Verad

This argument is incoherent, and seems to mix reasons for the inclusion of rape and intrinsic reasons without much regard for an overall whole. If your argument is that you think it could be done better: Okay. I acknowledge your argument as valid and existing. Thank you for including it.

Dark forces stalk the forum, and threads that should not be rise to walk the earth. Related to the topic, the Roll LS skews heavily towards female characters regardless of the gender of the player, and does so to the point when we are genuinely surprised when an event's roster consists mostly or entirely of men. Unrelated to the topic, I'm trying to remember if it was this forum or someplace on WoW where somebody got mad at me for trying to "necro-shame" them.

I am currently tormenting a player with an arcanometric curse, the pattern of which is now etched upon their soul. I could also see conjury being used to inflict taboos and bans upon people in the eyes of the elementals, but I'll save that for another day. Possible reasons for a curse remaining: 1. Cost of removal is prohibitive. This may be difficult to pull off because RPers are obnoxiously generous about providing made-up resources to remove a made-up problem. 2. Only the person who placed the curse can safely remove it, leading to complications for the afflicted or the person trying to remove it if it isn't the original caster. 3. Something about the curse makes it unexpectedly useful in the short-term despite the long-term downsides. 4. The original caster will do something worse if the curse is removed, and can sense this occurring. 5. Take a page from early Buffy seasons and make the removal of the curse part of the curse itself in a cruel twist of the knife.

New Act Event! It's Probably Profiteering The captain and first mate of the Sultana's Revenge have reached out to request a formal business meeting with a representative of Amajina & Sons to discuss particular arrangements that could be reached to benefit all parties. Time: Wednesday, February 15th, 7 CST 1. Osric Melkire 2. S'imba Tia 3. W'Chaza Yheli 4. Zanzan Yanzan 5. Qara Hotgo Reserve: Aya Foxheart

Because several people have committed an act of high treason and are now situated on the island of Gloam, a special set of Turns exists for them to take actions in and around the island. If they leave the island at any point to return to civilized Eorzea, they will lose access to these Turns: Gloam Turns 3/5 2 Prepare

Offices of Pilus Ulf Rem Hartsblood, The Firmitas Sveinn Kir Ironfist of the Special Expeditionary's Cohort's staff of architectus veteranus, Second Maniple, had reached his position through dogged determination rather than exemplary service. An engineer in the days of the old King, he had abstained from participating in the violence between the royalists of old and the Fists of Rhalgr, becoming instead one of the older generation who greeted the Black Wolf's invading legion with open arms instead of closed fists. Anything, Ulf supposed, to end the violence decisively. He had promptly applied for service in the legions and found his skill with Ala Mhigan engineering translated well, but not perfectly, to magitek. He had made no great inventions and received no accolades for exemplary service in the Emperor's name, reaching the rank of veteranus only two years prior after nearly two decades of service. There were hundreds of men like Sveinn in the legions: men who, upon answering the call to serve the Emperor, would never excel to any great degree, nor bring shame upon the legions at large. They were necessary servants; after all, an empire of geniuses and prodigies was an empire of madness, as the existence and failings of the White Raven could easily attest. The adequacy of the average was vital for the machinery of civilization to keep functioning, and Ironfist was such a man. Unfortunately for Sveinn, if the report Ulf had received was correct, even the average were capable of treason. That was certainly Architectus Nan Gravis' position, which he had repeated at length, with great vitriol, and not a little bit of spittle flying about the room. It was rare to find Virgil so furious about anything other than a failing in the Immersabilis or some setback with his project in the deep, but, to Ulf's surprise, the man was as much a patriot as he was an engineer. "You - you utter - you incompetent!" Virgil paced the small room that constituted Ulf's working chambers aboard the Firmitas. Ironfist, for his part, was behaving as if he were in the midst of an inspection by the Emperor himself, with his posture straight as an arrow, his uniform impeccable, and his expression fixed. "You risked your life, you risked the lives of your men, and you risked an entire gunship! The Pilus' orders were clear! Clear! High altitude, observation and surveillance, and stay out of the projected area. What part of that was uncertain to you?! What part was - where is the blasted - " He snatched the parchment containing Ironfist's report. "How did you put it - yes, what part was 'open to interpretation', hmm? Well?!" Ironfist offered no immediate response as Virgil gasped for breath. Ulf, who had remained seated at his desk, elbows resting on its surface and hands folded together, offered a gesture of approval to Ironfist. "You may speak, veteranus. Your superior has asked you a question." Any more of a pause and he feared Virgil would try to strike the man. "Sir." Ironfist offered the faintest nod. "I apologize for causing confusion for the Architectus. His orders were explicitly clear. In aiding the Maelstrom ship, what I interpreted was our larger strategic goal." His tone was clipped, apologetic yet confident, and his expression fixed to a point on the wall behind Ulf's head. He's survived his share of reprimands in his service, thought Ulf. Strange to be chastising a man so many years his senior. "Larger strategic - " Virgil began, but Ulf held up his hand. "A moment please, Architectus. In what way was the matter open to interpretation, veteranus?" "Sir. The vessel was outside the territorial boundaries of Glo - of the protected colony." Ulf stifled a bemused smirk. Many of the soldiers had taken to calling the pirate's colony "Gloam" because of its ever-present overcast weather. He'd have to pass the title along to Slaeglac, who was still struggling to name the place without titling it after himself. "It would not have been subject to an intercept in the affected area by any of our forces." "And I commend your restraint in adhering to those guidelines and not attacking the vessel. Why guide them to shelter?" Ironfist's expression cracked -he frowned, and his brow furrowed, though only for an instant. "Sir, without direct assistance, the vessel would have been caught in the area clearly demarcated by the Architectus as out-of-bounds. That would have - " He hesitated. Don't say it,thought Ulf. Don't say the right thing to the wrong person. "That would have interfered with the operating area and introduced an unknown variable in the Architectus' experiments. We felt it prudent to guide the vessel to avoid that possibility." Virgil’s anger didn’t deflate, exactly, thought it was restrained. He pulled back a fulm from Ironfist, and his breathing slowed to something steadier. Ulf’s own shoulders slumped in the slightest relief. “Having Eorzean vessels in the field of operations was entirely the point, veteranus. Your attention to detail is appreciated but an unwelcome intrusion on these experiments. The Pilus shall see to your punishment, and see to it that his men follow explicit orders.” He shot one glare at Ulf, such that even his third eye seemed to accuse him, before storming out of the room. A five-count passed before Ulf felt comfortable to speak. “You’re certainly losing command of your gunship,” he said. “A moon in punitive chores, and then perhaps you’ll be able to work on maintenance at the launch deck.” “Sir, they would have died out there, all of them. There was nothing right about that storm – aether-readings in the ship were off our meters. If we hadn’t – “ “Veteranus, it was an armed vessel of the Eorzean navies, and hostile to our intentions. If you are ever again able to intervene like this, save your conscience for an unarmed trading vessel. As it is you are lucky they didn’t reward your efforts by shooting you down, and doubly so that the Architectus didn’t demand your head.” “Sir – “Ulf tried to silence him with a glare, but Ironfist kept speaking. This was the peril of becoming familiar with the troops, he supposed. They became familiar with you in kind. “Sir, we are defenders of the colony, not an invading force, are we not? If we aggress, we undermine – “ Ulf rose from his chair. “I will remind you, veteranus, of our superior’s just-stated need for orders to be followed explicitly, and without such creative interpretation.” He waved his hand. “You are dismissed. I shall speak to your centurion about appropriate punishment.” He could sense a moment before Ironfist turned to leave in which the latter’s face screwed up with . . . something, Ulf couldn’t tell. Outrage? Indignity? Even worse, the burning need, felt at the strangest times by the strangest persons, to tell the truth to someone above them? He couldn’t say. But it nagged at him as the soldier turned to go. “Wait. A moment more, Veteranus. How many feel as you do?”

