Verad

Do not trust this Elezen. She will dog-ear your books.

Ain't their fault you were late for a plot! Also, to contribute to the thread, if only slightly: I will happily, dare I say gleefully, impress my values, and see no problem with other characters doing so.

A few points: 1. The text assumes that the default amount of hits for a boss monster is 10, but this number may vary by the amount of players present. This, then, presumes that not only is there a default for a boss, but a default number of players. Exactly how many should be present, and how should the number be adjusted if there are more or fewer players than that assumed number? 2. The lack of concrete examples for elements outside of the egis and the summons makes a great deal of the material very vague. What would you provide, say, as an example of an appropriate limit break based on past experience? This is also true for the various character abilities that players are assumed to possess. From what I can gather from reading the text, you're assuming that players will have access to in-game abilities. Not everybody will IC of course, but that's fine, that's their choice. However, without examples of how you've seen these abilities used in events, or suggestions for how to use specific abilities, players may find themselves stumped, or DMs using these rules may be at a loss for how to gauge how effective something should be. 3. I note that HP varies by class - Specifically, healers and the pet classes having less of it than melee. That's a simple abstraction, but having that abstraction may mean complaints from players using tank classes, frustrated that they can take only as many hits as any other class. Variant HP values tend to be an all-or-nothing proposition - either all categories vary, or none of them do. Overall I think this is a really good start to a developed system, but it feels like a lot of the rules are still unexpressed, or at least that it's relying on the DM and players to fill the gaps. That's fine, and they can certainly do that, but having some more specific examples to help them do that would be very useful.

Eorzean early childhood literacy programs.

Event(s) 3: Trail of Scales Day/Time: TBD Premise: Multiple factions of individuals - Ishgardians, Brass Blades, and Verad's own haphazardly cobbled damage-control team - are now aware that Dravanian relics are being sold openly on the markets of Ul'dah. In addition to securing whatever relics are still for sale, the tracking and acquisition of those that have already been purchased is now of vital importance. Can the various groups find the relics before any further incidents like the aevis at Highbridge occur and endanger the city? OOC: Unlike the prior events, the current one involves multiple scenarios and leads. It is up to players to choose what they will and will not investigate. Trails that are not picked up by any players will be resolved by Malin Greaves and the Brass Blades. That may be good. That may be bad. All event dates and times are TBD. It is up to the players attached to coordinate a time with one of the Roll Eorzea GMs. To avoid overcomplicated and lengthy events, each trail has a hard upper limit of four players. The information attached to each trail below is information that all participants could reasonably be expected to learn without special knowledge from gossip on the street, local newspapers, or their own contacts. Specialized information will require sleuthing and rolls. 1: Fufuyu Fuyu, a mid-level cartwright attached to the Monetarists, has recently abandoned his work following claims of being harassed by an unknown figure. Found raving in the streets in paranoia about "The dragon's shadow," he has been committed to the care of relatives. His absence is slowing down caravan repairs and trade routes accordingly. 1. Kiht Jakkya 2. Haruko Kokojo 3. Nyxh Jakkya 4. Leanne Delphium 2: Goldsmith's Guild member Tristan Brooks was recently found dead in his flat, apparently of an overdose of somnus. Brooks was recently accused of stealing a pendant from Goldsmith's client Wawanzo Pupunzo and replacing it with a fake. 1. Anstarra Silverain 2. 3. 4. 3: The recent passing of amateur Ishgardian scholar Prudentia Southerland has left several of her relatives in doubt as to the nature of her will. Apart from the issue of how to split funds - which has led to one minor but loud punch-up in the Ruby Road Exchange - there is the matter of how to deal with the small cache of relics she has acquired. 1. Evangeline Primrose 2. Jana Ridah 3. 4. 4: Garnot Blacke, a Highlander refugee of ill-repute, was found gutted in Pearl Lane yesterday. The culprit was easy to capture - it is well known that the elezen that slew him remained poised over his body when the Blades arrived, praying in a pidging of common tongue and Ishgardian dialect, a rosary in his hands. 1. Orrin Halgren 2. V'aleera Lhuil 3. Inessa Hara 4.

