Aya

What can I say? Aya has that effect ^_~ (Sorry to derail Hutarin cuteness )

Hey! They weren't my words! Just passing on what I commonly see elsewhere. I didn't mean you Coat! I meant our anonymous peeps!

The most common explanation I see in other forums whenever this is brought up is "Well, if I have to stare at an avatar's ass for 6 hours every night, I might as well make it an attractive one." So close-minded about the male figure!

Yeah, I think for most races its pretty balanced, Miqo'te are the exception and this is actually in keeping with the lore (there are actually more male Miqo'te RPers running around than is proportional). The "problem", if one wishes to call it that, is that there are just so many Miqo'te characters in the community that their imbalance imbalances all others.

This one?

Moar guys please!

I just wanted to give a little more thought to the memory of Leonard Nimoy. He's long been one of my favorite people. (Disclaimer: I'm not really much of a Star Trek fan). He was simply the perfect science fiction celebrity at just the right time. Among the cast of the original Star Trek his acting was simply phenomenal: he was given the most difficult role and pulled it off with an aplomb that made him a fan favorite. Honestly, when watching this old show I often wonder how he could stand it. Surrounded by cheesy plots, often bad dialogue, and the amateurishness of the other actors around him, he always stood out like a beacon. But, he never did have that attitude or express it. He loved his role in the show, and he seemed to display a love for his fellow cast that seems consistent with the way he behaved toward everyone. His love for both the character and the show are obvious: he continued to actively attend events, engage with fans, and even take acting roles in the new movies when he had long retired from live action. He simply could not give up Star Trek, or the character of Spock, they were too dear: Spock is definitely one of my best friends. When I put on those ears, it`s not like just another day. When I become Spock, that day becomes something special. Because of his talent and demeanor he was able to bridge the gap between science fiction fans, and every day movie/television fans. Both could appreciate what he offered. Although he was largely typecast by his role in Star Trek, he continued to appear throughout his career as a voice actor, an art he thoroughly excelled in. His talent, and his contribution to every project he graced was simply undeniable. He combined this with graciousness, humility, friendliness, and an allowance for self-deprecating humor. I was never fortunate enough to meet him, but I have to imagine most meetings with him were pleasant and enjoyable. Lastly, he was wise and insightful in such an enjoyable way. Spock is a fiction, but the intelligence and thoughtfulness behind Spock's eyes were all Nimoy's. His Twitter feed for the past several years bears this out as well as anything, and his ready adaption to such a contemporary media is further testament to his nature. Its not really my thing to eulogize celebrities, especially actors. But I'm going to miss Leonard Nimoy, I really am. (at 0:36)

I think you're right, but I am still sad for us for having lost someone who contributed so much to our enjoyment of life. He was making us smile and laugh and enjoy things up to the very end of his life, and I will miss him.

Serious sadness The best TV commercial of all time: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPkByAkAdZs

Aya's Scales mini-story has at last reached a somewhat interesting point! Though for those already involved in the plot there's nothing really new! Part 1: Climbing Part 2: Second Thoughts Part 3: Stakes Part 4: The Meeting Part 1 Part 5: The Meeting Part 2 Part 6: The Plot

