Askier

I recently started playing a silent character(he chooses not to talk), Sado Tia, and found it to be a very rewarding and fun experience. At first I wasn't sure if he was going to be able to have any staying power for long term rp. But he has really come into his own. A few things I've noticed though is that rping out what the character is thinking, mixed with what they are doing, helps people a bit and adds humor to the situation. Ex Sado Tia was sitting on a rock, his knives slowly cutting up the fish. He could have been greedy but was planning on sharing it with his tribe and he beamed a smile as he looked over at his brother before tossing the meat at him. His brother was too skinny and needed more meat on his bones. Another thing I do to help convey a point my character makes is to write something like this. Sado Tia looked at his brother with an expression that could only be taken as: -What on earth is up with your hair- as Sado peered at his sibling's atrocious new hair style. The last trick is a bit of narrative stretching but its very useful. Especially when you describe out what the character does with their gestures to ensure the right meaning is passed across to other role players. Since we lack the actual ability to demonstrate and convey the EXACT act physically, this ensures that our messages are taken how we want them in rp. I've been surprised at how well the rp with him has gone. It does take some practice with to get comfortable with them but once you do, they can be as enjoyable and communicative as any talking character. I hope that helped a little bit.

Annnd commission request seeent.

Fashion sense runs in the family.

((IC linkpearl conversation between father and son)) Mikh'a Korofi: "Are you two not coming to Ishgard with us?" Askier Mergreyi: "I..hang on a sec, let me wake Naha up. I...the hells is going on? Kid, we're off eloping" Mihk'a Korofi: "We're supposed to go have that social thing in Ishgard where we meet the patron, the one Ahdra lives with." Mikh'a Korofi: "Wait--- what is eloping?" Mikh'a Korofi: "What does that mean? Who are you killing?" Mikh'a Korofi: "No, on second thought don't tell me who you're killing." Askier Mergrey: "I'm not killing anyone currently!" Mikh'a Korofi: "It sounds painful and I don't want to know." Askier Mergrey: ((OMFG stop my sides hurt from laughing)) Mikh'a Korofi >> ) Mikh'a Korofi >> "...then what are you doing?" >> Mikh'a Korofi: "Mihk'a, I...hells. Kid, eloping is where to people run off and then swear to each other to spend the rest of their lives together. It's like marriage but without a crowd of people. Its not killing people." ((Shortly there after)) [FC] okay [FC] and trying real hard for Ki to make sense to his son about this stuff lol...he's a terrible dad [FC] >.> [FC] Well. [FC] It's not like he asked to suddenly have a teenage son. [FC] its true lol [FC] but he's actually TRYING [FC] since he never got to know his dad, he's not sure exactly how to father. [FC] He is trying, I'm so proud. [FC] ...STOP BEING PROUD OF MY DYSFUNCTIONAL ASSHOLE [FC]

I have three miqo'te's. One is monogamous cause he is not a traditional miqo'te. I have one who views females as a measure of self worth, more he has, the more manly he is. One is a eunich and hates sex. Just play your character the way you want. Honestly, never met someone who said there was anything wrong with a miqo'te being monogamous or polygamous. Have fun. Life is too short to worry about it. If you and your wife like it, then do it and don't look back.

Jin'li calmly strolled the street, his cane clacking as he moved with a steady pace. Whatever thoughts he was allowing to run through his mind were undiscernable behind his emotionless visage. But whatever these thoughts were, they immediately stopped as he paused and looked at the new ad. The wind rustled his hair and tugged as his black as night coat. His onyx black eyes read the ad again. "Hard as Ishgard's walls. . ." The miqo'te repeated the slogan as he cocked his head to one side and thought aloud to himself. "Why would you want to be as hard as something material? With the second law of thermodynamics in effect, this elezen is effectively saying he wants to only be hard temporarily; because, with time, the wall will crumble and decay into ruin and, therefore, his hardness shall also fall into ruin and be rendered a disappointment. " The miqo'te turned and resumed his walk, certain he would not buy the product.

Jin'li sat at a table with a cup of tea in one hand, the paper in the other and a plate full of jam and toast beside him. His black optics slowly consumed article after article as he steadily ingested toast and tea in equal measures. The miqo'te paused and blinked as one head line stood out. Jin'li read it. Then shrugged and turned the page. "This one was coming back from the dead before it was cool." (Hipster cat is hipster \O/ lol)