That's dubious. And yet effective!

Exist. Talk.

At the Grindstone: Minimum realism, maximum farce. I would much rather pull from comedic interpretations of combat rather than realism. Verad's ability to harm anything other than his opponent with a bow and arrow is well-known at this point, and even when he uses knives, with which he is actually skilled, he still looks like an idiot thanks to presentation and appearance. Outside the Grindstone: Eh. I'll let people describe a style for me on their own time, based on their own perceptions, and nod and tap my nose as if they've discovered a secret.

There was a special loathing in Verad's heart for Vesper Bay. He'd been unable to put his finger on the why of it for some time. In the past, he'd attributed his dislike of it to the ostentation of it, the splendor, the luxury, the sheer undubiousness of the place. From its ability to house any ship Limsa could provide to the grand statue of Lolorito in its plaza, a display of the Syndicate lord's self-image made flesh, to the lack of grunge or grime beyond the workers - and they were kept well out of sight -it was all so respectable. Those reasons still held true; even now, as he surveyed the surroundings, he had to fight to keep a sneer of disdain off of his face. As he had learned some moons ago on the cliffside of the Silver Bazaar, however, there were other reasons for his dislike, and it was those reasons that brought him here today. First, he had to confirm the truth of what he'd been told, of what that boy had said as he'd thrown Verad's gil over the cliff side, for himself. A simple plaque near the Bay's offices of noteworthy benefactors was all it took, though Verad had never felt himself quite so sickened by reading a pair of words. From there, it was a short march into the offices themselves, where he placed his hand on a receptionist's desk too quickly, spoke too quickly, to be asked if he had an appointment, or if there was prior business, or any other means of seeing him away. He put on his best, most dazzling smile, one known to blind those with exceptionally keen sight (or so he told himself). "I do beg your pardon, ma'am," he told the man before him, who looked up from a set of papers with appropriate confusion. "But I was curious about the collective ownership of the Bay. Are the records of investors open to the public? If, say, one wanted to learn how much of a stake a company had in the enterprise?" The receptionist was quick to offer a shake of his head. "Nay, sir," he replied. "That information is available to the investors themselves and through appropriate brokers, but not to any duskwight that comes in off the street." He gave Verad a pointed look. This only broadened his smile. "Ah, but I am hardly any duskwight!" He bowed his head in his usual elaborate flourish. "Verad Bellveil, ma'am, of Bellveil Enterprises, as the plaque outside indicates. I've come to claim my dividends."