[align=center][/align] [align=center][The Trail - Part 2 - The Scales Part Five][/align] She leaned her back against the rough cut stone wall. She swallowed between heavy breaths. The moon had crossed nearly half of the night sky, but still cast its perilous pale shine on the city below. The air was chill, hanging heavy with the looming threat of frost. She forced her breathing to slow. She swallowed again. Slow.. slow... calm.. The meditative practice took hold. Her pulse steadied. Her breathing slowed. Her body began to relax as she stood up from the wall. The walk had been harrowing: how much had been due to a furtive imagination she would never be sure. She couldn't shake the sight of threatening shadows, muffled whispers, and the sensation of leering eyes -but she had made it. Black Smoke alley had been named for the forges and furnaces that once kept it humming with industrial activity. Housing has been inexpensive, and with the arrival of the Ala Mhigans it had been overrun with those unable to afford to live elsewhere. One by one the forges were left extinguished, and the neighborhood descended into just the sort of idleness that allowed crime to thrive. The Brass Blades rarely patrolled the streets during daylight, and those that ventured forth during the night were certainly under the payroll of one crime lord or another. She closed her eyes again, the imagined sight of a terrified and helpless Verad reminded her of just why she was here. Sometimes nightmares crossed paths with the real thing. She took one more deep calming breath before drawing a small pocket mirror from a pouch. She took a moment to check her makeup and hair in the light of one of the few functional streetlights; showing up a disheveled mess would undermine her purpose. She had cloaked herself for the journey and now carefully loosed it around her waist. As it hung more freely it exposed long, bare legs covered only by a mini-skirt, and her heeled shoes which had begun to grow uncomfortable as the night grew late. With a name like Talamarito he was a Lalafel no, doubt, and they always seemed to appreciate the view afforded by such a skirt. She stepped back into the avenue, and then down Black Smoke alley. She was watched from both sides as she went, though she successfully fought the urge to look side-to-side for any sign of potential danger. The sound of whispering voices encouraged her feet to move more quickly, eyes boring straight ahead toward her goal. In the near distance, just a few blocks ahead, she could make out the sight of what appeared to be a busy tavern. Before she knew what was happening she had turned and barged through the door of the Pale Sands, barely having taken in the sign above the door: an hourglass filled with pale granular sand. It gave off the distinct impression of bone dust. Dozens of eyes turned upon her immediately. More followed as others became aware of the strange sight at the door. The place was not altogether unfamiliar, filled to the brim with Highlanders: laborers, criminals, beggars, and ne'er-do-wells with nothing better to do. Barmaids went about their rounds, and an altogether genial raucous saturated the establishment. Aya stood there for a moment, transfixed by the sudden realization that she had exited the alley. The very real sense of danger had not yet passed. She scanned the place, resisting the temptation to remove her hood amidst the sudden rush of warm air that flushed her skin. She finally laid eyes upon the barkeeper. She remembered her purpose; found her composure. She approached him with steps slow and confident. The dozens of eyes, pair by pair, turned back to what they had been doing, casting only curious glances toward the newcomer. She leaned across the bar, sliding a 10 gil coin beneath her palm. "Talamarito." she said, in her soft, light voice. The barkeeper, a mustachioed middle aged Hyur gave her a suspicious look up and down, before reaching under her hand to retrieve the coin. With a second glance he nodded, and motioned her toward a doorway off to the side of the bar. She nodded, with a smile of appreciation, and with another deep, but quiet breath for courage, she pushed the door open and stepped through. She found herself in a smoke-filled room, with four figures seated around a round table littered with coin, glasses and mugs both empty and full. Two men, a Lalafel fellow, and a woman were playing at a game of cards. One of the men looked up at once, "Whadda you want?" he asked curtly. "Talamarito." she replied. "Oh yeah? Who says he'd talk to you?" She tilted her head slightly, a smile spreading over her lips. "Huzan sent me." "Harumph!" grunted the other Hyur as the Lalafel glanced over his cards at her, brandishing a grin. "You had better make it worth his time, if you know what I mean girly. The first Hyur nodded to his cohorts, before standing with a resigned shrug. He took a moment to collect his coin from the table. "Come with me." He lead her into a hallway amidst jeering from the others. As they walked down the hallway he added emphasis to what his companion had said, "You had better make it worth his time." He managed the sort of quiet bellowing tone so useful in muscle, "Girl here to see you boss." With this greeting she was ushered into the well appointed room: rich, heavy carpets adorned the floor, a fire roared comfortably in the fireplace. The seated Lalafel within looked unassuming by comparison to his surroundings. Dressed in the same style of practical and un-ostentatious clothing as his minions. A carefully maintained mustache stretched from one side of his face to the other, and seemed to balance precariously upon his upper lip. It was grey, and his hair was greying: middle age often a sign of unusual success among criminals. "What can I do for you?" he asked in a calm, pleasant voice. He canted his head slightly, his expression unexpectedly welcoming. For the moment she had mastered the fear of the past hour. A sense of foreboding trepidation still clung beneath the surface of her emotions, but her expression was one of confident calm. Her voice steady,"Huzan sent me." she repeated with sensual Ishgardian tones. He nodded, raising long thin eyebrows and offering a slight shrug of the shoulders. "She can stay," he motioned to his guard, waving him off. With a thunk the door closed behind her as the Hyur slipped back into the hallway. Talamarito tilted his head toward her, without saying another word. Fingers lay folded together, flat upon his desk. She waited for a moment as his expression grew impatient. She strode into the room, letting her long toned legs slide from her opened coat, tempting eyes to draw upon their full length. She thought she could hear him taking in a quick breath, but his expression seemed unaffected. She approached the desk, red lips smiled toward him. "Yesssss?" intoned Talamarito, with a look now mixing inquisitiveness with impatience. "I am looking for something that Huzan cannot provide. He suggested that I try a man of greater resources, and so here I am." She held her smile as she spoke, cocking