19NdWasgpDo The small church's walls of stone and mortar could hide the burning village from the eyes, but it could not drown out the screams. It could not stop the smell of charring matter. And it could not stop the sense of fear that filled the air as thick and chocking as the acrid smoke. The priestess stood there, at the head of the chapel, her white robes covered in soot and blood. She stood rigid as a small child clutched to the hem of her robe with his little, grubby fingers. His face was buried into the fabric of her attire to hid his crying eyes from the horrors that he had seen. The blonde, hyur priestess shivered as she clutched her holy book to her chest. Her blue eyes never left the door of her small chapel as the door shook. Something had thrown itself against the barred door with a reckless abandon. The child whimpered and clutched at her tighter. The priestess swallowed in fear. She had nothing to save her from the thing at the doorstep now but her prayers and faith; and she felt fear in her mind knowing that it might not be enough to spare her the fate that had claimed her village. She gasped as the door rocked again and then flew inwards, splinters spraying out over the short distance between the double doors and her. Smoke rolled in and only a nightmarish shape could be seen through the haze. The boy began sobbing louder. The priestess shook again as the wind caught the haze and sent the smoke adrift, revealing the form of the miqo'te in black lurking in the doorway. The feline figure slowly entered the building, it's tail swishing to-and-fro as he gazed around. The woman looked on in silence as the miqo'te took a seat on the front pew and crossed his legs. The thin fingers interlaced themselves as he looked with black eyes at the two survivors while his left leg crossed over his right. "What do you want?" the priestess exclaimed, her voice louder than she had intended. She held her composure despite the fear eating at her base instincts. The miqo'te studied her quietly before he turned his attention behind her to a stain glass window depicting the Twelve. The sun was catching the glass perfectly and the entire scene was wonderfully illuminated with rich, vibrant colors of all hues. "This one desires only to create art as wonderful as the marvelous collection of colored glass behind you." the miqo'te in black explained calmly while nodding his head at the window. His black-and-white hair fell about his face for a moment. The priestess looked behind her and then back at the miqo'te. "By butchering innocent villagers?!" The priestess exclaimed in dismay. The pale miqo'te met her gaze and gave a shrug. "Not just villagers, my Lady. This one kills warriors, knights, thieves, rapists, murders, lovers, children, priests, and every other sort of being not previously mentioned. This on is far from discriminatory." The priestess could only blink at the calloused response and the miqo'te continued in his monotone voice. "You see, this one is an artist. This one is in possession of the tools. This one has the vision. But, you see, this one needs the perfect canvas. No matter how perfect the tools in one's possession, without a wonderful base material to start with, the final product shall never live up too the artist's goal. This one assumes you love your gods. But, they clearly have no love for you, else they would stop me where I stand." The miqo'te smirked. "You see, the truth is, the Twelve are identical to all power hungry fools: they desire to control you and nothing more. Control the way you think. Control the way you talk. Control the way you perceive reality. It's all about controlling you and keeping you weak. This one isn't about that life. This one is about something far more. The Twelve, just like all those in power, fear the day we, mortals, might become strong enough to cast them off. That is why they promise to keep us safe and away from any threat. Because it is only in the face of adversity that mortals can be made strong. So better to hide you away from danger or to let the danger kill you, than let one face the danger, survive, and possibly become stronger. In the tales of old, no one ever became great by simply having greatness from birth. They struggled. They rose up. They fought something, and overcame it to become far more than they once were." The miqo'te shrugged his shoulders as he continued. "Certainly not all can overcome their challenges. But those that do, become strong. A blacksmith can make a mineral a million times harder and far more valuable by beating it over and over with hammer and flame into something wondrous. But the blacksmith needs quality ore or else the beating will break the weak ore and the work of art would crumble. So this one wanders the land, like a blacksmith seeking the perfect ore to beat into a thing of beauty." The priestess stared at the monstrous little miqo'te, dumbfounded. "Why would you want his, why would think this was-" "Because, My Lady," the miqo'te interrupted. "this one desires something. This one seeks to cast down all the laws of mortals, nations, and gods. To let all face the anarchy that will make them strong. This one might as well be an invading army, or a force of nature. For, in the end, adversity is adversity no matter its form. But it is through adversity that mortals are raised up from the status of mere sheep and into the things of power that they can be. Into masterpieces of beings that take their fates into their own hands and became far more than what they were told they could be. This one aims to leave a legacy of art behind it. A string of perfect artwork. Of souls beaten into greatness." The miqo'te gave a toothy smile as several shapes slowly entered the chapel through the smoke bank. The priestess gave a horrified gasp as her eyes widened. The sound of flames crackling outside mixed with the boy's sobs. The miqo'te's ears flicked in pleasure as he calmly leaned back and recited a line of poetry while fixing his eyes upon the priestess: [align=center]"That first brush with death shook loose her confident grasp of all she held dear."[/align]