Malin had no illusions about the upward mobility of her work. Between a sergeant's pay and Donnell's own employment, they could afford a flat on a nameless street that differed from Pearl Lane only in its equal lack of refugees and notoriety. There was, if she were to give a fair assessment, less crime, mayhaps because a few other Blades from a few other orders lived here. They tended to break the law when they were on the job more often than off. There were, of course,other ways to supplement her income, as the extra coin pouch at her belt attested. Arresting Bellveil out at Horizon had been a momentary whim, the kind of law-enforcement brought about by being in the right place at the right time and seeing the right person in his wrong place and wrong time. He was responsible for the problems at Highbridge; of that much she was sure. Between Berold's statements, records of a certain warehouse robbery and reports of a guard knocked unconscious with a piece of "golden rock", and the flooding of the markets with Dravanian relics shortly thereafter, she had enough for the scales of justice to tip vaguely in her favor should she decide to charge him with endangering the trade routes through negligence. Mayhaps they might even convict him of something. But he'd had friends present, and one of them had been willing to pay to see the shackles off his wrists. It had been excuse enough to let him go, along with a few others. She'd expected him to protest, to struggle, to proclaim his innocence, but once she had him he hadn't uttered a single word. The look of resignation, of defeat, set her on edge. Better to take the offered purse and let him go. A sour smell - light, familiar, and not unpleasant - hit her as she opened her front door. Donnell's back was turned to her, bent over the small stove in the corner they had tentatively designated a kitchen. He still wore the deep blue jacket the markets kept for retainers as their basic uniform, loose and unbuttoned, either just returned from work or too lazy to undress earlier - not that Malin could judge, given her bad days. "Chanterelles?" she said by way of greeting, unbuckling sword from her waist and hooking shield near its place by the door. "With raptor,"said Donnell, holding up one finger as if to correct. "Thought I'd try simmering in wine this time. Should be less smoke." Malin smiled, though this was replaced by a furrowing of the brow when she considered his choice of ingredients. "A bit expensive, isn't it?" "A bit," he conceded, finally turning to face her. He was smirking. He was always smirking. There was something fundamentally funny about life that he'd never been able to articulate except through that particular look of bemusement underneath a head of slicked-back dark blond hair. He'd only had the manners to wipe it off his face during the wedding, and she'd asked him to never do it again. "I had a few good ventures, some generous clients. Good time for a Heavensturn dinner, yeah?" This got a wince out of Malin. When the year had turned, she'd been checking records on warehouse robberies in Pearl Lane. If he seemed annoyed, he didn't let it show. "Yeah. Good time." He made a shooing motion with his hands. "Go, get comfortable. This still needs a little work before I can leave it to simmer. You made it through the day alive, I trust?" "Mm." There was silence save for the ambience of bubbling liquid for a few minutes as she exchanged armor for loose cotton attire, settling on the left side of a threadbare couch. "Made a little extra myself, as well," she announced, keeping her voice casual. "You did?"Donnell seated himself opposite from her. "Mm. Payoff to let someone go." His smirk didn't change; Malin had learned to read him by the wrinkling of his eyes, the tone of his voice. "Payoffs? That's not like you." The disapproval had the barest amount of concealment. "I know, I know." She knelt forward and rubbed her forehead. "It was . . . it was an excuse, I suppose. I felt I ought to arrest someone, but I'm not sure it was necessary. Bribe's as good a reason to let him go as any, isn't it?" "I suppose," he said, looking as though he didn't. "There's just something off about this . . . thing,I guess. You've been in the markets. You've seen the jewelry, right? The trinkets?" "All the little dragons, yes. Didn't think much about them." "Right. They're not coming from Ishgard, though, are they? Not through the Highbridge route, I can tell you that. Somewhere in the city,I think." She sucked on the inside of her cheek in thought. "Better to let him run free and sort it out than lock him up and leave it for myself, I suppose." Donnell gave her a furrowed brow of his own. Talking about work, when she was in the midst of it at least, was unusual. "So how much was it?" Malin raised her eyebrows. "You know, I never thought to check." She rose from her seat to fetch the pouch and set it down before her. "Let's see." She undid the string. Credit was due, here, to Evangeline Primrose's ability to make a pouch that functioned as a smoke bomb feel as if it was full of gil. The blast produced a sharp crack that made Malin throw the pouch against the wall of her flat on instinct, fearing a bomb. Credit was also due for her ability to make the smoke issue all at once instead of pouring out in a stream. The door to the Greaves' flat opened, noxious smoke billowing out from within in addition to the Greaves' themselves, stumbling into the street and coughing profusely. Donnell slumped against the opposite wall of the street to catch his breath, taking a few deep wheezes, as Malin went on the alert, checking the road for any signs of attackers, for indications of a planned ambush. Once it was clear there was no threat of anything but the slow gathering of entertained onlookers, she knelt down to check on Donnell. "You're all right?" she said, taking his face and twisting it from left to right to see if he had suffered any burns, her voice professional but strained. "I'm fine. I'm - I'm fine, Mal, really." She smiled. "Good. I need to go kill an elezen."