her hips to the side. "Of course." he said, nearly purring with a smile that stretched from ear-to-ear. He knew the sound of flattery, but who didn't appreciate a compliment from such a lovely young woman. "Hozan is a good man, but he cannot acquire everything a woman may desire." He folded his hands together upon his desk, tilting his head toward her with a raised eyebrow, "So... How may I be of service?" "Dravanian artifacts." she smiled again. He raised both eyebrows, not quite an expression of surprise, but one of recognition. He raised a finger, "You know, I have heard that you people have been about looking for these relics. But I am afraid you're too late, what stock we had is long gone, by moons I'm afraid." he offered a carefree shrug. "You people?" she asked. "Yes, Ishgadrians." he nodded, "You're not exactly quiet and subtle, you know. I'm surprised the city hasn't thrown you a welcome parade by now." She let out a soft, amused laugh. "Just a coincidence, I fear. My employer is most assuredly not Ishgardian." She tilted her still hooded head toward him. His expression was incredulous. "Oh, of course, of course! — Not that it matters to me." he said with bemusement and a dismissive wave of his hand. "I am quite serious. It is just a coincidence." She repeated, amusement still lingering in her voice. He screwed up his lips, "Coincidence is not something I believe in!" he said, before looking her up and down once more, nearly standing up behind his desk to do so. "Especially not when Ishgardians are involved!" "Then again..." he hopped from his chair and walked around the edge of his desk with that infections grin that only Lalafel at their most disarming are capable of. "None of those knights know how to show off their legs like that." he gestured with a nod. Reaching up to his desk for a pipe, he used it to point toward her, "If you are with Ishgardians I at least approve of their change in messenger." Pulling it to his lips he used an expensive-looking sparker to light the the bowl, while drawing through the stem. "Of course, that doesn't change that I don't have the goods any more," he said, through half his mouth. The pipe lit; a wisp of fragrant smoke rose from the bowl. She nodded, "Maybe so. But you could point me in the direction of the buyers? Perhaps one of them would be willing to part with a piece for the right price?" He furrowed his brow, taking a few puffs on his pipe as smoke as a thin cloud began to cling the ceiling. "Perhaps I could." he said with an agreeable nod, "But I fail to see whats in it for me." As he looked up to her she reached a gloved, feminine hand into her cloak. Concern flashed across his features, the pipe suddenly lifting up, squeezed between tightened lips: had his men searched her? Was she drawing a weapon? When she instead drew out a stack of platinum coin the expression quickly faded, replaced with a look of self-assured smugness; it was as if he could dispel her memory of that moment of weakness with a sudden display of confidence. He nodded, gesturing nonchalantly toward his desk as he smacked his lips and cleared his throat, "Ah, I remember now. Besides the Ishgardians most of the relics we dealt with went to one particular buyer." He began to amble about the room, casting long glances back toward her as if studying her from a number of angles. "A Hyur with an eyepatch. He wore all black." Talamarito tapped the bowl of his pipe against his palm, as if thinking about how to describe the fellow. "He acted like an adventure. And I mean, acted. Something about him never felt right. He did not seem like someone capable of acquiring the vast sum of gil he was prepared to spend." the tone of his voice was vicious. "I don't know who he was buying them for, but he had a very particular interest in a particular sort of relic." He stopped, turning again toward her as he puffed on his pipe, drawing his eyes along her legs from her heels to the hem of her short skirt. "He wanted those with a particular gem. Yellow. Sort of like an amber, but cloudy and hideous. You could recognize these things a mile away. He was willing to pay top gil for any we managed to come by." "Were you just buying them to resell to him?" She asked, as he looked up to her eye-to-eye. "Business is business, my dear. We have a vast array of methods to acquire just what our patrons are looking for." His pleasant demeanor seemed to be broken by her question, and he turned his back toward her again, "Now .. I'm not sure that I can remember anything more." She reached into her coat, withdrawing another stack of platinum coins, a sight he spied with a look back over his shoulder. "You are not afraid of this man are you? He did not sound dangerous." "Hmph!" came the immediate reply. He whipped his gaze back toward the wall, leaving his back to Aya indignantly. "If you had met him you wouldn't say it like that. foolish as he may seem, I wouldn't want to cross his ire. Even an idiot can be dangerous if he's good with a blade." As he spoke he drew the pipe from his mouth, fidgeting with it in his fingers. "There's something about him." He visibly shuddered, "You can just feel it." She nodded silently, he glanced back, "There are -other- ways to convince me, by the way." He grinned mischievously, as if trying to banish the uncomfortable topic of discussion. She smiled slyly, reaching into her coat once more. She paused her hand there, letting it slide slightly more open to reveal her low cut top, before she withdrew yet another stack of coin. "He's not buying any more is he? Your finders fee will make this worth the while." The Lalafel nodded, "I don't think he was with the Ishgardians, but he refused to reveal his reasons, not that we're exactly in the business of prying. But he took the time to warn us against the Dravanians. He was fond of mentioning the danger of these relics, as if the importance of his cause would encourage our business." He took a few more puffs on his pipe, moving about the room again and facing her as he spoke, "It doesn't make any sense to me, either. Why buy so many of these relics if dragons aren't your thing? But you can't argue with the man's success. You could probably talk to a dozen of my competitors and they could tell you the same stories." He stopped, throwing his hands into the air as if tired of the whole spectacle, "They're gone! You're not going to find any now, at least not any of the real ones. So good luck." She nodded, adding another partial stack to the three sitting upon his desk. She wanted to sigh: the sight of an accumulation of a moon's hard work handed over to a Lalafel who raked in more than that in a night's work. And for the barest handful of information. He glanced at it as well. "Thank you." she said pleasantly, "I am satisfied, are you?" He shook his head, "Not yet." She offered him a shrug, and smiled as she walked across the room toward the exit. He watched as she turned to open the door, hopping back onto his chair with an ear-to-ear grin. "Now I am." She closed the door behind her. Another long walk in the cold night awaited.

