Verad

The children are all taken to the Quicksand and used as cast-members in an increasingly elaborate sales pitch, in which half of all revenue is donated to the Ul'dahn Society for Underprivileged Ala Mhigan Orphans.

The farther this goes, the less reason you have to play your character. This is not a general you. This is a specific, Kale-centric, you. You do not need to play an officer of the Immortal Flames, or a member of the military in general. These are outward trappings. It is Kale's character that makes them interesting. You do not need to play a gladiator or somebody trained as such for the same reason. It is the personality that counts. Likewise, none of us need to play in a setting that relies on magic, exotic races, or fantasy in general. Why can we not ignore these trappings? It's our character that makes our characters interesting. This is the same argument that disparages fantasy and places value only in realist fiction. Why are we using it for this?

When the counterexample is an unknown to the second party, it is not a counterexample. The burden of proof is then laid back on the one giving said example. In either case, the poster clarified himself and the discussion can now continue. Conveniently without you responding to the now-clarified counter-example.

Disagreement does not automatically ascribe truth to the dissenter. I can also list meaningless names to a third party and claim the argument invalid. Meta-commentary on the nature of how arguments work are likewise ineffective at the ascription of truth, but I take your point. For those not in the know, the above are tabletop games in which the absurd is part and parcel and largely the point of the setting. All of them are regarded as classics or significant work in that hobby. Fantasy, absurdity - they're all good roleplay vehicles.

There is a fine line between fantasy and absurdity. Only one of them makes for good role-play. Toon, Paranoia, Amber Diceless, and the weirder parts of Exalted would disagree strenuously.

It's not a very good comic.