Lilithium has had the best and most realistic reaction to Verad selling anything to anyone to date. A+, would annoy again.

What are you talking about, they can't even reach my pockets.

Event 2: Heavy Footfalls Day/Time: Monday, January 5th, 7:00 PM CST Starting Location: Horizon Premise: Following confirmation that the dragon encountered in Highbridge may be one of several, Verad has put out feelers through his limited contacts for sightings of any further creatures or of Dravanian influence around Thanalan. The next lead takes the group out to the Footfalls, where the shallow water may conceal more than crumbling ruins. Spaces: 4 (A second group will open upon all four spaces being filled) 1. Kiht Jakkya 2. Leanne Delphium 3. Evangeline Primrose 4. V'aleera Lhuil Note: As before, this is a roll-based event. See the notes in Event 1 for details.

Causation's a hard thing to come by when making broad statements about RP communities.

Verad's personality is similar in nature to the more competent and less comedic rogue I used to run on WoW, but that's more a matter of playing a certain type than a matter of porting the character over. I do tend to port character creation methods into other games, and use the Burning Wheel RPG's Beliefs, Instincts, and Traits system to make characters and model changes in personalities whenever possible.

Can I write it off because you're presuming intent is easier to prove than it is? Because your argument is grounded in that. Edit: I will say that, whatever the actual intent, it's a little disappointing to see the first appearance of an iconic FF character as a different gender using a tired character design.

There are two facets to this for Verad. First, as Eorzea's Greatest Lover, he does not feel it would be fair of himself to tie himself only to one person. That's a squandering of talent, denying the world at large of his abilities. This is why so few of his relationships move past flirtation. Second, and perhaps more significantly, he feels that on some level he doesn't deserve a committed relationship. He just doesn't know why.

Roleplay is unlikely to fulfill them.

"Well hello, friend!" OMG that must be Darev or Vared or Derav or something. Evil twin. Just to put everyone at ease, the flowering of the Bellveil moustache during the month of Starlight is a natural and inevitable event. Treasure this once-a-year sight while it exists.

There is a one-week period each year in which Christmas music is acceptable. Everything prior to the 18th is not that week.

Look at my screen name. Look just beneath it. There you go.