Per the conclusion of Lady of War, a new stunt is available for ships: Firesand Depth Charges: +2 to Shoot when performing a Gunnery action against an opponent with the /Submerged/ Aspect. This stunt may replace your ship's current stunt, or you may add it to your ship at the cost of one of your own.

This is the devil's advice and to be distrusted.

The question of outlandish results comes up quite a bit when discussing the use of dice. It's most common in pure RNG systems that are nothing more than /random, high-roll wins situations, but it can happen even in systems that have character sheets delineating specific abilities. There are a number of ways to handle the unexpected, none of which have much to do with any particular system and more to do with how the dice are interpreted: Incorporate the circumstances and environment to explain why, in this instance, the unlikely victory happened. Not only is this more interesting than combat on a flat battlefield, but it means that the defeat of the more experienced character isn't because they were necessarily less competent than normal, but because something happened that neither party expected which gave the weaker combatant the edge. Use a fail-forward approach to describing bad rolls, in which a character succeeds at a task, but in so doing has some unexpected complication that makes the circumstances worse despite the success. Include some sort of meta-mechanic that characters can use to improve their rolls automatically based on their core competencies. Fate-14 does this with Fate Points, but that's only one system among many. Related to the above, take less of a strictly realistic simulation-style approach to the interpretation of the rolls and adopt a more narrative approach: In most circumstances, the old lady would be easily bested by the knight, but this knight is the one that killed her son, and she knows it, driving her to fight well beyond her capabilities. Any or all of these can help make the implausible plausible through the context in which it occurs.

A New Challenger Approaches! The Lady of War After prototyping a new weapon against underwater Garlean threats and completely its tests successfully, W’Chaza Yheli petitioned officers from the Eorzean Alliance--Adders, Flames, Maelstrom, and Temple Knights--to congregate in Ishgard, prove useful applications of the weapon, and secure both funding and resources for production and distribution to each military force. The lieutenant is looking for skilled orators, businessmen and women, scholars, and/or fellow crafters to assist her in this endeavor. Time: Thursday, February 2nd, 8 PM CST 1. W'Chaza Yheli 2. Orrin Halgren 3. S'imba Fuhkintia 4. Aigiarn Kha 5. Aya Foxheart

Yes. The system I use relies explicitly on the difference between a successful attack roll and a failed defense roll to determine damage. There are a number of ways a serious hit can be mitigated which aren't worth going into here, but the general effect is that a single hit in combat can be decisive.

Due to the untimely death of all known members of the Hellfist Foundation, Bring Your Best Suit is cancelled.

Disregard this message.

Part 5: Story Aspects: Ceruleum Shortage - In the past sennight, ceruleum has become difficult to acquire on the open market - well, more difficult than usual anyway. Even the Syndicate does not seem to be providing what would be considered its normal shipments. Many Limsan-based free companies are finding that their access to the fuel is entirely absent, and while the Admiralty has its own stores, access to those is based on need. Vehicles or equipment that rely on the fuel to function may be unavailable during this time. On the other hand, if you do have ceruleum, you stand to make a killing. A New Patriotism - Between the wreck of the Wound revealing just how bad things can get on a privateering ship and the Battle of the Gilded Ship, some citizens are becoming convinced that the organization and security of the state is more important than it's ideals (although they probably wouldn't state it in those terms). Events: Bring Your Best Suit: The Hellfist Foundation is looking for a good orator for a test case in privateering labor rights, in which the crew of the free trader Cogswoddled are seeking damages against their captain for what they allege to be withholding of their fare share of spoils. They are also looking for security to keep the Dutiful Sisters from settling the matter in their own uniquely murderous way, or interfering with proceedings such that their lock on the code remains unthreatened. Time: Tuesday, January 31st, 9 PM CST 1. Chakha Hotgo 2. L'Rinhi Khett 3. W'Chaza Yheli 4. And Now the Storm-Blast Came Elements of the 5th and 9th Squadron are being recalled to Vylbrand for military maneuvers and refitting, leaving a gap in the vessels' normal patrol routes. Members of the Foreign Levy with combat ready ships are being requested to fill the gaps around the Seas of Ash and Jade. Note: A ship is required for this event. Travel Event Time: Saturday, February 4th, 8 PM CST 1. Liadan Summerfield 2. Jana Ridah 3. Anstarra Silverain 4. Special Event A note appears in the quarters of Leanne Delphium in a shaky hand, unused to letters: "We've an invitation for you. You and but two more. See things our way. Give us that much. Fisherman's Guild, tenth evening bell. We'll be watching." Travel Event Time: Tuesday, February 7th, 8 PM CST 1. Leanne Delphium 2. Gallien Vyese 3. Virara Wakuwa Turns: 5/20 Orrin Halgren -Investigate W'Chaza Yheli -Prepare x 4 -Act (5-Player Event) Osric Melkire -Prepare x 3 Hihisa Hisa -Prepare