The crowd at the Quicksand was busy, as it had been every time Malin had visited in the past few nights. Without her uniform, nobody paid her any real mind; a somewhat slight-looking Midlander woman who didn’t draw attention to herself with ostentation and armor could blend in easily amidst crowds of adventurers too busy with their own intrigues to pay attention. At first she had thought this would make finding her quarry simple; he enjoyed standing out, if not to the point of ostentation. But for the past few nights she had returned home empty-handed. How Verad Bellveil could possibly hide himself, when all reports indicated he was out of hiding and back to “work,” eluded her as much as the man himself. Tonight would be the last effort before she grabbed whatever Blades her limited authority in the Ul’dahn division could muster and stormed his estate. If what Donnell told her was true, however, that wouldn’t be necessary. A sour look crossed her face, and she sought out the leggy blonde who always served drinks in order to get an ale. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust what her husband had told her; working as a retainer, he no doubt brushed shoulders with the same lower circles as Bellveil. It was just that it was so . . . stupid. It couldn’t possibly be as easy as he said to get the man to reveal himself. Nobody was both smart enough to avoid capture and stupid enough to walk into it that easily. And then there was just . . . what she’d have to do. Her ale arrived and payment was provided before the look could get any worse, but once she received it, she took a very long pull. It made her feel sick, considering it. She considered moving to assault the estate now, but the memory of a week ago, of that Ishgardian zealot tearing through good men and women like so much trash, made the sick feeling worse. Try this first, at least. So decided, she found a space at a table, bumping shoulders with a Highlander off to some anonymous liaison, and had a seat. She took another drink. The ale didn’t feel strong enough, so she drank again. And then, leaning forward and heaving a large, heavy sigh she tried to make as breathy as possible, she spoke, raising her voice over the crowd. “My, but I am in such dire need of goods of dubious quality! But all the local merchants will only sell reputable things. Whatever am I - “ She heard the rapid patter of footsteps behind her before they came to an abrupt halt. “YeshellomadamIamtoldyouareinneedofdubiousgoods?” She fought to hide the smile, fought to avoid looking over her shoulder right away. She didn’t want him to see her face right away, and she was afraid that she’d see a dust-cloud in his wake when he approached. Then she’d be laughing too hard to catch him, and off he’d go again. When she was sure she could remain composed, she turned to face him with a smile. “Indeed I do.” Seeing grey skin turn white, she felt, was worth the stupidity. --- Despite having a good fulm’s height and fifty ponz over her, Bellveil was surprisingly easy to capture once lured into the open. He managed a half-hearted attempt at fleeing, got taken down at the legs by a seated tackle before she got too far (to the frowning disapproval of the barmaid, but while Malin did not bring her uniform, she had remembered to bring her seal of authority to quell serious protests), and, once wrangled with wrists placed behind his back, was led out of the Quicksand towards the Pearl Lane entrance with surprising compliance. Perhaps he had seen this coming. There was an old rug a few yalms down the street, and it seemed as good a place as any to deposit him. A quick shove of her arms and Verad tumbled onto the ground. She thrust a finger at him before he could right himself. “You sit there,” she said, a cautioning note in her voice, “and listen. Run and I’ll call for help.” “I - I assure you, Ser Greaves, that I haven’t a thing to do with the buyers on the markets. Those relics are well out of my purview, you see, and - “ “Did I say talk? I didn’t say talk. You listen, Bellveil. You can talk later, but for now, listen.” Ever the protester, Verad opened his mouth, but another look from her clamped it shut. He seated himself in cross-legged fashion - seemed oddly comfortable on that rug, thought Malin - and gestured for her to continue. “A week ago and a few dozen yalms from here I caught one of those Ishgardian meddlers harassing the local merchants for artifacts. You’d know her I think - V’aleera Lhuil? You met once at the Footfalls.” What a mess that had been, she thought. An Ossuary researcher injured and traumatized and a pair of the Rose Order’s guards brought to death’s door. Worse still because it now seemed mild in comparison. When Verad nodded in recognition, she continued. “She’s had a bounty for weeks - resisting arrest from the Flames for refusing to yield weapons, you know. And she’s been terrorizing the markets for longer. Harassing merchants. Beating people who talk back. And when we arrived to apprehend her?” At a downward glance, she noticed she was clenching her fists. She tightened her grip. “Five men and women dead. But just Blades, of course, so nobody minds. You can get a dozen to the gil if you dredge the bars around closing time. Still, five dead at her hand before we called it off, and she’s still out there, on her ‘holy mission’.” She smiled a razorblade at Verad. “And what do you think that mission is?” He didn’t respond, just sat there scratching the scruff of his beard in a kind of nervous tic. She didn’t need him to do that. “Looking for artifacts. Relics. The same relics that led her to damage a museum with a priceless, er . . . “ What was a Tardaftigops, anyway? “A priceless skeleton, intervene in the city gaols, fight and kill and bicker her way around our city. The same relics that led to the aevis at Highbridge, and the Ossuary explosion - oh, don’t think I don’t know, Bellveil, you wipe that look off of your face - and some idiot in a trenchcoat convincing the locals anybody with an Ishgardian accent is the enemy. And with people like Lhuil around, I almost believe him!” Her voice rose as she spoke, the tired tone of her voice that Donnell always joked made her sound bored rising to a higher and higher pitch. She didn’t realize she was shouting until she saw Verad flinching at her words. She didn’t care. “And why, Mister Bellveil, why are all these relics out in the streets of Ul’dah? Why are people dying over stupid gems and trinkets?” She stopped, catching her breath. To her surprise, he responded, his head lowered. “Because I stole them,” he murmured. “Or if I didn’t steal them, I let them be stolen.” His head rose his chin jutted out, a momentary defiance. “But I had reasons for - “ “If you like,” she said through gritted teeth, “You may take your reasons to the families of the slain and explain them as best you can. Mayhaps they’ll forgive you. Twelve knows so many of your friends have with that tongue of yours. Not one would give you up, and I can’t even get you out of the estate without that clan in your house coming at me spears drawn.” She threw her hands up. “I can’t even arrest you here, alone, because I’m half-sure they’ll stage an escape.” There were other problems, to be sure. The evidence was flimsy; the only item linking him to the scene was a report of his Imitation Fool’s Gold being used as a weapon, and even that hadn’t been found. If she left it to an honest inquisition, she had little. Yet he was flinching, Twelve, even his beard seemed to be wilting. Let up for a moment and he might come to the same conclusion. “That’s why you’re getting a choice, Bellveil. You can turn yourself in for negligence leading to interference with trade routes, head high, and take what’s coming. What we both know you deserve, and probably less. Nobody comes with you, nobody tries to break you out, nobody pleads about how badly you feel. That’s one option.” He swallowed. “And - and the other?” “You stay holed up in your estate, and I pass word to the Goblet Housing Authority that you’ve been implicated in this business with the relics. I don’t even need to say much, I think, but I have more than enough.” His eyes widened. “They’ve been itching to evict you, haven’t they? The Dubious Duskwight? He’s not a real adventurer. This is some kind of fraud. It would be more than enough for them to act.” “I-it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve lived hand-to-mouth - “ “Mayhaps, but your guests? All those friends? Do you want to see that little cub without a home?” His mouth gaped in horror. For a salesman, she thought, he wore his emotions too freely. “I thought not. You give yourself up, and I’ll keep them off your back. I’ll give you that much. And that’s all I’ll give you.” Silence passed between them before she spun on her heel. “You have a week. Turn yourself in at Highbridge - or be prepared to start packing.”