"This needs to go through Captain Longhaft." It was the third time Sergeant Malin had said it. She repeated the statement, slowly, as if the private in front of her had only recently come to the realm and only learned fragments of the common tongue. "Something this big, it needs to go through Longhaft." "Captain Longhaft's getting his lever oiled," said the private, the half-mask over his face concealing the amused expression in his eyes, if not his smirk. "You want to break into his quarters and pull his girls off him, be my guest." Remembering himself, he cleared his throat and stood a little straighter. "Er, respectfully, Sergeant. But you take my meaning." Malin pressed her hand to her temples and sighed, looking out over the road through Highbridge and into the Sunway. "It's that big? It can't wait?" A little further in the distance she could see the last of the cargo being loaded up onto a caravan, otherwise packed. One seat remained empty, a gap amidst chattering passengers, eager to be in Drybone before dawn. "I wish it could, Sergeant, but the 'venturers made it seem pretty important. And then, well, there's the trophy they brought back. Ought to do something about it, don't you think? Our due diligence?" Malin rubbed her chin in thought, wrinkling her nose. It wasn't her problem in terms of general authority, which belonged to Longhaft, or in terms of personal responsibility, her leave having started some few bells ago. But the Captain was known to be less than diligent, foisting responsibilities onto inferiors, then taking the credit and busying himself with his "staff." If it got back that she'd left work to him, it might well have been the last leave she'd have for moons on end. She sighed. Donnell was going to be cross; she wouldn't be back in the city for another sun or so. But there was nothing to be done about it. "Show me the prisoner first, then." --- The man didn't look like much - a caricature of a Highlander, thin and dour and conspicuously devoid of eyebrows. Muscular, but only because there was no fat left on his body for muscles to hide behind. A refugee once, she guessed, although from the private's report he'd gone so far into despair he'd taken up banditry. Mayhaps it was the noose for him - or mayhaps not. From the account of the adventurers and the privates sent to investigate the site of their former camp, there were some inconsistencies. He was asleep in his cell, but fitfully so, curling up on the blanket reserved for non-violent captives and moaning in his sleep. It didn't sound like the pleasant kind of moan, by Malin's estimation, watching him from a stool just outside the bars. Best to wake him gently. Taking her sword from her belt, she held it by the sheath and rattled the hilt between two irons. The captive was quick to be roused by the clanging, half-rising and half-stumbling from slumber into a wary seated position, limbs scrabbling on chipped stone, his expression first confused, then wary, thick brow furrowing as he examined Malin from the other side of the cell. She smiled as bright as she was able in the circumstances, giving a candle's dim glow of a look while she brought her sword back to her side. "Good evening!" she said, her voice chipper if nothing else. "Doing well? Housing's to your liking, I trust?" The confused look remained, but Malin continued on, apparently oblivious. "I know, I know, it's not where you want to sleep, is it? You were brought in unconscious, so I'm told. I'm told a number of things, but we'll get to them." She cleared her throat. "Anyroad, are you hungr - no, my apologies, we haven't food for you yet, but thirsty? Certainly you must be." She nudged a tin cup through the bars with her foot. Even this did not get an immediate reaction. Malin would have taken some small pleasure in watching him leap towards the bars to drink, but this seemed to be denied her, the man creeping towards the cell's entrance, as if expecting a trap, before snatching up the cup and remaining in place, taking a few cautious sips. "Now, don't worry, this is just a temporary hospitality," she said. "The situation will change once we know a little bit more about you. Your name, for instance?" She lifted her eyebrows, folding her hands together in her lap and giving the man an expectant look. Silence. He opened his mouth to speak, and a dry sound came out. He took a few more sips. "Gustavus," he replied. "Gustavus!" She clapped her fingers together. "Excellent. You don't mind Gus, do you? Not as formal, but simpler. And you're from where, exactly?" He flinched, and Malin noticed a slight tensing of the shoulders in the gesture. "Th-the camps," he said, before draining the cup of the last of its contents. "Outside the city." She clucked her tongue. "That's a bit of a problem, I think. Mayhaps you are, but you were taken quite far afield, weren't you? I'm not sure why bandits in the Shroud would be keeping a refugee in their camp." Gustavus seemed to start where he stood, taking a few steps away from the cell doors, and Malin rose from her seat, offering a reassuring hand. "No, no, it's fine. You're safe. Some adventurers took a leve a little more, ah, aggressively than they should, and wiped out the lot. That's the report I've received, anyway." Gustavus' eyes widened. Brown, she noted. Or perhaps grey? It was hard to tell in the light. "They're . . . gone? All of them?" She offered a confirming nod. "Mmhm. We did have a few questions though. We can get you in touch with family after that. Agreeable?" She didn't wait for