned slightly forward, eyes momentarily focused on the covered dish being set carefully upon the room's small table "Oh!" Lea added as she suddenly remembered. "Another post arrived for you this morning." The letter had been set upon the platter and was made visible as she removed the cover to reveal the morning's meal. Aya thanked her, paying little mind to the letter as she focused instead upon breakfasting. Letters had not exactly been uncommon lately, in fact it was the presence of just one letter that may itself have been more noteworthy. So, it was a few minutes later when she sat back, sinking into the cushions of the divan while enjoying a final few bites of the cake with one hand, her left clutching the envelope with a rather careless disregard. She closed her eyes, absolutely lost in the decadent flavor of the sweet, fruity delicacy. In the midst of a soft "mmmmmmmm" of enjoyment she opened her eyes to peer at the letter. It had clearly been posted from Ul'dah, but she quickly took note of the hand-written note upon it: "This looked important - Momodi" "Forward To-" had clearly been added, and as she flipped the letter over in a hurry she caught sight of an Ishgardian seal, a shock that cut her voice short. With her right hand still occupied with remaining cake, she struggled to unseal the letter as quickly as possible with one hand. The style of V'aleera's was immediately recognizable. She fell upon the contents of the letter immediately, feeling like she could not take a breath until she had finished it. She pulled herself up, leaning forward as she read it again, carefully. Examining each and every word. Aya had left the previous note that V'al had sent unanswered. Her old friend, now a zealous dragoon had written in such a way, she thought, to try and leave her feeling nervous and guilty about not wishing to return to Ishgard. That had, after all, always seemed to be her goal: to lure Aya back to the city. For some time Aya had wondered about just what V'al's motive could be. Was she trying, earnestly, to be friendly? Was she trying to do what she thought would be best for Aya? Could she have some nefarious plot in mind for her erstwhile friend upon a return? She had never really felt certain. No... she had always been earnest, and deep within her breast Aya's heart knew that was true. Still, the way V'al had originally scratched out Aya's name in the first letter, and rendered the details vague enough not to alarm the censors seemed to still say enough about the city itself. Now she wrote, once more to her "friend", but this time there had been no detail spared. Aya set the cake down, holding the letter with both hands, with fingers firm and desperate. It was the first news she had of her family in over a cycle. Osvald and Enna well. Kael in mourning. Old Dunois ailing. Father... She leaned back into the divan. She pulled her feet up close to her. Eyes stared at the ceiling. "Father..."

"The name is Brock. Brock Sampson."

LOL! Exactly! Not a question of doing it, so much as a wonder if minor airbrushing of past RP might have been necessary, but I don't think so at this point ^^.

Interesting! Was just having a conversation the other day about whether or not Ishgard may have made any domestic use of Magitek, and the lack of Cereleum was one pretty powerful point against it. Seems it was not so simple perhaps! ^^ Evangeline had to learn how to make cereleum bombs somewhere ;D. Aya's trivial magitek tinker affinity back online!!