I appreciate that. Your negativity is really dragging things down.

Break it halfway through the plot. And? What would happen? On another note, I freaking hate that a single topic did indeed derail SO MUCH. I was just pitching a concept, and it became a freaking battle here. That puts the burden of finding a new solution to the problem on the players, whether that be building another solution or digging up an alternative orb somewhere. If you don't want the plot to be your characters fixing the problem for the people caught up in it, you will need to take the means of fixing it away from them. If this is just going to be "my character causes and then fixes a problem for some strangers" then I retract the suggestion, but at that point why do you need the other players except as an audience?

Break it halfway through the plot.

The potential issues have been listed. Other people have recognized them as valid issues, and even the OP has acknowledged that these issues can be a problem and, to his credit, is placing guidelines in his plot to help mitigate them. Are you sure you're defending him the way you think you are?

Dude I plan to put OOC rules in the OP of the RP thread, be it within spoiler tags or not. The device that switches will be small, like an orb, and stuff like that can be very hard to find in a place like Ul'dah, so it could take a while. There will be a limit to what can happen in terms of content, like there might be groping if only to see if what just happened is true, but if they are not comfortable with it I will add that to the restrictions as well. As for upper limit, I don't know what number of people should it be. Where did the device come from, who put it there, who made the device, why would somebody leave that kind of device lying around, and if it wasn't just lying around, what's the agenda of the person leaving it there, such that it serves their interests to have random people switch bodies? Start with an upper limit of ten.

Previous poster attitudes are informed by the tiredness of the plot and the obvious ease with which the plot could lead into some shady business. Previous poster attitudes are being excellent in trying to kibosh the problem before it comes to light. I commend the previous poster for being excellent.

Positivity was not listed as a requirement for posting in the thread. While making childish snarking comment is required? See what I was writing below and then come back to me.

More seriously, the following: -It's a pretty well-trod concept at this point. It would be really easy to make a Freaky-Friday style plot that lasts for a day or so for the lulz or whatever the youth are calling it these days, but it will be largely superficial RP unless you can make the hook somewhat more interesting and give it some longevity. -If you do it, your characters' efforts to fix the problem should not be the focus. Give that to the players who choose to join. Presume you're going to be spending more time managing the idea than getting to RP. If you insist on being the character who fixes everything, ask yourself why. -Reed is 100% correct. People will escalate the event and do stuff like grope the body the participants find themselves in. It's an expected component of this kind of story (the old joke about the character finding him/herself in a new body and checking their junk to confirm the truth of it, to their horror and our amusement). You will need to establish OOC boundaries on what is and isn't acceptable behavior or somebody is going to get upset. -Set an upper limit on how many people you want to join, and get assistance from other people whose chief interest is in managing the plot. If you have limited experience managing a plot, you will quickly find it escalates beyond your ability to run it alone if you don't.

Positivity was not listed as a requirement for posting in the thread.

Con-artist? We should talk.