him to respond. "For example, I'm getting reports - excuse me." Taking out a sheaf of parchment from her belt, she unrolled it, squinting to read it in the torchlight. "A number of them, really - if you could recall which caravans they hit for insurers, for example, But what we're interested in is why so many of them had cast-off Ishgardian armor. So the report says." She looked at him from over the paper, eyebrows raised. "There were a few elezen, to be sure, in the bodies, but it was a mixed lot. Not exactly knights of the houses. And if they were - well, all the stranger, don't you think? Did they say anything about that?" It wasn't the question she wanted to ask. There was one she found far more pressing. But she had no idea yet if the two problems were related. Better to talk about what he was likely to know than what she couldn't yet ascertain. She had her suspicions, but if what she thought was correct, then getting Gustavus to admit to them would be a far more vexing task than she sought this eve, and - "Damn that Berold, it's all his fault! I've nothing to do with it, with any of it! You can put it all on him!" Gustavus cursed, throwing the cup on the ground. Or not. Some days, Malin had to remind herself that not every bandit in Ul'dah was a criminal mastermind. "What? What can I put on him?" He paced along the cell now, hand clutching the side of his head. Malin had seen this kind of thing before - no caged predator, this one. Just a man gathering his thoughts. "Look - we never did much before, all right? Caravans, yes. Kill a guard or two here or there, take the valuables. That was business." So it was to be the noose for the man after all, then. A pity. Malin's voice was a little more sympathetic when next she spoke. "Of course. Please, go on." "So that was fine, of course. But Berold - he knew a little alchemy, made our potions and the like - he comes back from getting supplies out of the city, right?" Gustavus paused, turning towards Malin and clutching the bars of his cell. This close, she could confirm his eyes were definitely brown. Frightened. "He comes back saying he got hold of dragon's blood." Her snort was immediate. "And I've the deed to Black Brush for you for a pauper's sum." "We did that too! We laughed, we did. Thought he'd been swindled, given beastkin's blood done up to look a little thicker." Stepping back from the bars, he clutched his hands to his head. "But then a few weeks back, he put it in a potion, and he tried it - wouldn't let anyone but him do it first. Thought it'd make him stronger." "And? Did it?" She knew the answer from the hollow look on his face. Her two problems were connected after all. "I remember the scream," he said. "Sort of deep and - and sharp like an axe in the brain. Blacked out from it, I think. We all did. Berold was naught to be found, and the rest . . . they were different. Going on about the glory of the horde, passing up fat caravans to hit anything that looked like it was coming out of Ishgard, stealing their armor." He swallowed, looking down at the overturned cup on the floor, finding nothing to be had. "I played along at first, you understand, but blood for blood's sake - that was too much. I don't know why they didn't just kill me." "I see." Malin had a thoughtful look on her face as she processed the information, before rising on her seat. "Well, thank you for answering honest. Mayhaps it'll be in your favor, spare you from the hangman," she lied. "Just - one more thing. Berold ever say where he got the blood?" Gustavus gave a quick shake of his head. "No, not a word. Could've been anybody in the Lane." Damn. Well, one part of this had to be difficult, if nothing else. "Of course," she said, making her way to the jail doors. "I'll see one of the privates gets you some food, then. Twelve watch over you and all that." Once out of the room, Malin bowed her head and scratched the side of her temple, face scrunched in thought. That was her part done. All it would take would be to write a report and pass it off to Longhaft, hoping he'd pull away from (and out of) his work long enough to take a look. Due diligence complete. She crossed the hall of the Blades office in Highbridge to the small corner that served as her own, and paused. The storeroom wasn't too far off. She could chance a look, see what the fuss was all about. The head was placed on top of a crate, a few thick pieces of linen set beneath it to keep blood and gore from spilling onto the food supplies. A casual observer might think it had been set out as a trophy, but it was simply there for sheer lack of knowing what else to do with it. What were the proper procedures for storing a severed dragon head? Would anyone in Highbridge even know? Malin thought not. Even in death, and perhaps partly because of it, it was a grotesque-looking thing, a snub-nosed head as tall as her waist, she supposed, all mottled-brown scales and tiny, hateful black eyes. Its teeth were fully on display, as if it had no lips to cover them, and might snarl and leap out at any time. "Poor Berold," she muttered to herself, before turning away from the door. That was it, then. Not exactly a mystery. Just write the report and move on. But, she thought, infuriated with herself even as she considered it, she might as well follow up with the ones that killed it as well. Do her due diligence.

Yes, there are plenty of us. We're not particularly special, nor is it a marker of some unique status.

Eorzea's Greatest Archer, Pending Certain Conditions.

Just go play Reccetear.