TZAaGPW6SLs Lucien Chevalier was a tall, proud elezen, clad in white, scale mail. Long, dark hair hung around his young face, which was pointed and hawkish, with stern, peridot eyes peering out over high cheekbones. The warrior was resting near a fire pit he had dug a few hours before. The bright flames danced and shadows flickered within the vicinity, embers sparking and popping in the air. A small tent was set nearby with his pack and bedroll inside. The snows around him were still and the air was cold and thick with night fog. The Elezen looked a bit tired, but otherwise alright thanks to the burning blaze that he now gazed into. He had started on this back trail through the mountains two days back. It was normally a single day trip to the village halfway along the route, but the trail was heavily snowed over and the going had been painfully slow. He had hoped to make the village this evening but the cold had sunk in and he feared he would face exposure, so he had settled in for the night. As lost as he was in thought, the elezen ignored the thick mists that obstructed the moon. But, as time passed, the crunching of snow could be heard through the veil of white. Surprised to hear footfalls, the elezen peered up as, from the mists, a figured emerged. It was a miqo'te, with flesh as pale as the snow and eyes as black as the void. A black coat was wrapped around his body. With emotionless eyes, the miqo'te studied the flames and the elezen beside them. "Good night to you." the miqo'te said in a flat voice as it gave a small bow. "Perhaps you might permit this one to share your fire for a few moments?" Lucien Chevalier gave the smallest furrow of his brows as he looked upon the peculiar man. He was silent for a moment as a brief expression of curiosity flashed across his face. "Aye, you may enjoy the respite of the flames." Lucien gestured a gloved hand before him. "Though one must needs ask, out of intrigue, why you venture this far so late in the cold?" The miqo'te strode over to the flames, his boots sinking several inches into the fresh snow. The new comer knelt beside the crackling fire and his pointed, feline ears flicked as sparks danced out onto the air. "This one could ask you a question similar in purpose. This road is not well traveled and the village it leads one's footfalls is remote. But that is this one's end goal, the village. This one assumes you head there as well. Or perhaps the larger settlements beyond once this path reaches the main roads again?" Lucien Chevalier regarded his guest with a wary gaze. Though part of Lucien wished to remain friendly, years of training taught him to always hold your guard. Those eyes that gazed at him, devoid of any color, were unsettling. "These lands are native to me, sir." Lucien said conversationally in his thick Ishgardian accent. "And as for mine purpose? I make it a point to traverse the snows in attempts to hone the edges of mine spear." He lofted a brow then. "Mm. You assume incorrectly. I wish only to pass through the village, not make it mine end goal. To what purpose do you have with the village, if I may ask of you?" "So this one is to gather you are a knight, perhaps of the church?" the miqo'te cocked his head to one side as he looked up and peered at the elezen as the flames danced between them. Lucien Chevalier narrowed his eyes a bit and his lips pursed into a tight, thin line. The muscles of one of his gloved hands gave the slightest of twitches. "Nay. A Knight I am not, but a defender of Halone and of Ishgard, most certainly." "Then you serve the church." The miqo'te nodded as if this confirmed what he had already known. The soulless eyes looked back at the fire. "Do you believe the Twelve answer the prayers of those that beg the most earnestly? That they care for the matters of mortals?" Lucien Chevalier didn't exactly know what to think of the strange miqo'te in black at the moment. He inhaled sharply through his nose, letting it out a moment later, and kept his attention focused as he answered: "One does not need to /beg/ for the Twelve to answer their children. Peace and comfort is bestowed upon those even during calm snows. Should the Gods not care, then why wouldst we continue to mutter their names in confidence?" The black eyes of the miqo'te watched the wood emit a cloud of sparks while he spoke. "This one wonders, for many say that it is in peace the Twelve are found. Yet, if they are all powerful, why is it they never answer the pleas of those thrown before the blade and flame? When a believer is murdered for the gil they carry, why do the Twelve not save them? Are these merely tests of faith that some die in? Why is the starving child left hungry? The diseased mother left to rot? Do they not deserve the gift of life? Are the Almighty Twelve toying with us, or are they not omnipotent?" Lucien Chevalier shifted his weight around so both legs were tucked beneath him now, reclining onto his thighs. His hands were kept in his lap and, with much effort, he retained an overall relaxed body posture as he answered: "The Gods do not throw at us that which we cannot handle, for it is up to us to decide the lesson we derive, and if we choose to put forth the effort of reacting upon it." His tone lowered a bit, stern. "We are as strong as we make ourselves to be. The Gods will not hold our hands, nor should they be forced to. Events happen for a reason." "So," the black eyes of the miqo'te slowly rose up to peer once more into the gaze of the elezen. "this one gathers from your words that the god's try to break all and only one's strength of will and body enable them to endure. And those whom are too weak, the Twins reap. This is what your seek to claim? Then why bother protecting anyone at all? Do you not do them a disservice stopping the monsters from -testing- the weak?" Lucien Chevalier scowled. He was none too pleased. "To proclaim the Gods as monsters with mere objectives to destroy their devoted is blasphemous." Any sense of warmth immediately left Lucien's face. "I would politely request you choose a better string of words. But to continue on with your queries, no. I believe you to be misguided. It is not a disservice to protect one's kin and homeland, or to protect and fight for causes you believe in. For we are given free will. If we were true puppets, alas, we would be unable to think for ourselves." "Blasphemy. That word has been heard often by this one as of late. You speak of freedom and mercy. Yet, for this one to speak blasphemy, it means you must have a set of rules and absolutes to follow that determine what is heresy, and what is faith. So, in essence, you are a slave to your own system of morality." The miqo'te rose and gave a bow. "This one asks only that you consider those words. This one has clearly worn out the welcome you offered at first and will be on his way." The stranger began slowly walking past the elezen, his tent and his fire. As the miqo'te came to the edge of the fog wall, he looked over his shoulder. "You asked what this one's purpose was in the village earlier. The answer is simple: to test and see who's faith is strong enough to be spared. This one wonders..." as the male spoke,three wolves covered in mangy, mattered fur and eyes that glowed blood red, as if they were fiery coals, stepped from the swirling mists and slowly walked towards Lucien, their heads low and their fangs exposed in silent growls. "How strong your faith is." With that, the mysterious miqo'te stepped into the fog and was gone. Lucien Chevalier chewed his bottom lip. As he saw the wolves, he rapidly rose to his full height, all six fulm and five ilms of it. As he stared down the canine beasts and heard the miqo'te's parting words, the wheels turning in his head seemed to click. Was this man the monstrosity he had heard in rumors? Lucien was left with little time to ponder, as he quickly removed his lance and fell into a defensive stance as the beasts closed in, their eyes fixed on his throat. A look of steely defiance came over him as he stared down the wolves. "My faith and fury shalt not waver."