There go my tips for the week!Thanks Eva :-D Thanks for letting me watch - it was my first time seeing Verad's system in action and it moved very smoothly and quickly, I like it!

[align=center][/align] [align=center][A Curious Trinket - The Curious Curio Part Two][/align] Delicate, feminine fingers slid along the fine mithril filigree. Aya's eye was amateur, but the craftsmanship of the piece was simply undeniable. The room was cool in the early winter evening, warmed by a fire in the tiny fireplace along the adjacent wall. Firelight contributed to several candles about the room, and a lantern sitting near the small table at which she sat perched upon her Lalafel sized stool. It was far from a fine workspace, but its what she had available. Her effort was dedicated to the search for the locket's catch, which Verad had so defly pointed out to her the day before. It was hard to find, her fingers failed to take note of any edge or protrusion upon which to press. She drew up the flat bladed spatula from the set of delicate-looking tools. Fingers were replaced by metal on the surface, accompanied with the sound of scraping as she continued the search with the more sensitive instrument. She turned the locket in her hand, keeping the blade firmly pressed against the metal surface along the long circumference. She moved slowly, waiting for her fingers to feel the slightest change of the blade's elevation. Having nearly turned it the full 360 degrees she at last felt a slight fall and rise: an edge. She turned the locket back and forth to manually confirm her find. Turning the location so that she could view it through her lens, she found it invisible still, or near enough. She reached for the spot, applying firm pressure with her finger. The result was an immediate "click" as the locking mechanism released. She blinked for a moment, wide-eyed in surprise. She wondered how Verad had ever found it, of course a man of his trade could not be without his own surprises. She lifted the front surface of the locket with the spatula, separating the two halves as it folded open to reveal the watch face. She studied again the intricate, ever-changing theme of the ornate filigree. It wound its way the full circle around the clock face. Each duodenary displayed a distinct theme, which shifted flawlessly from boundary to boundary. Halone, Menphina, Thaliak and so on represented in turn. The hand that pointed to the time-of-year looked simple compared to the ornateness surrounding it, but it was of obviously unusual material, though Aya could not place it. She turned it over in her hand several more times, drawing the once inexpensive and now worn magnification lens over her eye once more. She peered closely, searching for the means by which to remove the cover and glimpse the inner-workings of her dubious purchase. She first removed the watch hands, a feat easier to accomplish than anticipated, and then took resort to other tools: carefully probing and gliding along the watch face identifying one by one the heads of miniature screw that secured the face to the bulk of the locket's body. They came out easily, as if they had been installed just the day before. With careful, painstaking care she removed tiny screw after tiny screw, then carefully lifting a latch near the top, grasped the face with forceps and slid it out of place. The fire was nothing more than embers. The room grew cold. She gasped, holding the breath for the moment. She had anticipated the sight of gearwork—the sort of intricate mechanical workings that she knew she would never be able to decipher, but the sight of them still struck her with disappointing shock. Still, she leaned closer taking her time to let the sight of the inner workings sink in despite her misgivings. The gearwork was intricate and miniature, the sort one expects to find in a timepiece. She probed carefully looking for the spring that would be the piece's source of tension-energy. A spring to slowly drive the clockwork in its preset pattern, at its preset pace. There was no sign. She furrowed her brow, the search continued. The two lit candles burned low. The evening had worn on into night. The howl of a chill wind blasted the exterior wall. Lantern light still held strong, the room's occupant having long grown accustomed to its pungent perfume. She continued to trace the gear work part by part, finding each individual piece making more sense when returned to on the second and third occasion. Yet, the spring, the coil, or tension bar that provided power was nowhere to be found. She had her suspicions, held firmly beneath anticipatory breaths. A glimmer of hope. The watch was broken, it had no obvious mechanical problems. Yet, would she dare to begin disassembly to test her hypothesis? What if she could never reassemble it? What if an actual watchsmith could have repaired it? She bet not - and set to work. Night became midnight, and midnight became small hours. Piece by intricate piece the unlikely tinker continued to focus upon her prize. Each piece and gear categorized and labelled by order and location within the watch where it was removed. She wasn't working randomly, but searching for something hidden in the case behind the gearwork. She knew it must be there, if her guess was true. She held her breath. She drew the blade across the area again. Once more she felt the slightness of an edge in the flat. She was tired. She had wanted to stop, but curiosity had kept her alert and awake. She tested the section again, finding with certainty the edge she was looking for. Within a few moments of trial and error she had the small cover loose. She held it in place for just a moment, catching her breath. She watched, riveted, as she pulled the smooth rectangular cover away, revealing the box-shaped cut out in the body of the watch beneath the clockwork. There they were: crystal fragments. In that moment she knew she had been right. One by one she withdrew the fragments: broken shards of the crystal that had both powered the timepiece and kept it accurate. With each piece removed the design of the receptacle and its connection to the gearwork became more clear. It wasn't pure clockwork: a resonance power crystal lie at its heart. Magitek. Not quite as irreparable as Verad had thought.