Firmitas Launch Deck, Sea of Jade Yga Cen Thunderfell was a hugger in better circumstances. While normally the picture of a Garlean citizen's restraint and discipline, as befit a member of the Upper Citizenry, twenty years of camraderie between she and Ulf, from the streets of Ala Mhigo through its restructuring into a proper Imperial holding, meant things were a little less formal between the two of them. It occasionally meant a hug, especially when the Pilus had been away from the province in training to become an officer of the Legions. Ulf endured all of this when it happened in front of his security team with outward embarrassment and a hidden sense of relief that things between them were as they always were, siblings of circumstance until the bitter end. His expectation of a repeat performance was why the punch caught him entirely off-guard and sent him sprawling across the deck of the Firmitas. Yga was no trained soldier, but a child on the streets after the revolution became an untrained scrapper very quickly. Between that and the fulm's height she had on Ulf, he had a sense, once he was able reacquaint himself with the positions of the sky above him and the deck beneath him, that this was going to leave a mark. Better to leave the helmet on for future speeches. "You utter bastard!" she spat, taking another step forward. She had hardly stepped off of the gunship before laying him out, and her hair, short and already prone to tousling, was made worse in the blow-back from the vessel's engines. She raised her fist, and Ulf had to raise his in kind - not to stay her, but to keep his guards from drawing their blades. "Those orders weren't mine," he said, forcing himself onto one knee, then his feet, trying to mitigate the ringing in his skull. "The Architectus insisted - " "But you gave them!" She set her jaw and clenched her fists. "The Shadows were only supposed to observe the markets and track what I told them. Instead you had them starting riots, and now one's in Maelstrom custody for his trouble. And people got hurt, Ulf!" "Pilus Hartsblood," he said, glancing over his shoulder to his guards. Familiarity could inspire the troops, but too much could undermine authority. "Fine, Pilus," she amended. "People got hurt, and there very well could have been deaths. If Toyomo hadn't tied the shooting to the mutiny of the Wound the items could have wound up on the Admiralty's list of proscribed goods, and then where would the plan be? All because Gravis - sorry, the Architectus," she added with a sneer, "Couldn't be bothered to fit whatever he's doing in the deep into the patrol schedule!" "All right. All right." Ulf held out his hands to stay her. "I understand. We're due to meet with the Immersabilis for maintenance today. You can have it out with him then. We'll speak of this away from the gunship after your report." Her fists remained clenched, and for a moment Ulf tensed up, fearing another strike. "All right. Fine. I'll talk to him." Her anger didn't exactly dissipate, but she seemed to have spent enough of it trying to break Ulf's jaw that she could relax enough to regard him with a tilted head. "Not too hard? You're fine?" "I'm fine. We'll take your report in the staff ro - " Ulf abruptly found himself crushed near to death in a tight embrace, and silently wished she'd taken another shot at him instead. He patted her back all the same. [align=center]***[/align] While Yga had provided cursory reports of her activities throughout her trading enterprises within Limsa, this was the first time she'd had the opportunity to file something in detail. Any lengthy reports within Vylbrand itself were subject to interception, and so details had been kept vague until a face-to-face was possible. Once her anger had finally settled, Ulf took her word on most matters in the state - he had no choice but to do so, given the lack of contact otherwise. He also took her gifts, and regarded the biscuit she'd given him with suspicion. People told stories about Eorzean food. Too much aether in their meals, and something that was a "beast tribe specialty" as she put it could only be suspect. It could poison a person. She insisted it was fine, but it lay untouched on the staff room's central table. "Sorry," she said, noting his suspicion with a dismayed frown. "I would have found something a little more interesting - even safer, for your sake - but once it was clear it wasn't Toyomo on the communicator I booked the first ferry out of the city." "It's fine. Truly." He picked up the biscuit and took a tentative bite. When his death failed to immediately appear, he took another. "So, you think they're receptive?" "I know they're receptive, Ulf. They were mobbing their marketplaces for this stuff. The Miniature Wave Oven in particular, but everything sold well. They want magitek. Not just their sellswords, but the common man. And not just that - they want the order we can offer." He raised his eyebrows, which was an uncomfortable act. Since becoming an officer, he had stopped shaving them to fit in, and it was strange having hair just above his eyes at all times. "Order? That's a bold claim. Reports from Ishgard suggest they want less of it." "I'm not speaking about Ishgard, Ulf, or Ul'dah, or Gridania. Just Limsa Lominsa. They want order. When that mutiny happened, may Conner rest with the Emperor, people were demanding it, howling for it. And most of the time their city obliges!" Ulf's eyebrows raised higher. "Limsa Lominsa. Obliging them." "Yes." "The beating heart of the privateer army." "Yes." "Scourge of the Garlean merchant-marine and all seafaring trade." "Yes. I know what it looks like on the outside, but the old die-hards, the old privateers are fading away. Hells, there may well be a third of them with Slaeglac on the island! Their Admiral banned piracy, and people grumbled, but she acted rightly - people are getting used to it. I think it's a matter of years before they fold the privateers into their own fleet, especially if they can't control them easily. And then the city is practically asking to be a province of ours." "That doesn't guarantee much," said Ulf once he had finished his biscuit, dusting a stray crumb or two from his gloves. "It might just mean more trouble for Garlemald." "That's where we come in." Yga had a hard time sitting still when going over her plans, and rose to pace the office. "They have the order, but they don't yet have the benefits of it. Their magitek industries are fragmented. Von Garlond's Ironworks and the Manufactory can't keep up with demand, and the sellswords tend to keep what they make for their own use. None of it is centralized, and there is no standardization. Magitek designs very based on who made it and who's selling it. It's all craftsmanship - which, well," she pointed to herself. "I can appreciate that, but it's hard on their smallfolk. We can offer them standardized products that greatly improve their lives at a scale beyond what any of the city-states or sellswords can offer." "And when we get them used to their presence, we can take them away," he remarked. Yga beamed at him as if he were a slow pupil getting a rare difficult answer right on the first try. "Right. I've already been talking to our suppliers on this side of the Wall about effecting that. And then I heard something about some nonsense with a warship - tensions between the city and Ul'dah - that should help considerably. Make them miss what they've lost. They'll demand the Admiralty ease tensions on their own, and the Alliance be damned." Ulf ran his hand across his chin, frowning. It flew in the face of Garlean doctrine. Then again, many things in this expedition did so. A vessel that sailed below the waves when the average Architectus had his eyes fixed to the sky. A plan to buy their way into Eorzean dominion after years of failed conquests. A disdain for the superweapon in favor of the soldier, and pirates selling their freedom because, as their leader had once remarked to Ulf, he'd never felt more like a slave than when he was utterly free. "Can you implement this? Even after being compromised?" Taking her seat again, Yga drummed out a mindless marching rhythm on the table with her fingers. Even sitting, she was never truly still. "I think so. I'll need you to take me to the island, though." "They might object to the Firmitas sailing into their harbor," he scoffed. "If we can rendezvous with one of the supply ships, that's fine. Or we can take one of the gunships if you can spare one. But I need to work with them directly. Shouldn't change your orders, Ulf - keep your ship at the defensive line, whatever that is, and let the Architectus tinker with his whale-ship." "Pilus Hartsblood!" The voice was tinny, screeching, and coming through his communication device. Ulf recognized Virgil's voice, distorted through the walls of the whale-ship, but only just. He held out a hand for Yga to wait a moment as he received the call. "Sir?" "We are proceeding to dock. Meet me at the staging point while we change crews. There's something you should see." [align=center]***[/align] Despite his rank and training, Ulf had never had cause to interact with much that looked like Allagan technology. Some of the autonomous units of the legions were drawn from their designs, of course, but these had been refashioned in the style of Garlean aesthetics. His experiences with the "real thing" had been quite brief, in the form of examinations of deactivated models of those floating "nodes" they seemed to have in all of their facilities. The only way he could clearly identify something wrought by the hands of Ancient Allag was if it was covered in sharp, straight, luminescent lines. The object Virgil was having the crew extract from the hold of the Immesrabilis was riddled with them. Squat, vaguely rectangular, and completely covered in the stuff. There were no immediate clues as to its function, and the lack thereof made Ulf come to a second conclusion - unidentified Allagan technology should be treated as dangerous and life-threatening to all members of the crew until proven otherwise. He had switched the safety off of his gunbaghnakhs and taken aim at the device before he'd even realized it because of that conclusion. His own soldiers stared at him in shock, frozen in place with the device carted between them. "Put it down," he said. "Put it down slowly, legionnaires, and come to my side. The same for the rest of the crew." The soldiers obliged, and hastened to Ulf's side of the docking bay. "Tell the rest of the men to seal off the bay. Be prepared to evacuate the Firmitas if anything goes awry." Silently, he cursed. What else would Virgil find down there? He had pried into the object of the Architectus' search, and been met only with polite rebuffs that said the information was not available to a Pilus, and little else. But what else could it be but Allagan spoils? They had sought to dominate the world, after all. Why wouldn't that include the seas? "Ulf," Yga began, having come by his side to "have it out" with Virgil as he'd threatened. "What is that?" "I don't know, Upper Citizen. Please leave the bay immediately." There were vagaries of rank here, given her attachment to the Special Expeditionary Cohort, but Ulf would take no chances. "Inform my security team they're needed immediately." His attention returned to the Immersabilis. Its entry hatch had been opened wider than normal to allow for the cargo's removal, but there was as yet no sign of Von Gravis. "Architectus? Are you present? What have you put on my ship?" "Hold on, hold on." The crew of the whale-ship, gathered near its hatch, parted to let their commander through. Ulf's stance relaxed, but only just. "It's fine, Pilus Hartsblood. It's fine." "Tell me what you've put on my ship, and why I shouldn't dispose of it." If Virgil had said anything like what he expected the Black Wolf must have heard in making his devil's bargain to take control of Ultima, Ulf would have shot him and suffered the consequences. He could fantasize the possibilities: "Power beyond Garlemald's wildest dreams." "The final solution to the Eorzean Problem." A dozen other statements of similar grandeur, and similar delusion. Instead, Virgil's response was, "It's not a weapon." And only then did Ulf lower his own. "It's a resource, but not a weapon. But I wouldn't shoot at it - I have no idea how much stress the container can take, not pressurized as it is." The knowledge that Ulf was staring down a potential explosive made him wary again. "Explain, Architectus." "You don't need to trouble yourself with - " "Explain." Virgil flinched, but interposed himself between the soldier and his cargo. "Ceruleum. Stable - unless you shoot at it of course - already refined, and concentrated. No estimates on its energy potential yet, but only yet. If my understanding of the systems of the facility are correct, then - " He inhaled, his chest swelling with pride. "Then I expect that this is but the first of many gifts we can expect from Dagon."