Meh I'm the same way. I would have stopped playing a long time ago if it wasn't for rp and the people I know who play. I mean, Realm isn't a bad game, not at all. It takes everything MMO's have done over the past decade and refines it into a brilliantly polished, well fun, well supported and well developed game. Its just, I get bored with pve stuff, especially leveling. I still don't have a sixty because I rather rp then level cause, if I'm going to play a game, I'd rather play something like a shooter with my brief free time than sit and grind the same dungeon for the 1000th time. So, you are not alone in feeling you stay only for the community, not the game.

HswhDujrLlk "All dead?!" the elezen, whose face was lined with wrinkles, with a grey beard having been grown to cover them, exclaimed in disbelief. He was hunched over his desk, palms on the top. Behind him was a great window overlooking a snowy landscape. His sword hung at his side and his armor was covered in nicks and cuts from years of combat. The younger paladin that stood at attention before the elder nodded gravely. The older male gave a somber sigh. "All of them...what manner of abomination can claim so many paladins and remain unscathed?" "We have no verification that the voidspawn survived the encounter." the younger male replied timidly. "Though there is no confirmation it was destroyed either." "If it had been destroyed, at least one of our paladins would have returned to declare it so. This, thing, needs to be eliminated. Send what knights and paladin's available to me immediately. And hire anyone willing to investigate this matter as well." "Sir, with the many other matters currently presenting problems, the number we can spare will be a token effort at best and-" "A token effort is better than nothing." the old elezen interrupted sternly. "Whatever this abomination is, it's not content to lurk in the shadows. If what small snips of information we have are correct, this voidspawn is responsible for a small but -growing- number of incidents and I intend to stop it before that number grows larger. Gather who is available and send them to my office as soon as you can. I will direct them from there." "Yes sir." the young elezen and turned. As the younger knight left, the old paladin turned and gazed out into the snows, his face set in a hard gaze. "Where are you and what are you planning, you anathema?"

That's funny A-A-ron You add 2+3 you get Aaron's mental maturity. Xp :love::roll:

Hey. Was just chatting with my FC last night and realized Eorzea, least the rp part of it, seems to be inhabited by many, many young people. But, where are all the older characters to pass own their wisdom and yell at the young to get off their lawns? Thought it be fun to post characters age here and make a sort of census for ages. So, for me, Ki is Mid-Thirties. Yours?

When it stops being fun! Trying to define how to rp an organization of villains is kinda like trying to organize a race of blind horses. Won't work, so let 'em run free! For villains its often necessary to make -henchmen- who are killable at a moments notice for the sake of rp for the heroes to make progress. Often in my FC's plot, and even back when I ran massive, server wide events, I often used npc's to help move the story along and give the heroes a sense of victory. I mean, once I had over fifteen people show up just to rp NPC zombies to get hacked apart by the "heroes" and it worked out great. Honestly, its what the story needs that determines the need for npcs in my mind.

I realize you're pointing this out as a matter of pride, and that's why you don't sound like a fun person to play with. Ummm... I can understand going after someone IC'ly. I Did it to several people's characters. But never did I do it without their OOC permission and...I never sounded to...well Verad's right, your tone sounds a bit overly-aggressive, what with calling him a whore and all, and your post is, indeed somewhat off putting. The purpose of a villain character is to make a dynamic story for others...not ruin their character utterly unless you got permission. As someone whose main character WAS, basically, destroyed mentally by someone IC'ly and had to be rebuilt over a looong period of time...please make sure you have their permission.