“We have to stop. We’re done here. It’s over.” Despite his usual composure, Gerchon couldn’t help but grimace through the words. He hadn’t enjoyed saying them any more than he was sure his partner did hearing them, in spite of ensuring that they could be spoken in as palatable a fashion as possible; Didino out at some nameless soiree and unable to interrupt, a good meal compliments of the Dino estate’s head chef (eft tail, cooked slow so the gristle turned to grease), and a pilfered bottle of Ishgardian red, one of the last bottled before the snows. A pair of lovers could not have asked for a better final meal. Better, however, did not mean good, and the puzzled look in the No-Eyed Man’s “good” eye (why did he insist on wearing the patch when he was out of the public eye - haha, very amusing) bespoke the start of a longer conversation. “So soon?” The grimace remained, and Gerchon cradled his goblet in his hands. A nice one, golden. Didino refused to touch them now, and given the rumors around the city, Gerchon could see why. He preferred the risk, however, and drank deeply before continuing. “It’s gone wrong. That’s all there is to it.” “As it has several times now. And we have always found another opportunity. So you have said yourself. Was it the Seeker? I did warn - “ A raised hand. “You did.” Now that had been a mistake. Enticing some half-mad feral cat to stalk and nearly gut the pair before they’d left the Sagolii, only to convince her it was in her best interests to stalk the dragoons in the city and take what they were hiding to “bring their Nunh” power. She had been easy to sway; a mere mention of pleasing her master, however much it had made Gerchon shudder, had made her pliable. But since then, they’d received no word. Either she had failed, or, worse, succeeded and not shared the proceeds. “You did,” he repeated. “In other circumstances, I’d wait it out. We had the benefit of time. Now, though - “ He paused, loath to admit what came next. “We’re not tipping the scales. Not anymore. If anything, we’d be helping to keep them stable. Tell me - you’ve been out amongst the people? Riling the crowds?” “From time to time. A good appearance here and there, offering payment to the ‘right’ person. All as planned.” “Right, right.” Gerchon glanced away, his grip tight on his wineglass. For once, his thoughts were muddled. The song had been ringing strong in his mind of late, and when it had reached a crescendo he had fought the urge to drop the plan entirely and take flight to Ishgard. That had subsided, but the sound was there even now, the beautiful keening of glass on slate. “And you’ve seen the swaps?” “The meets? Yes, a few. Locals trading in trash.” The No-Eyed Man’s snort was small and slight, too harsh to be written off as a mere scoff. “I made an appearance at one. Paid the thousand for a ‘rosary’. It seemed to be keeping their interest.” “Then you haven’t seen the buyers.” “The - what?” Gerchon nodded, and drained his drink. “Buyers. Monetarist purchasing agents, from the sound of it. Snapping up relics at twice our offered price. Halone’s arse, I’ve heard last night there was a woman offering ten times the amount. They were never interested before, you see? It was all trash to them - not worth their notice, in spite of all the accidents and trouble. Then there’s . . . whatever happened at that feast, and now they’re clearing the markets.” Oh, to have been at that party, as a guest or a gnat on the wall. Didino Dino hadn’t been influential enough to secure an invitation, which was not a problem in and of itself. It was his middling pull with the Syndicate, and the Dunesfolk’s desire to increase that pull, that had made him ideal for the original plan. But it did mean that the rumors he’d heard were all that he’d heard, and the tales varied from the plausibly wild to the implausibly likely. “So there’s that. And then Dino’s interest in the particulars. The angles, the move with Primrose, the last resort - almost every day since the feast. He wants it to happen, and soon. Between the two? Power’s shifted, I think. Dino isn’t keeping us under wraps to surprise the Syndicate and show them what he can do - he’s getting us ready to act to prove that he’s worth keeping around.” A quick shake of the head. “It won’t hit them both anymore. We’re tools now.” Quiet passed between them, broken by wine hitting metal as Gerchon refilled his goblet. The No-Eyed Man, he noted, had yet to touch it. “So it’s done. We declare the problem solved, the threat ended, and we leave. We’ll try again elsewhere. Limsa, Gridania, Vylbrand, mayhaps Ishgard if there’s a turn in the battle.” He tried to smile. “You wanted this, right?” “You offered me an end.” Ah. There it was. He kept the smile, tried to keep it from turning brittle. “I did. You’ll still get it. I’ll hold to that. But not - not here. Here, it’s no end, you see? You overturn nothing, no matter how it looks. But elsewhere, matters are less stable.” “You offered me an end.” His tone had dropped. Though Gerchon knew the source of it, the menace in the No-Eyed Man’s voice still made him shudder. “This is not a recurring role.” “What - where, where is this coming from? A week ago in the desert you wanted to flee!” “And you wanted to stay.” “I did when staying might tip the scales. Now, though? If the Monetarists have taken the city? It’s futile. It would change nothing. Harden the anti-Ishgardian sentiment, perhaps. Give them more justifcation to have expelled those knights - “ That much he had heard, repeated with glee by panicked citizens sure of a reprisal, clutching “rosaries” and necklaces hammered into wings as if they were proof. “And use the one man crusading against them - “ Ah. There it was. “I see. It’s futile.” “It is. You see precisely.” “I won’t be party to this. It’s exactly why I left Coerthas.” “You needn’t be. Flee; disappear. Leave the last resort, and all will be well.” The No-Eyed Man rose to his feet. Despite being indoors, his trenchcoat managed to billow. Gerchon always puzzled over that. “There are better endings, Leofric,” he said as his partner left the table. “Better than this.”

Please stop trying to be a forced meme.

Just do something more interesting than superpowers with it.

0iRTB-FTMdk

Verad has basically three outfits - casual, semi-casual, and formal. In all cases he tends to prefer loose clothing with a lot of pockets so he can hold samples of his wares, and to help with the Thanalan heat.

Remember, you're only allowed to be edgy if you can conceal edginess. Dark clothing, tortured backstories, and brooding are all faux pas; "grittiness," interpreting the lore to be as caustic to other groups as possible, and "low fantasy" are perfectly acceptable. Be sure to edge responsibly.

Monetarists Hate Him!!! Click here to learn the one weird trick an Ul'dah Duskwight found to ensure a constant supply of gil!

Be slightly more generous with the margin of error when setting up mudra, that's about it.