[align=center][/align] [align=center][The Trail - Part 1 - The Scales part Four][/align] Huzan had staked out his usual alley off of Pearl Lane. This time of evening the Blades rarely made their presence known, even this close to the city center. Regardless, he was a facilitator, a fixer: he rarely dealt with the immediate exchange of goods. Instead he served as the front man of a fencing and smuggling machine that ran considerably deeper than a nondescript, lantern-lit alley in which the Blades would find nothing incriminating on the rare chance they might stop by. He was one among the contacts that Aya had quietly enlisted over the past year. The rumor-mill that was the Quick Sand provided ample opportunity to acquire names, descriptions, and methods of contact: a veritable who's who of Ul'dah from the highest towers, to the thugs just above the level of street scum. Despite appearances Aya often felt herself quite at home in the presence of such felonry. Though she would gladly exchange the risks of street life for sweet comfort, she had been raised in the gutters of Ishgard, and a half dozen other stops on the route of a refugee. She knew her way around dark streets and back alleys better than she dared admit. "Its a lady, boss." announced the Roegadyn bruiser from his spot at the entrance of the alley. "I think she wants to see you." The Highlander opposite the entrance from him remained silent, eyes firmly affixed upon the partially cloaked figure with an undisguised oogle. The sound of heels on cobblestone had announced her arrival, draped in a cloak with hood pulled over her head. Red lips glistened in the street light, long, slightly curled blonde locks falling from her hood over the front of her shoulders. She had opened the cloak enough to reveal bountiful décolletage, and as she had come to a stop she had pressed her weight back forcefully into her heels to generate the sort of captivating motion that seemed to hypnotize unfocused men. The disarming nature of such distraction was difficult to overstate: what portion of her face was visible beneath her hood, was unlikely to be what stuck in either of the brutes' memories. From further back in the alley the Hyur master of the operation looked up, unimpressed, before offering a wave for his sentries to allow her through. The Roegadyn first turned to him, and then back to the feminine visitor, "Should we disarm her first?" he asked, with a hint of anticipation. "I don't think she can take those off." came the leering reply of the happily gawking highlander. "Will you.. Thal's balls!" came the irritated voice of Huzan. "What the hells do I pay you two for? Let her in, and let us be." Red lips smiled. Two grumbling guards parted and turned from the alley entrance. She stepped slowly, and confidently within. "Evening, my lady" pronounced Huzan, with an impish tone and a bow of feigned respect. "The boss want something?" Moons ago she had first approached Huzan as if acting as an agent for a wealthy, and anonymous, employer. It had proven a useful fiction. The smile upon red lips became coy as she approached with care and purpose. One foot stepping just before the other with proper, practiced, swaying gait—her mother's lessons had not gone entirely to waste. Having drawn near enough she extended her left hand, gloved in black silk and leather. "Not even a 'good evening'?" she asked with a wryness of her own. Despite her light voice her tone was rich, cloaked with the velvet of her heavy Ishgardian accent. Inflection that provided a lilting tone to her more playful mood, lent an air of intrigue when more serene. Its what Huzan liked about her - she gave as good as she got. Rarely did he find an attractive woman who enjoyed a little wit and repartee. That they were in similar positions: both handling transactions for employers behind the scenes, added to a sense of rapport. That her employer was wealthy and discerning didn't hurt. "Of course, my lady", the word again escaping with a satirical, but friendly intonation, "It is always a pleasant evening when you come to visit." She pursed her lips as he gently grasped her hand and bowed his head to apply a kiss. When he lifted his head once more she shifted her shoulders, subtly tugging at her cloak to ensure it displayed just the picture of provocation she desired. Huzan seemed an honest broker, but any distraction played to her advantage. "He is shopping for something in particular. Something of which rumors have been flitting about so freely as of late." she gave an unimpressed shrug. "And what would that be?" came the inquisitive reply, as if he did not already anticipate what was desired. "The latest fad amongst collectors," came the dry answer, "Dravanian artifacts." "Ah!", he replied with a mischievous grin, "And you would know all about those, I am sure. A little taste of home, hmm?" he added suggestively. She grinned with those slightly pursed lips, a look of composed amusement, "As sand and coin, for you my friend." He gave a little laugh, "I'm afraid you're too late. I'm surprised you've moved so slowly this time. They were on the market for moons, and collectors swarmed around them as flies to fruit. They're gone. All, most probably. I may be able to scrounge something for you, but it wouldn't be easy." Her composure seemed threatened for a moment as a pout of disappointment crossed her lips. "That is most unfortunate. He will be... disappointed." "What's he going to do if you come back empty handed?" asked Huzan, leaning toward her with his leading eye narrowed, prying and suspicious. "Don't tell me..." She huffed, arms pulling at her cloak outward and then back in, causing it to billow momentarily while she offered a slight and sudden shake of her head. It fell upon Huzan as a rebuff, the first hint of vulnerability he had seen the woman express. He stepped back up, drawing his hand behind his head as if stumped over a difficult question. Aya's hidden eyes glanced around nervously, though her lips relaxed as she forced a calm back upon her expression. "I'll tell you what: if anyone can find them now it would be Talamarito. You can find him at the Pale Sands, on Black Smoke alley. You know where its at?" She nodded, masking the dread that particular address filled her with. "Thank you. So much." came her reply, smooth and gracious. She bowed, his eyes followed. Her right hand slipped within her cloak, drawing coins from a hidden belt purse. As she proffered them Huzan drew up his left hand to refuse. "Not this time," he insisted, "Its on me." Three sets of eyes followed her closely as she left the alley and turned toward the Sapphire exchange. The markets were not but the silent dead of night at this hour, and beyond lay the long lonely walk through the ever worsening neighborhoods of the city. Black Smoke alley was one of the last places she wanted to be going, especially beneath the suddenly perilous moonlight.