Phase 2 Complete With the end of Yet the Angel Must Hang, the second part of Merchant, Marine is finished. A major conflict has been resolved and about three others introduced. If this keeps up I'm never going to finish this. Here are your Milestones! Minor Milestones: Aya Foxheart Banquo Syn Edda Eglantine Jana Ridah Klynzahr Ihyrnachtwyn L'Rinhi Kett Orrin Halgren Qara Hotgo Zanzan Yanzan Significant Milestones: Anstarra Silverain Gallien Vyese Hihisa Hisa/Chakha Hotgo (Pick one only. The other gets a Minor) Leanne Delphium Liadan Summerfield Osric Melkire S'imba Tia Tiergan Vashir Virara Wakuwa W'Chaza Yheli Story Aspect Changes: Only Blood Can Mend The Wound has been removed thanks to the conclusion of the Morris trial. An appropriate punishment has been set, and Limsan tempers have cooled. Please look forward to more terrible things exciting developments in the next phase!

Items of Interest in the Harbor Herald The Battle of the Gilded Ship One of the top stories of international interest not currently related to the buildup of forces along Baelsar’s Wall is what is becoming known as “The Battle of the Gilded Ship,” in which a crowd gathered at the Aftcastle to hear the verdict in the Dominic Morris trial devolved into first a riot, and then an international incident in which security forces aligned with the Immortal Flames attacked Limsan citizens, and a ship registered to Ul’dah’s Golden Fleet fired shots at the city itself. The most likely cause of the initial riot, according to the article, comes from agitation at the hands of the Hellfist Foundation, a group pushing for improved rights for privateers in honor of their titular leader, the deceased pirate Jenny Hellfist. This agitation led to the blaming of Hellfist’s death on Ul’dahn merchants. Limsan citizens began accosting the merchants, only to be set upon by members of Ul’dahn security teams before the Yellowjackets could intervene. Fighting was eventually quelled by the arrival of multiple Maelstrom crews following the trial’s conclusion. Further investigation found no damage to the city following the ship’s cannonade, which is now believed to have been nothing but smoke and powder meant to intimidate the crowd. Both the ship and the security teams have been traced to East Aldenard Distribution, Inc., a subsidiary consortium of the East Aldenard Trading Company. Commentary from captains and representatives of the Maelstrom cannot be printed because of the extremely liberal amount of uncouth language. A spokesman from the East Aldenard Trading Company has expressed regret for the actions, attributing them to “Independent and misguided action by low-level executives of the subsidiary.” Both the ship and its command have been recalled to Ul’dah, where Hihijewa Cacajewa, head of the subsidiary, is expected to face severe punishment. “There is no excuse for nepotism in the effective management of a business,” claimed the spokesperson. The Syndicate is expected to provide compensatory funds for damages to the Aftcastle and injuries to the crowd, both Ul’dahn and Limsan alike. The general assessment is that this gesture has gone a long way towards smoothing over what could have been a souring of relations between two members of the Alliance at the worst possible time. Morris Imprisoned The court martial of Dominic Morris has concluded after two days of deliberation between a five-man board of Maelstrom captains and Morris’ legal counsel, headed by Lieutenant W’Chaza Yheli of the Maelstrom. Ironically, the fate of the accused, which had captured the interest of Limsan citizens, is given only minor attention in the current issue of the Herald, which is now focused on Baelsar’s Wall and the Battle of the Gilded Ship. The court reports that Morris has been found guilty of participating in violent mutiny on the open ocean - a serious crime because of the risk it poses to ship, crew, and cargo - but was determined not to have been one of the original conspirators. This has significantly lessened his sentence, and he is expected to receive one hundred lashes in a public ceremony at the Aftcastle, followed by imprisonment in Limsa’s prison hulks. A formal date for the flogging has not been set. Asked for comment, Captain Holskstymm Faezsyngson of the 3rd Squadron replied “I am happy we found an appropriate sentence for the accused in light of the circumstances on board the Wound while still respecting the laws of Limsa Lominsa.” Defense counselwoman Yheli agreed, adding “I hope this suffices for the people of our fair Vylbrand. With the trial settled, we may focus on greater goals for our peoples and ensure both our freedoms and improving the economy for Limsans of all backgrounds.” The presiding judge, Commodore Haelstyrmm Eynarhmsson of the 9th Squadron, declined to comment.