O1M8ddkiplg The paladin ran up the stairs, his panicked breaths harsh and rasping as he sobbed out frantic exhales. His armor was heavy but the desperate quest for life spurned the elezen to new feats of endurance, even though his muscles ached and sweat rolled off his brow. Up and up the tower's circular stairs rose. Up and up the elezen ran, an empty scabbard clacking at his side. Eventually the mighty flight of stairs met a door and, with a shoulder slam, the elezen threw himself against it. The paladin spilled out onto the snow covered roof, wrapped by an iron parapet. The wind roared and snow threw itself against his face as he peered into the winds, trying to find a way of egress from this point. But the paladin realized he was trapped as he went over and gazed down at the buildings below and the glimmering fires that were rising up the tower with hungry flames to consume the male as if he was tied to a witch's pyre. There was a noise from the open doorway and the paladin spun, drawing all the power of the twelve he could muster in that moment as his eyes widened in fear. There it was. The thing they had come to slay. The abomination of nature. The sick defiance of the Twelve made incarnate in the form of a miqo'te. The shadowed form stepped out and, with soulless eyes, gazed at the elezen as a coat made of the shadows themselves hung around the body. "Thing of darkness!" the elezen shouted, his voice quivering as he trembled. His bravery came from necessity sprung from his trapped state, not from his will. "Before the Twelve, I will banish you, Voidling." The thing paused as its pale face cocked itself to one side and clicked before a black tongue slid over its thin lips. Pointed fangs of a Keeper miqo'te could be seen and the tail of snow white that danced about as if it was a wild serpent stood in dramatic contrast the the black coat. "What an amusing declaration." came the thing's voice. The words were slow, and flat but a half-smile was toying with the edges of the lips, as if the lips were not accustomed to forming smiles. "If this one recalls accurately, that is what your brethren were decreeing down below before you ignited this structure. Before they were rent to ribbons and giblets most...artistically." The thing's thin lips pulled aside to reveal yellowed teeth as the elezen took a step back. "You...I banish you! You will not taint our world anymore!" The miqo'te took a step forward, a massive yawn opening its maw. "This one finds your religious drivel so, utterly wearisome. Yes, call upon your omnipresent and omnipotent gods. Let them come and deliver you. This one is willing to wait an eternity for that never to occur. If it weren't for the beautiful hymns your churches craft, this one would question if -any- useful benefit came in praising Twelve, inept beings." "I will end you!" the elezen bristled, finding some inner part of him that had not fallen entirely to cowardice. "You are a blight. A boil. and I will cut you out in their name! I-" "Oh, do spare this one your slave's drivel. You desire to serve a successive chain of masters held by a set of gods? Then by all means, enjoy your last moments. Unless your gods come and whisk you away by air, or silence the writhing flames of your mighty inferno below, your time is short. This one will not be unkind, however, and will offer this advice: one does not die from the fall, it is the sudden stop at the bottom." "Enough heresy!" the elezen snarled, enraged. Aether flowed through his veins and he sent out liquid flames of gold. There was a hiss. And then a cloud of black, oily smoke was dispersed on the wind. So bright was the conflagration the paladin had just made, he had to shield his eyes from it and step back as the intense heat rose up. The winds howled and the great tower shifted as the massive fire below began weakening the mortar and wooden supports of the structure. The elezen gasped and fell to his hands and feet as he looked up. The voidspawn was gone. But now golden flames burned hot and sealed him off from the doorway that now had black smoke from the blaze below pouring out of it like a chimney. The male gazed around, but again there was nothing but smoke and the storm. He was trapped. Trapped and going to be burned alive if he didn't find a way out. He rose and looked around wildly for something, anything. But he truly was without any mode of escape from that spire's zenith save a stairwell of consuming flame or a long fall to the ground below. The elezen began shivering from cold and fear. The paladin turned his eyes towards the heavens once again. "Please, almighty Twelve, send me a way." *** From below, the miqo'te watched from within the crowd of horrified onlookers as the construct burned. So intense was the inferno, that a wide berth had to be given by the onlookers. Any hope of containing the blaze had long since perished as the tongues of fire crawled up and up. Sparks danced as beams shook and wood popped. Stone on stone grinding rose louder and louder, like a giant gnashing its teeth in a thunderous fury as the winter's tempest howled. The miqo'te knew the elezen was up there. The miqo'te knew when the paladin died as the tower crumbled in on itself. And the miqo'te knew the Twelve had never lifted a finger to even try and help. The miqo'te's lips curled into the broken smile as it turned and walked away into the storm. [align=center]"No wealth, no land, no silver, no gold, Nothing satisfies me but your soul"[/align]