A Sonnet for the Fury Iceborn goddess, for our own heart's solace, Renew today this sacred trust that binds Our towers gleaming, your image flawless. So they together ever will entwine. We knoweth thee, beneath our frigid plea; That you alone command hard frostbit cold And harken not to warm our land with glee, But narrow lucent eyes on us to scold. For what is fear of bidden ice-cold rime Compared with perils of dragon fire. Learn thee to face the harshest cold, sublime. Lest fail yourself the test of time, and tire." But... as she cloaks our land with bulwark cold, Shall she our hearts' goodwill and warmth withhold? An Ishgardian Girl's Retrospective Cold spring gives way to colder summer. The seasons having lost their way. ‘Twas not that sun chose to slumber, But that the frost preferred to stay. Whatever spell was cast upon it, On that remembered fateful day, Could not be fled, except by permit, Sooner some escape, than to obey. To find the world, than to submit. I once was one that longed to see To hear, to feel, to learn, and know, What it meant to be a woman free. To leave it all behind, and let it go. Now I know, the taste and feel of sun. Beach-hot white sand beneath my feet, In salt-sweet air, and carefree fun, And endless smiles for all I meet. But I cannot forget, or cease to care, From where I came, and who I am. Embittered cold, that all must bear, From where I came, and who I am. The howling gale, hope, despair. Where cold-capped snow peaks linger still, Where frost strong-clings to all it sees. Where hearth and home bring warm goodwill, Where love exists beneath the freeze. Black Sands of Ul'dah Black sand stands watch, bitter sun Days hard toil, spirit spent, wages won Beneath tall spires, that toward the sky stretch on, Wondering from day-to-day when it will be done, And who, when it comes, will have won And what it is, they shall acquire. Those who cannot shun hard sand blown, Know what those above have never known, Where hot air boils, and bakes the bone, Spirits worn to pound the sand and stone Yet still are told they must atone, and stubbornly refuse to tire. While those in towers watch with scorn, Upon those lesser, to toil born, Whose clothes, tools, and hands hard-worn, Have little, gilded, or untorn, And know not what it truly means to adorn, The polished pleasantry of the buyer. Upon hard dust, where pity breaks, All are owned or bought by he who takes, And uses them for all good things he makes, Reminding each again of the stakes, The threat that awaits when he awakes, Should the master, in his whim desire. Hope, and eyes raised to aspire still, When rain comes to bring its thirsty-thrill, Letting all below, devour and drink their fill, While, showing masters beyond the till, Who know the truth, and all they will, Give faith to eyes, and inspire. The sight of rain that cannot recognize That doesn't know or seem to realize That it should know who to penalize, and who its supposed to demonize, But instead, seems to emphasize That none should be the drier.