If you'd like to run each on separate days, let me know the characters and which days.

Episode 4: Yet the Angel Must Hang The trial of Dominic Morris is at hand. Accused of orchestrating a mutiny of such savagery that it left the Maiden's Wound undermanned and forced it to run aground on the shores of Lower La Noscea, his fate has captured the attention of much of the peoples of Limsa Lominsa, especially after delays in the proceedings caused the call for justice to turn violent. Unwilling to settle for anything less than a full court martial in order to ensure a complete restoration of order, the Admiralty has arranged for Commodore Haelstyrmm of the 9th Squadron to preside over a five-man board of Maelstrom captains to determine Morris' guilt. Morris has been allowed to retain an advocate for his defense and associated advisers, but there is little expectation that he will be acquitted of the crimes. The stage is set for the Admiralty to show that it has authority in Limsa by rule of law, not merely force of arms and the support of a gang of cutthroats. Meanwhile, public interest has ensured there will be a large crowd near the Mizzenmast during the trial. Opinions between those who think the sooner Morris meets the noose, the better, and those who suspect his actions had some larger purpose are running high and hot, and the Yellowjackets and Maelstrom alike are seeking adventurers for extra security. Note: This is a two-part, two-day event, taking place over several days of game time. It will be divided into two parts: Those who are participating in the trial itself, and those who will be keeping the crowd secure outside the Mizzenmast. These events will be interlinked. It is possible for events inside the trial, as they are reported, to upset the crowd. Likewise, if violence from outside manages to reach those participating in the trial, it may color the proceedings. Participants in the Crowd events can sign up for both or one day as their schedule permits. Trial Day 1: Friday, January 20th, 9 PM CST 1. Tiergan Vashir 2. Liadan Summerfield 3. W'Chaza Yheli (Last three slots are by invitation from one of the above) 4. Leanne Delphium 5. Osric Melkire 6. Gallien Vyese Crowd Day 1: Friday, January 20th, 9:30 PM CST DM: Nihka Mioni 1. Chakha Hotgo 2. Qara Hotgo 3. Zanzan Yanzan 4. Virara Wakuwa 5. L'rinhi Kett 6. Anstarra Silverain Trial Day 2: Saturday, January 21st, 9:00 PM CST 1. Tiergan Vashir 2. Liadan Summerfield 3. W'Chaza Yheli (Last three slots are by invitation from one of the above) 4. Leanne Delphium 5. Osric Melkire 6. Gallien Vyese Crowd Day 2: Saturday, January 2st, 9:30 PM CST DM: Nihka Mioni 1. Hihisa Hisa 2. S'imba Tia 3. Anstarra Silverain 4. L'Rinhi Kett 5. Khunbish Adarkim 6. Story Aspects: Only Blood Can Mend The Wound Shift Towards Patriotic Sentiment City of Wonders Turns Remaining: 4/15

The day was unseasonably warm for Ishgard, which meant that the chill was brisk enough to lightly scratch at exposed limbs rather than cut straight to the bone. That and a warm sun ensured that people were waiting out at the airship platform in anticipation of their next trip rather than huddled inside their homes or nearby businesses until their flight’s appointed arrival. Auroux Doufard had expected colder weather today, and had dressed accordingly. This meant he was forced to undress at least a little to avoid sweating to death, and had removed one of his jackets. He blamed his Gridanian upbringing, and his misunderstanding of the vagaries of the new Coerthan climate, but beyond that he saw the incident as nothing more than a minor nuisance. His business in Ishgard had long since been completed; a botanist by trade, he had come on behalf of the Guild to negotiate the purchase of some new seeds in the hopes of crossbreeding popotoes more able to resist a sudden frost. All things considered, the results were more than adequate, and he could leave the city in the knowledge that his work had been satisfactory. He was in so fine a mood that he indulged and, with a little of his pocket money, had purchased a bundle of roses to bring to his sister. She had always been fond of the flower, and there were subtle differences in the Ishgardian variants that well-rewarded their gardeners’ efforts to keep them alive through the unending winter. “My, but those are lovely, are they not?” Auroux turned his head to espy an older gentleman with graying hair and a fine dark beard, a noble from the look of his dress, admiring the bouquet. The deep blue-grey of his skin suggested a duskwight, and Auroux had to hold back his immediate sense of distaste. It was too lovely a day to sour by being rude to a local, especially someone in the upper crust. “These?” He lifted the roses. “Yes. I saw them in the Crozier and I had to have them for the trip home. Couldn’t do without them.” “Yes, they certainly look to be of a fine quality.” Auroux was sure he mistook the sound of disdain in the man’s voice for something else. After all, who could possibly mock the concept of quality? “Do they stand the cold well?” Ah, now this was Auroux’s bailiwick. “Very well, sir. Fascinating properties in Ishgardian roses.” “They don’t just wither and die all of a sudden?” Auroux pursed his lips. “I beg your pardon?” “The roses. They’re very hardy, yes? They don’t just, I don’t know, suddenly wither and die when exposed to a sudden blast of chill.” The duskwight seemed keenly interested in an answer to this question. Hopeful, almost, by the expression on his face, the lift of his eyebrows and the widening of jade-green eyes. “No, they’ll wither in a frost, all right. A sudden freeze without precautions and their bloom will fade. But much less so than with, say, a Gridanian rose.” “Yes, yes, of course, of course, but I mean, right away, they won’t wither and die? As if one moment the rose looked perfectly healthy, and then the next.” He snapped his fingers. “The next it’s nothing more than a dried-out husk?” “…No, sir, I don’t think Coerthan varietals do that. Or Gridanian ones, for that matter.” “Hm. Mmhm.” The duskwight folded his hands into the pockets of his coat - a very fine one, very well furred, and yet Auroux could swear it was lined with the fur of something less than fine. Marmot, perhaps. “So if, say, one were to see a rose do that - “ “Roses don’t do that, sir.” “But if they did that,” the duskwight pressed. “If they did that, then that would not be a typical behavior of a rose, and instead the product of some other phenomena?” “Surely, sir. I’m no mage, but I would imagine it must have been quite a blast of ice aether. Mayhaps a frost sprite.” Unconsciously, Auroux had started to edge back from the platform. “I see. I see.” The duskwight folded his arms and seemed to mutter to himself. Auroux briefly picked up “didn’t look like a spirte, though.” Perhaps that was the end of the conversation, he thought with some relief. The nobility here could be quite odd. “Supposing you were about to be wed.” The hypothetical, and the vehemence with which the duskwight posed it, snuck up on Auroux and metaphorically clubbed him so hard that he nearly dropped his bouquet off the edge of the Pillars. “And your betrothed, well, her family - she didn’t talk much about her family, but then you met her family, and they were capable of such phenomena as I described?” “I - what - “ Auroux struggled to keep his grip on his flowers. “Excuse me?” “It’s a simple question!” “You have me at an advantage, sir, for I don’t understand the question. What about those circumstances?” “Well, do you think - I mean, surely there must be some reasonable explanation for suddenly dying roses. A sudden swarm of vilekin, mayhaps, or an unexpected quintuple eclipse. Surely the family of your beloved wouldn’t be responsible for such phenomena?” “That seems a rather dubious proposition, sir.” For whatever reason, the duskwight took severe umbrage at Auroux’s statement. His beard bristled up in a way that he supposed must have been natural of all cave-clan dwellers. “Dubious? No! No, this isn’t dubious at all! I wouldn’t dare sully the term with such a circumstance as this! Nefarious, surely, or mysterious! But dubious?! I take offense on behalf of the vocabulary!” There was silence between the two of them for the moment. Several other passengers were now staring at the exchange. “Ah,” said Auroux. “My flight has arrived. If you will excuse me.” He turned on his heel and marched away from the airship platform, towards the Crozier. He would wait there until the man went away or was arrested. He damned his hearing in his final steps off of the platform, for it was better than most Wildwoods, and he was treated to one last confused rumble from the duskwight. “Surely she must know her grandmother can do that…”