To play the Devil's advocate.. GET IT? Moving on... I know everyone has generally gone with the realistic, slowly developed character option. The slow burn if you will. The human villain. If you intend for your character to have lots of interactions with people, playing them in such a way is safer, certainly, and more realistic, since most people don't do evil for the sake of evil. However, and all this is from personal experience. As someone whose character roster is 100 percent villains (most of which are dead) there are benefits for playing the larger than life villains. No one seems to talk about how amazingly dynamic a baddie can be for people's rp. A subtle villain can influence people and create rivalries but a full, bat shit crazy villain out to crush the world, or a city, gets people stirred up in a hurry because, in the end, we're all a bunch of drama dorks and the idea of saving the -something- from an evil villain is a TON of fun cause it creates an easy enemy for people to gather against. I used to rp a certain evil villain miqo'te who was..well very direct with his goals of killing basically EVERYONE. He would tell you, polity, he would kill you and was sadistic enough to mentally break people with mind games. Sure, he had NO friends IC (okay he had ONE Garlean buddy). But you will meet soooo many great people OOC that will tell you they enjoy meeting other people while trying to stop your villain that's it become worth your character having so few friends because you are playing a VITAL roll in rp. The antagonist. No character can grow without conflict and by being openly evil, you make it easy for people to find that conflict which makes their characters really develop. I consider playing a villain a pleasure, but also a much needed roll that not everyone will or, even can fill, based on their personalities or characters. Cause, honestly, most people rp their character as the hero as their stories. Its just how they roll. But, some sadists like myself, get more pleasure out of making baddies for people to end up defeating because we enjoy having everyone chasing us like a bad game of tag and we enjoy giving. Because in the end, people who play villains are really stepping in to the shadows to help others people's characters shine brighter. Just my two cents.

Z7ZV7fNX5FE Through the graveyard he moved, a silent specter among the silent graves that stretched out in row upon row. Tombstones, the only legacy of lives long since forgotten, sat weather stained and faded to near ruin. Below coffins held their deteriorating contents like the arms of the twin gods of death themselves. The sky was dark, and the morning fog was thick to the point of being suffocating. No wind blew the black coat the figure wore as he marched onward. At last, the fog parted and the figure stopped. Before him stood an open grave with something bound and laid at the bottom. Two, hooded figures knelt on each side of the freshly opened earth, shovels in their hands. The figure removed his hood with one hand as he pulled out a book. Thin, pale fingers leafed through yellowed pages as black eyes gazed down at the hymnal's worn ink. White hair hung before the soulless optics as the thin lips opened and voice, remarkably beautiful, began floating out: [align=center]O, Death O, Death Won't you spare me over till another year Well what is this that I can't see With ice cold hands takin' hold of me Well I am Death, none can excel I'll open the door to Heaven or Hell Whoa, Death someone would pray Could you wait to call me another day The children prayed, the preacher preached Time and mercy is out of your reach I'll fix your feet til you can't walk I'll lock your jaw til you can't talk I'll close your eyes so you can't see This very hour, come and go with me I'm Death I come to take the soul Leave the body and leave it cold To draw up the flesh off of the frame Dirt and worm both have a claim O, Death O, Death Won't you spare me over til another year My mother came to my bed Placed a cold towel upon my head My head is warm my feet are cold Death is a-movin' upon my soul Oh, Death how you're treatin' me You've close my eyes so I can't see Well you're hurtin' my body You make me cold You run my life right outta my soul Oh Death please consider my age Please don't take me at this stage My wealth is all at your command If you will move your icy hand The old, the young, the rich or poor All alike to me you know No wealth, no land, no silver no gold Nothing satisfies me but your soul O, Death O, Death Won't you spare me over til another year Won't you spare me over til another year Won't you spare me over til another year[/align] The albino miqo'te then looked up at the the tombstone and read the name that had been carved there before looking at the full sack at the bottom. "This one will be singing that song when this one buries you forever." The hymnal closed slowly as the figure spun. The miqo'te's tail swished back and forth as he pulled the hood back over his head. "And on that day you'll know, I am kind, for this one won't bury you alone."