[align=center][/align] [Cause - The Scales Part Three] The world was dark. She could see nothing. She could feel nothing. Except—the heavy beat of her heart? Its pace seemed to slowly increase. Trepidation? Then a subtle vibration. All was the embrace of darkness: had she fallen asleep? Verad looked worried: the expression on his face, the furrowed brow, lips pulled tight with concern. His eyes were tired and sullen, weary, perhaps exhausted. His white hair was long, unkempt. How long had it been since she'd last talked to him? He looked right, and then left with a characteristic forlorn expectation. "Does he see me?" she wondered; aloud she thought. He looked back ahead at nothing in particular, eyes utterly unfocused and resigned. His gaze seemed to pass right over her shoulder, as if she were invisible. She felt another vibration: it seemed to well up beneath her feet before slowly working through the rest of her body. "Verad!" she felt startled by a yell in the distance. "Verad!" it repeated. She looked to her left, Verad matching her curiosity. Both seemed to spy a familiar figure in the distance, it was Kiht and she was coming this way. "Hold on Verad!" she yelled again. Soon came more voices from the opposite direction, "Hold on! We're coming for you!" more vibration. More voices. Now from above and below. She could see them all at once, somehow: Ser Crofte of the Sworn, Flame Sergeant Melkire, among others she recognized. Heroes of Ul'dah: Brass Blades, Sultansworn, and Immortal Flames approaching from every direction. She watched as they worked closer, all seemed to struggle with all their might to fight their way to the pair with an expeditious hurry. Yet the more they struggled the further away they seemed to be. Their voices trailed off, growing fainter as they became more urgent. Suddenly the look of resignation in Verad's eyes became one of fear: an expression of his she could not remember seeing before. The steady vibration grew powerful. Seconds must have passed in what seemed like long minutes. Her trepidation grew more potent, the steady crescendo of suspense rising to fear. Strands of sinewy silk began to glimmer around Verad, and then all about her. The web in which they had been caught became visible, the vibration the tell-tale approach of long, quick arachnid legs. She turned over her shoulder in the direction that held Verad's gaze affixed in terror: the imagined spider vanished. A large-winged drake swooped from above. She whipped her head back toward her friend as quickly as she could: the entire city of Ishgard seemed to rise suddenly behind him, webbing suspended him to the sheer stonework of a high tower. In her peripheral she could just see the drake as it began to dive. He screamed voicelessly; silently. She shot up in bed, ripping the silk sleeping mask from her eyes. She threw it forcefully across the quiet little room. Her body glistened with sweat. It was cold. She caught her breath. She caught her breath.

They need to give us more LSes

Rawr.