The Immersabilis, Sea of Jade, 1576 Yalms Depth “Prepare to dock.”

Prison Hulk Cobalt, Limsa Lominsa Dominic Morris was thankful for one thing, at least, since his life had been saved after the wreck of the Wound: The Maelstrom had placed him in a hulk at sea rather than one on land. With its masts broken off and its rudder stripped, the Cobalt was no true vessel, yet it still swayed in the water with the movement of the tides. Even that was only a very slight thing, but it was enough to help him sleep. Nothing else about the vessel was a comfort, but that was to be expected. Once he had enlisted on a trading ship hired out to a Monetarist very concerned with efficiency and profit margins, slashing costs on the vessel to squeeze out every last gil. The bunks had been tightly packed and the rations meager, and the captain had worried about every last missing grain from cargo as if rats did not exist. It had been a miserable cycle, and yet it paled in comparison to his present circumstances. He found himself wedged between two roegadyn convicted of peddling somnus with nary an inch above or below. Half a biscuit in the morning, and half again at night. Once a sennight he received part of an aurochs cheek for meat. Some of the prisoners chose to ration it until it spoiled; he made a point of consuming his straightaway. The less said of the water, the better, especially given the lack of good spirits to cut it. And the waiting, the waiting. On a proper ship, at least one busied oneself with the necessary tasks of staying alive. Leaks needed to be sealed, water pumped, sails and rigging maintained. There was work, and there was comfort in that. Here, it was nothing but waiting and wasting away. But at least there was the swaying of the water. That, and the sense that the waiting would be over soon. Morris closed his eyes and tried to focus on the movement until he could focus on nothing. [align=center]* * *[/align] [align=center]“And that’ll be the last. I hear one more word from ‘er . . . “[/align] [align=center]“He can’t . . . gone too far . . . “[/align] [align=center]“Another step, and it’s gone . . . “[/align] [align=center]“She won’t fall alone. Not for this, she won’t . . . “[/align] [align=center]“Are we agreed?”[/align] [align=center]* * *[/align] “Rise and shine, you jolly wards of the state you!” It was customary to wake the prisoners by smashing a metal rod against a broken bell until they awoke. There was no particular reason for the custom, save that it annoyed the shite out of the prisoners. There was little cause to keep them awake, save for its own sake entirely, but wake them they did. “Rise up, rise up, and greet Azeyma for the day!” Morris groaned and cursed as he rose from slumber. His hands went to his beard, as if he could track its growth by the day. He could feel little change in the way of length, although there was surely a new infestation of vilekin every day. He had since gone numb to the itching. “Line up, line up, and get your victuals!” Morris struggled at the call for mealtime to work out of his bunk. His upper and lower neighbors had the advantage by dint of position and bulk, and the act was a struggle until the last of them were free and clear of their hammocks. He had his knees out of the sackcloth and his feet near the ground when a stout club pressed against his chest and forced him back. “Not you, Morris.” His guard leered. Morris had hoped that there would be something to distinguish them apart, that this would matter in some way. One would talk about his wife and one would wax philosophical about the Twelve, something to make them stand apart from the harsh blows and the cruel shouts. He had not been disappointed in this regard, but he had been to learn this didn’t matter in the face of the circumstances. “You’re breaking fast at the Mizzenmast.” He coughed as he recoiled from even that light blow; the hulk had done poorly for his constitution. “B-beg pardon, sir?” “Aye, Morris. The time has come. Transferring for the martial. All are in place. Even hear Haelstyrmm will be presiding. Came all the way from the Sea of Jade to see you! Now that’ll be a hanging worth the wait.” The leer with a guard attached widened, hoping for a reaction. Morris had none to give, and the guard resurfaced, cleared his throat. “Now’n, the Admiralty wants this done proper, so I am to inform y’ you may request members of the Levy and learned folks for your legal advisement an’ defense. But you’ll be declining that, won’t you?” It would be easier, certainly. His confession still held true, whatever else the Maelstrom’d learned on the wreck of the Wound after all the delays. The trial was little more than a formality, something to show the Admiralty had a tight hold on the law of the land. “Actually,” he said, his voice a rasp after a month without real speech. “I have a few names to submit. Descriptions.” He’d hang. He was sure of that. But he’d show them how little a grip they truly had.