"You!" Ki snarled as his right hand dug into the dirt. His eyes burned with hatred as he gnashed his teeth. The sun back lit the figure standing over him but he knew who it was by smell and sound of voice alone. "I'll kill you!" Ki snarled, slamming his teeth together. "I'll end you. I'll -" "This on has no question within the recesses of it's mind that you would attempt to end this ones exhistance. But, this one fears you, in your current state, are not even remotely close to matching me in combat. So, perhaps you would be better of silencing that venmous tongue you sputter with and use those ears you seem so inept at operating with even a passing efficiency." Ki blinked in honest surprise as the seeker processed the words coiming for them short, white haired miqo'te leaning over. "Did you just insult me?" The figure sifted with a pause. "It would certainly seem this one has shoved a set of barbed words in your ego, yes. How...remarkable. This one is developing faster than-" "I KILL YOUU!" Ki howled as he rose to his feet and rushed forward. His left mechanical arm was having issues but Ki's right, organice arm was working just fine and he aimed a punch at the face of the albino miqo'te with black eyes. Ki missed. With surprising speed, Jin'li dodged Ki's attack and then tripped the mercencary with his cane. Ki slammed ontot he ground with a thud and snarled as more bane heaved across his body. "I take it you are going to try and attack this one again, arn't you?" Jin'li said, sounding...almost bored as he looked over at the seeker heaving on the dirt road. Jin'li spun his cane and tucked it into his arm bit as he adjusted his shilk, white gloves and waited. Ki reached into his coat and produced two grenades and with skilled fingers, pulled the pins and lobbed them at the sickly looking keeper. Jin'li seized his cane and, like a professional athelet, swung his onyx cane. The cane struck the explosives and sent them flying up into the air where the both exploded wonderfully. Ki stood, staring at the specital as Jin'li spun his cane through his fingers, tucked it into his arm pit and clapped slowly. "Very pretty. Now then, perhaps this one can assume you are done acting liek a small child? Because this one honeslty has something to discuss-" "Save if for the hells!" Ki snapped, flicked his mechanical arm around, aiming at Jin'li, and opened fire. The black dressed Jin'li took the bullets and tumbled backwards ontot he ground. Ki painted and began laughing. "Get up you bastard. we both know you ain't that easy to kill. I'm gonna kill you over and over and over-" "And over and over." said Jin'li's voice from behind him and Ki's didn't have time to turn around before the metal cane slammed into his body. He screamed as his bruised ribs protested and he fell to the ground, shuddering.

So much had happened. His future seemed bright for the first time in a long time. Something beyond gil in how many ages? Friends. A mate. And now to be a father. Ki had become a man who had much too loose. Many weaknesses in his armor. Weaknesses he had sworn to cast aside. He had only gained them back tenfold. And now all of that could be taken away. By the very man who had before. Ki snarled as his tightened his grip on Mihk'a's throat. Blood oozed down Ki's arms from the tears in his flesh Mihk'as nails had made. Ki didn't care that the boy was his apprentice. Didn't care that he cared deeply for the boy. The boy was being a fool. Willing to subject himself to the whims of a madman. As Ki''s dagger plunged into the boy's gut and twisted, Ki knew he was saving the boy from his own foolishness and the slow death it would bring upon everyone. Ki watched the young keeper male shudder in his grasp. I won't lose those things that are precious to me. Not again. Even if I must kill you, Mihk'a, to safeguard them. Ki's thoughts were dark but he snarled as the boy sunk is nails into muscle and kicked free, shoving himself free of Ki's grasp as the muscles spammed open and the knife slid free. The miqo'tes' combined blood rained onto the ground as Mihk'a staggered back and pulled out a small item. Ki's eyes went wide as the grenade's pin fell away. "Aw hells." Ki muttered. There was blinding white flash and then an explosion. Ki was sent flying backwards, the left arm that was been extended splintering and a few ribs cracked as the blast blew him onto his ass. Ki hit the ground and rolled, smoke wafting up from his body as he bounced to a stop. The mercenary lay groaning. "My own trick used against me." Ki gasped as he clutched his chest with his right arm. "I taught him too damn well." Ki spat blood and took in deep breaths. So urgent was his need for oxygen, he failed to hear the approaching footsteps. The walking figure's shadow fell over him and there was the sound of shifting boots as the figure came to a halt. There was a silence. Then a voice, flat and calm, spoke. "Well, well, isn't this an unexpected meeting. What a delightful kindness this one has received."

BY SIGMAR'S HOLY FLAME.... KILL IT WITH FIRE!

Ki grunted and took a long sip of his pineapple juice laced with whiskey as he read the article. He re-read it again and laughed. " An army of hookers versuses sultansworn? That I'd pay to see. Ul'dah should make that a holiday. Not like we arn't suddenly overrun with hookers as of late. There are plenty to spare."

Think i like 25 cause its short and need more short hair. A buzz cut would be a nice change but Its japan...lol

....ALRIGHT!