[align=center][/align] [align=center][second Thoughts - The Scales Part Two][/align] As Aya sat beneath the warm moon-lit sky of late winter, her mind returned again and again to the memory of one evening earlier that season. The Quick Sand had been filled with its usual weeknight atmosphere: the heady scent of tea and herbs mixed with perfume, spice, and ale to create that particular fragrance both exotic and comforting. The tones of a bard quietly performing his art lingered over the hum of numerous conversations within. Aya was about her usual evening business, moving from table to table with her bright, cheerful demeanor, and the skirt that seemed to grow shorter with every ale consumed. Her hands were ever-filled with ale, peanuts, and every assortment of libation as she move to-and-fro with her energetic, almost bouncing manner from group to group and patron to patron. The tips were good, and the work fun. It had been a wonderful evening like many others - but one moment stuck in her memory, disturbing the pleasantness of it. Amongst the patrons that evening, amongst the adventurers, regulars, professionals and a handful of successful traders, was a group of black marketeers paying a routine visit to the tavern. Petty criminals at worst, and quasi-legal traders at best, they seemed to make a tidy living in contraband while staying just on the right side of the Syndicate. In the past she had overheard bits and pieces of their conversation, often smattered with rumors and gossip. When they wandered in with a mood of celebration, and settled around their table, she let her paths through the tavern move near their table time-and-time again to better hear what it was they would discuss. It was one of these topics that now seemed so crucial: Dravanian artifacts moving on the black market. Why had she not thought more of it at that moment? Moons ago when such prescience could have proved valuable. The very words had sent a shiver upon her spine then, and she felt another creeping along her now. Perhaps she had just hoped they were mistaken: even forgeries could go for a fair amount to unfamiliar Ul'dahns. Besides, who had ever heard of something so fantastic as Dravanian relics making the long journey to Ul'dah? Who would have bothered with such a thing - nothing to worry about, she assured herself in that manner with which unwelcome news is so often met. Why worry? Until, of course, it becomes time to worry. Kiht had laid out the efforts of so many already on the search for the Relics: Brass Blades, Sultansworn, Knights from Ishgard. None had the combination of knowledge, experience, and presence to find what they were looking for, nor had they the ability to combine their efforts. Ishgard would act without regard for others, knowing full well the very real danger and threat posed by the relics. Ishgard takes nothing Dravanian lightly, and that very intensity would be reflected in an unwillingness to cooperate or moderate. The Brass Blades would draw a line in the sand where their authority began, and violently defend it against all transgression. Ambitious and avaricious, the Blades always view Authority is a commodity: never to be relinquished without proper recompense. They would be as feckless and oblivious in the pursuit of Dravanians as they were vigorous and tested in their defense of privilege. The Sultan Sworn, Her Grace's Finest, would pursue every lead without any hope of unraveling the whole before it mattered. Such is the way of the brave, conscientious, and plodding. She lay back atop the domed parapet, resting her head in folded hands as she stared up toward the sky, gazing at wisps of grey cloud faintly illuminated by pale moon-silver. Her thoughts turned the question over and over again: can I? Should I? While Verad tried to untangle the knot of competing interests, Kiht, Osric, and the Flames would look to cut through the fog and drive to the core of the problem. Was it worth taking a risk if she might aid them in their cause? It was just the sort of thing she always told herself to avoid. Avoid. Avoid. A fox must never allow herself to be caught in the open.

Awww, you didn't post the one of me Chachan?

Your incredibly lucky day Clio!

Wow.. Aya yes/no? I think yes!

There are both such writers and peddlers of such books already! Knock yourself out! :-D Depends what you ask her!

Reminds me of an up-muscled Ian Anderson...

I guess I can elucidate some! Aya's origin is Scandanavian, or at least that's what it was intended to be. I originally imagined Highlander Hyur as Nordic. A warrior people from a land of cold and snow (albeit, without the ships). I've come to find that's probably not the case, especially given how dark skinned Highlanders tend to be, she really stands out with her pale skin and blonde hair (but.. that's what she is!) She's tall (5' 10", without heels), and rather athletic. Despite her cheerfulness and bubbliness there's a hint of potential menace to be seen in her form for anyone taking a close enough look beyond her body language. Culturally she's an adapter, a useful trait for a girl who spent most of her childhood as a refugee. She adopted Ishgardian culture as her own, and speaks with an obvious and undiminished Ishgardian accent, and carries the mannerisms and mystique of her adoptive home city. I suspect that native Ishgardians can tell her accent is not quite right, and would rightly assume that she's not native to the city, but others would find it very difficult to do so. She tried to blend in somewhat during her time in Gridania, but has intentionally continued to stick out in her Ishgardian manner in Ul'dah.