Slaeglac’s Island “Hannah, You bastard. You swivin’ bastard of a whoreson.” Everard had rarely seen his captain sweat as much as he was right now, as rivulets of perspiration poured down Slaeglac’s face, collecting in his scars and following clear and simple patterns. The weather couldn’t account for it - it had to be stress. The crowd surrounding the confrontation surely did little to help matters. “Don’t tell me you weren’t expecting this, Captain.” Hannah Half-Gil flashed a brilliant smile, the gold in her teeth managing to catch sun even on a cloudy day. The Lucky Lord had only made its way into the colony harbor not twelve bells ago, and she had already made her move. “You know I don’t play without an angle.” “Damned if that ain’t so, Hannah. Wildest gunner I ever had, an’ even this’s a longshot.” Slaeglac paused to wipe his brow, and raised his hand to the sky for a too long of a moment before bringing it back down to the earth. Everard had little faith, despite the hopeful gesture. The captain had only two moves left to him, and neither promised an easy victory. The crowd gasped. Even Half-Gil looked shocked for a moment. “Thordan? When in the seven hells did you get him in your deck?!” Slaeglac said nothing, a smug expression on his face as card after card shuffled from red to blue in the captain’s favor. “And what’s the trouble with that? It’s a reliable card! And the rest is your own damn fault for wanting to play with Same.” Frowning, Hannah threw down her last, a mere chocobo. Fallen Ace ensured she captured Thordan, but it was a poor comfort in the face of the upset. She pushed away the board and shoved a small sack of gil in its place. “Double or nothing?” Her words were almost unheard amongst the cheers of the colonists. “Ohhh no, Hannah. I know better’n to play more’n one round of anything with you. You can fleece anyone else in the fleet if they haven’t the sense to say no, but that’s it.” Forcing himself to his feet with a grunt, he helped the captain of the Lord up and clapped her on the back as the crowd broke apart to their normal duties. “Glad you made it. After the Dirge ne’er showed I feared the worst.” “Like I’d pass up this kind’ve bet, Slae. No, we caught wind of a Sister in the ranks on the way back from Garlean waters, had to sail in circles till we found ‘er and tossed her over. An’ a good thing we found you, hey? Guardin’ the place with but two sail an’ some sunken tin-can.” She sucked on one of her teeth as she glanced out to harbor. Everard silently agreed with the assessment, but did not share Half-Gil’s confidence that her arrival would make all the difference. The Lord made the last of the invited vessels. The Dirge’s continued absence suggested she had declined, as had all of the crew of the Warbull save Balther Wright. And the tragedy of the Maiden’s Wound had come to them over time. Slaeglac had excused himself and drunk himself half-sick that evening. All told, they had half a squadron amongst themselves for defense against the Maelstrom’s nine and the Foreign Levy’s hordes. The Garleans lent a hand, as they’d promised. The captain seemed satisfied with that - secrecy, distance, and whatever chaos was roiling in Vylbrand as brewed by the Merchant and the Marine seemed to be helping. In Everard’s view, it couldn’t last. Limsa was chaotic, but if they felt a threat severe enough to threaten their sovereignty, the ships would come together, and that would be the end of it. All the more reason to ensure their resources were sufficiently indispensable by the time the Maelstrom’s troubles settled. “Sawyer!” The captain’s bark brought him out of his thoughts. “Check on the reapers, would you? I heard some of the crowd grumbling that they’re not moving like they ought. He’s a head for these things, you know, Hannah. Old Syndicate engineer. Fine thing I found him at the right moment, isn’t it?” “Stands to make us all some good coin, I’ll wager.” Half-Gil grinned. Everard hadn’t noticed how much of her teeth were actually gold until just now. “I’ve some good coin for him myself, if he’s willing.” “If you’ll excuse me, captains,” said Everard, whose legs could not move quickly enough. “I’ll just be off to check on the farms.” He caught a few traces of conversation.on his way out. “How’d y’find this place, anyhow? Freestandin’ ceruleum an’ no Syndicate?” “Aye, well, you remember that island we rousted on our first voyage? One wi’ all them odd sahagin?” “No, this’s the same? Gods, it’s been years... “ And then it was gone. Everard exhaled in relief, and slowed his pace, taking in the state of the colony. It had grown nicely in the past moon. Any fear the sailors and their families had towards living in homes built from Garlean steel had passed after the first hard rain, and now they went about their business as if nothing was awry. The pirates had grumbled about farming at first, but faced with that or living on shipped supplies, they’d taken to a few crops that seemed to suit the climate: popotoes and other root vegetables, things that grew quick and had a high yield. Unfortunately, they had to be dug up, and that made matters a little difficult for the modified reapers the Merchant had shipped to them to aid the harvest. Coming upon the farms, Everard immediately ran forward, arms outstretched. “Stop, stop, stop! Stop now.” The pilot of the reaper at the edge of the farms paused, and its legs halted mid-stride, wobbling slightly before coming to rest. A few farmers lingering at the edge of the fields, still afraid of something that was, to them, little more than a weapon of war, began edging forwards again. “Let’s see.” Everard glanced under the reaper’s chassis, just between the legs. The modifications had been significant, outlined by the Merchant in instructions provided with the shipment. With the magitek cannon and photon stream removed, the interior had been gutted to allow for a rotating popoto fork and sieve for sorting out dirt. Between that and a removable sack meant for holding the harvested crop, the reaper could, in theory, carve out a row of popotoes in a fraction of the time it could be done by hand. In theory. In practice, the damned thing was better for threshing wheat and millioncorn with blades in place of the spinning fork. The rotation mechanism had a tendency to scrape underneath the cockpit’s chassis, and the last thing Everard or the pilot wanted was to see a suddenly uncomfortable and traumatized farmer unable to sit again, to say nothing of damage to the reaper itself. “Everything all right down there, Sawyer?” Everard ignored the call, tapping his finger against the belly of the beast. Some sort of extension mechanism, perhaps, with a smaller fork, and some way of sieving out the dirt attached to the extension . . . yes, that could work. “Sawyer?” “It’s fine. Dismount, and finish the row by hand.” He slapped the belly of the reaper. “I’ll pilot it out, and we’ll see about fixing it later.” The man wasn’t one of the Tumult’s crew, not one that Everard recognized, but he followed the order fairly enough. One concern of his that had been allayed was how to handle command with first two, and now three captains in one colony. But there’d been no problems - people took the tasks that interested them, or that they were at least skilled enough to handle, and disputes got handled with arguments, compromises, and the occasional brawl. It was no real system of governance, he thought as he climbed into the pilot’s seat, but as small as the island was, did it need to be? “First mate! A moment, if you please!” A few seconds of reacquainting himself with the controls of the reaper, and Everard found himself distracted by a pair of figures approaching from further afield. They weren’t hard to recognize - there weren’t but a few elezen among the crew, and even fewer of those were duskwights. Slaeglac had picked them up as unrated seamen six moons ago. They were nowhere near able, but did their work well enough as long as they were kept as a pair. A quick turn of the reaper’s key and the thrum of its engine died to better hear them as they drew near. “Help the two of you? No problems clearing out the western field?” The woman of the pair only glared - Everard had never seen eyes that could kill the way hers did - but the man squeezed her shoulder companionably, and she glanced away. “No trouble ‘tall, Mister Sawyer. Only she and I were wondering - when’s the next supply boat?” “Captain has the knowing of that better than I, sir. You want something from it, best submit it to him.” The man shook his head. “Oh, nothing like that, Mister Sawyer. Only we’ve a mind to be on the next one when it leaves.” Everard’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not thinking of turning tail, are you?” The captain had been clear anyone unhappy was free to leave on the supply runs, no questions asked, so confident was he in their security, but none had yet taken him up on the offer. It made sense that no true sailors would be the first. The woman’s eyes narrowed, and her lip took on something of a sneer. “Easy, pet, easy,” said her companion. “He means no harm. No, Mister Sawyer, only - there’s a woman, from that crew the Captain let pass.a moon back. We’ve a mind to speak with her, see if she’ll see some sense.” Sawyer grumbled to himself as he turned on the reaper again, taking some comfort in the rumble of its engine. “Let me get this out of the field, Guerrique. Then we’ll have a word with the captain.”