The smell of grapes was strong that morning in Wineport as Ki sat on a stool beneath the shelter of a covered patio. The sky was a heavy grey as a steady rain continued to fall. The rain had been falling all night and showed no signs of stopping. The seeker was smoking and watching the falling rain. He was hunched over and his hands were clasped together as the gentle wind tugged at his long, black coat. He had been waiting for several bells now and was growing concerned. The sun hadn't even been up when he had left Nahare alone in their bed and tip toed past Nataru sleeping on the floor to come and wait here. Nahare was sick and getting worse and the last thing he and Nataru needed was for Nahare's condition to get worse with Myst's arrival. It was half a bell and three more cigarettes later before a figure appeared at the gate of the vineyard. Dressed in a set of leather traveling gear with a large, hooded cloak wrapped tightly around his shoulders, Myst looked unsettling normal. If it weren't for the bizarre mask the necromancer always wore, Ki might have not paid the trudging figure any notice. Ki sat up straight, grunting as his stiff back protested. The necromancer pulled off his hood, his wet, jet-black hair falling down to his chin. The icy blue eyes studied Ki from behind the mask. "You're late." Ki remarked, crossing his arms. "I wouldn't expect a barbarian to comprehend the art of navigating an airship in a tempest." came the hissing whisper of Myst. Ki noted the agitated flick of Myst's tail beneath the cloak and was momentarily surprised at the almost normal reaction from the traditionally objective spell caster. "You fly an airship?" Ki was genuinely surprised. Myst gave his inhuman clicking nose. "No, I just farted myself here and decided it would be absolutely splendid to romp around the mire for a few hours." Myst snapped. "You're quickly depleting my already dangerously low patience with these game of yours Grimsong. Be grateful I find some measure of worth by our continued confederacy." "You were well compensated in gil and that wagon load of corpses we delivered." Ki spat out his smoke at Myst's feet. His hair was prickling but he held his ground. "Now what did you find out about Tengri during your meeting?" There was a pause from the masked necromancer and a low clicking noise like gnashing mandibles filled the air. "Enough to know that -you- are working for someone you can't handle." Myst spoke slowly, as if addressing a foolish child. "I can confirm he is a living bag of flesh just like you. But The collective strength of Tengri's aether flow places him outside of your capabilities to contend with." Ki chewed his lip and stared at the mask. "I thought you said you were the best." Ki remarked with a snort. "Yet that's all you were able to uncover?" "Grimsong." Myst clicked his tongue. "You are aware of the displeasure I take in conversing with living meat bags. Especially ones that have forced me to endure unnecessary expeditions to the remote pits of Eorzea. For this conversation, you will be supplying me with additional payment." Ki growled. "Now look here-" "The stone." Myst interrupted and held out his left hand, palm up. "Or you can find someone else to go and look into the eyes of that au ra. Perhaps you might find a spine and do it yourself." The mercenary snarled and rose to his feet. "Watch your tongue, pleb." Myst hissed before Ki could speak. "You came crawling and blubbering to me. You continue to employ me cause you -need- me. Not the other way around. Apologize to your better and give me the stone, or I leave with my additional knowledge of this Tengri held with my mind" Ki was visibly shaking as his fist clenched but he did not strike the necromancer. Ki -did- need the necromancer. At least for the moment. But the way the necromancer was beginning to strong arm him was agitating. Ki reached into his pocket and pulled out Berrod's soulstone. The seeker slipped his thumb over the stone before handing it over. Myst took the stone and observed it. There was a strange noise from behind the mask and then the necromancer slid the soulstone into a pouch on his belt. As the soul stone of Berrod went in, something else came out. What it was, Ki couldn't be sure. The necromancer's gloved fingers clenched around the item. The ice blue eyes starred at Ki's mismatched optics. "That's better. Now,take your glove off and hold out your hand." Myst ordered softly. "Why?" Ki growled, suddenly suspicious. "If you want more information on Tengri, you will do as instructed." Myst watched intently as Ki glared back. It took a few moments but Ki began to remove his glove. Whatever expression Myst's face was wearing, Ki couldn't see it. But Ki could hear the smug satisfaction in the whisper as he extended his hand. "What are you doing?" Ki swallowed, defiant but clearly apprehensive. "You call yourself Grimsong, but had a recent discussion with a certain soul whom told me of some interesting things about your past. Of another name you went by." Quick as a snake, Myst slammed his gloved hands around Ki's outstretched hand and pressed in something cold. "And of knowledge I might covet from you." Myst's eyes were glowing blue and the smell of burning metal filled the air. Ki's body was frozen. His hand began to burn and then the pain spread. Within a moment it felt as if his body had been filled with thousands of burning white embers. His muscles twisted and knotted. Ki felt his mind being tore open and deep things observed. Ki's vision went red and he tried to scream but Myst's left hand covered his lips as he opened his maw and hollered in agony before his mind went black. Ki slumped over onto the deck. He was writhing but clearly unconscious. Myst stepped back, the thing in his right hand glowing white hot and smoking. The necromancer cast a quick look around and then turned, pulling his hood up over his head and stepping out into the ran. No one had seen and if they had, what would they say? He was masked and rarely came to this pathetic pebble amongst the ocean's furious grasp. The mud squelched underneath his boots as the rain continued to fall. He strode quickly and it wasn't until he was several miles away that he paused to open his hand and look down. There, in his open palm, shone a blood red soul stone with a strange rune etched in its surface. The rune had not existed on that stone till it had touched Ki's flesh. But now it was very evident in the polish surface of the stone. Myst ran his thumb over the stone. "Hello, beautiful."