Deck of the Firmitas, Sea of Jade “I say to you now, soldiers of Garlemald, men and women of Ala Mhigo - The Black Wolf was weak.” Ulf hadn’t planned on beginning his speech with a condemnation of both his men and a legendary general of Garlemald, but the alternative was worse. The Architectus had left notes on his intended briefing before setting off with the crew of the Immersabilis for its next shift, but those had read more like a training manual than an inspirational piece. There were discussions of maximum depths and ceruleum efficiency output and a large section labelled Projected Casualties. There were graphs. Faced with over four hundred soldiers on the deck of the battleship, arrayed in full dress per Virgil’s instructions, Ulf had chosen to improvise, discarding the small set of notes and removing his helmet for the marines to better see him. He made for neither an imposing figure nor an impressive one, being of average height for a Highlander and possessing a face Thunderfell had described with all the affectionate cruelty of a sibling as being like a shorn couerl. But he preferred the ability to meet his soldiers’ gaze with his own, and have them know it, and it was a fine day with a light breeze. If the men were shocked by the claim, they did not show it, standing at attention in dutiful obedience, expressions impassive. Perhaps they had heard something before while serving in provinces abroad. The “Eorzean Problem” had led to many a speech about the failings of Van Baelsar amongst those who dreamed of supplanting him. Ulf was sure his was far from their first. “He didn’t begin this way,” he went on, pacing the small staging area of the deck that served as one of its flight platforms. “The Legatus freed us from the tyranny of Theodoric and Rhalgr.” He swept his hand across the assembled cohort. “Those of you old enough to remember his conquest, you know this well. Those like myself - we who have only the dim memories of early youth - we remember the losses at the hands of the king’s men, at the hands of the Fist. It was Van Baelsar who ended that, who freed us from old gods and kings, who shepherded us into the security of the Empire. “We were his greatest victory in Eorzea.” Ulf pressed his fist against his chest, as if the loss were a source of pride. “But he learned nothing from it. Instead, he followed Van Darnus’ path, clashing fruitlessly against Eorzean ‘might’ until it cost him his life. And for what reason? Because he followed the White Raven in more ways than one. Even after the failure of the VIIth Legion, he took up the same mantle, hunting for artifacts and weapons that could end the war in a supreme display of force. Dalamud, the Ultima Weapon, even - “ Ulf paused. What he said next may well have been troubling even where criticism of the Wolf was not. “Even the Emperor’s expedition into Abalathia’s Spine - all of it is a step down the wrong path. And for that, the Black Wolf sacrificed himself for nothing but failure. “And why did this happen? Why do our greatest generals throw themselves at Eorzea like this, seeking for that one special weapon without end?” Ulf had begun to pace. Fearing he was losing his crowd, he turned and swept both hands to indicate them all. “Because they have forgotten you.” “Ala Mhigo was not freed by an all-powerful weapon, but to soldiers. It fell to sound strategy and better tactics, and the strength and will of the men in his army. It fell because the Black Wolf waited for the right moment, when our oppressors were turned against each other, before he struck. “Were there better weapons? Aye, certainly. Reapers and airships, piloted by men, crafted by the hands of men. Not relics of ancient Allag, dangerous and unknown, but machines of our own making, from the lessons Allag gave us. I’d be fool, where I stand - “ He stamped his boot on the deck sharply enough for the Garlean steel to rattle. A few men chuckled. One snapped awake where she seemed to have nodded off. “To say that better weapons than the enemy aren’t an advantage! The Immersabilis is proof of that.” “It’s not without its flaws,” Ulf raised his eyebrows in the direction of the submersible’s off-shift crew, to a number of more genuine chuckles. The technical problems and maintenance difficulties of the whale-ship were well known amongst the cohort. “But their ships sink beneath the waves all the same, lost to sea serpents or beastmen in the eyes of Eorzea. And even that would be little more than a toy without you marines, those of you brave enough to sink below the surface time and time again. “That bravery, and that success, has not gone unnoticed, not by myself, nor by the Viceroy.” This was at least some good news that he could offer, something he had kept unedited from Virgil’s notes. “Not a one of you is anything less than duplicarius, so there will be no direct promotions - we all know what happens when there are too many Optio in a cohort.” His tone was confessional, just between he and the men, and there was a genuine effort to suppress laughter among the ranks. “But for those of you who have crewed the Immersabilis, I am privileged to inform you that your families have been granted the rank of Lower Citizen. When next you speak to your loved ones and your children, you will refer to them as Bas.” The reward wasn't quite what Ulf had hoped. In his reports, he had recommended a promotion to the Upper Citizenry given the danger of the work. But that didn't matter to the soldiers. The cohort broke into a shocked murmur, partly envious of the submersible crews, partly overjoyed at the prospect of circumventing the travails of Garlean citizenship. Ulf let this proceed, let them soak in it, before he called for calm with an outstretched hand. “And,” he began, repeating himself until their eyes were back upon him. “And, before men fight to sign up under the Architectus’ command, know that upon the successful deployment of the Firmitas, that rank will be granted to all of your families.” He had no hope of keeping them controlled at this point. All he could do was rise above their cheers. “Let us show Eorzea our true strength! Let us show Garlemald that it is the soldier who wins the war, not the weapon he wields! Let us take the first step to victory where not even the Black Wolf could succeed!” There was nothing more to say, and he turned sharply on his heel to step away from the flight platform. Behind him, he could hear the Centurions, having already been briefed, calling for calm and issuing orders. By the end of the day, the Firmitas would be at sea. A staff officer held out Ulf’s helmet, and he frowned as he placed it over his head. It was an uncomfortable thing, built more for a Garlean frame than a Highlander’s, but it served well enough.

I provide this advice with the following caveats: I engage people through a linkshell rather than an FC, so ensuring that all members are engaged is not 100% necessary. I use a lot of dice, so some of the advice I have would be "use an interesting dice system that lets people feel like their characters are contributing in unique ways and still allows for consequences." If your first reaction to the word "dice" was an urge to take my lunch money, you can disregard that. Setting those aside, I tend to engage people by making multiple small events in which they can participate that gradually build up to a larger storyline. By "small," I mean groups of about 3 to 6, not including myself as DM. I try to avoid rescheduling these events when possible. People show up or don't. This has the benefit of ensuring that players show up based on when they can, not solely based on who they know will also be in the event, and pushes together people who would otherwise be unfamiliar with each other. I also make sure there is some sort of tangible consequence for these events. Part of why I emphasize a system above is that this can be difficult to measure in freeform RP. If they screw an event up - and they should completely be able to do so - you will need to make it clear that action mattered and had some consequence on the FC that will then need to be resolved. Outside of these events, I do not care what the characters do in their offtime. They can slice-of-life it up all they like. They can be involved in stuff completely unrelated to what I am doing. As far as I am concerned, if they are showing up to some events and participating, they are engaged enough. Continuing to do all of the above has generally worked out for me.