Melkire

"Rutting" is also yet another euphemism for the F-word in addition to "swiving" Any variation on "Twelves' _____" will also serve you well. Twelve preserve, Twelves' sakes, etc.

"How uncouth, Lieutenant!" The little private turns and gives R'elend his due salute. "Good luck with your assignment, then. I am off to fetch Captain Tataran some more coffee. Seems we've run out, as it were." Haruko Kokojo gives Vincent her best wink and her most winning smile, then walks off towards the Sapphire Avenue Exchange.

"Lost: his sense of judgment," teases a blond Lalafellin lass as she passes by the front desk. "Crime: interrupting the Lieutenant's nap." She pauses mid-stride to consider R'elend's predicament. "...sometimes, I have to wonder whether our good captain might not be... well... a tad racist."

Kudos to Mikh'a Korofi and Siha Xinkei for staying strong and tackling the daunting (hue) task of reorganizing and revitalizing our Free Company. You two make this shit seem easy, despite everything you've got going on, and there are no words with which to adequately express my respect and appreciation for you both. I'll be doing everything I can to help out as we move forward, and I thank you for remaining patient with me. Kudos to the RPC Site Staff for sitting down with me of their own free will (pffffhahahahaha, nah, I made them sign the devil's own contract) and bashing our heads against a wall on what sometimes feels like a daily basis until something that may, in another life, resemble sanity leaks out our collective brains to puddle into something that may or may not be a consensus. You guys rock. Kudos to Berrod Armstrong for never turning down an opportunity to tear into each other's guts and bash each other's brains out roleplay monk-things, whether the scene in question is a high-stakes spar or a not-so-simple chat about DESTRUCTION and MORALITY and RESPONSIBILITY. Kudos to Evangeline Primrose for her role as my giggle-cackling partner-in-crime as we hammer out what is arguably the best farcical court martial to have ever gone down in FFXIV RP. After all, TODAY. IT'S TODAY. F**** IT, WE'LL DO IT LIVE. Kudos to Askier Mergrey for giving me a few more gray hairs. No, thank you, I'll pass on the toast. The jam too, yes. What's that? You have more headaches and trauma for my characters and I? You want me to sign on the dotted line? Ignore the fine print, you say...? Well, you are devilishly handsome, so how could I say no? Sold. Kudos to Tiergan Vashir & Co. for inviting me along on their Fashion Farm of Final Coil. I'm glad to have finally experienced post-T11 content, even if it was unsynced. I had loads of fun, and walked away with what might've been more than my fair share of shinies. Thank you, all! Last but not least, kudos to the Tentative Allies Linkshell for never ceasing to amaze me.

*does a thing* *does another thing*

I have a now-deceased Garlean triarius by name of Adin Adonis that would fit the bill for Imperial backgrounds, particularly the following categories: *Soldiers and citizens, pre-Calamity within the Capitol of Garlemald *Soldiers stationed in occupied Doma, Pre-Calamity The character's wiki entry reflects his, ah, post-mortem legacy more so than his life as a citizen of the Empire. Send me a Private Message if you're interested.

Evangeline’s face appeared suddenly in front of the bars. “IT’S TODAY?” she yelled, as a Sultansworn Guard vainly tried to chase her down. “TODAY?!” she yelled again. “You think that might not have been IMPORTANT TO MENTION?” She turned to the guard. “Open the damn door before I blow it open, I’m going to speak to my client.” Osric winced, one hand flying up to his forehead as he pushed himself upright off the cot to a seated position facing the hallway. “Ruttin’ hells, don’t look at me, the swivin’ bastards said the trial was pendin’ further investigation. Seems they’d rather hang me as soon as possible.” The guard grumbled as he pushed Evangeline aside, fetched the key from his keyring, and opened the door to the cell. Evangeline pushed past him with a curt nod, clutching a briefcase and a bundle of papers. “Someone must really hate you, Sergeant,” she grumbled, before turning to the guard. “Get me a table, or a cart or something! Before I get annoyed.” She turned back to Osric. “We don’t have much time, but it’s not hopeless.” She handed him a newspaper, “As you can see, either a dead man is getting married, or we’ve already cleared a fourth of this.” The midlander took the paper from her with a grunt and tossed it aside onto the cot. “If he’s written to the Hall, then….” He glanced up at the guard with a frown. The Sultansworn rolled his eyes and turned to walk back down the cell block. “MARKUS!” came the call, “GET THE BARRISTER BITCH A TABLE!” Evangeline seemed smug at that, as if pleased that the man had at least acknowledged her credentials. The sergeant snorted. “If he’s written home, then that fourth ain’t cleared, it’s CONFIRMED. Which… isn’t good.” He swallowed audibly. “I was hopin’ we’d have more time. Was hopin’ we could get some, what the hells do they call ‘em, character witnesses. I know plenty o’ folks for that… but they came in this morn ‘n’ told me it’s this very sun.” He eyed Eva. He looked terrified. “I don’t see a way out.” The woman turned back to Osric, clucking her tongue, “Oh, but you are not thinking, Sergeant, perhaps the time in here has dulled your mind. This speed betrays their desperation. In truth they do not have much of a case, which is why they are so eager to push this verdict through before you can build a defense. They are worried, Osric.” She smiled. “But I am not. Well not much anyway.” She coughed. “First, tell me of these four, some were killed by poison, yes? Others with a blade? I think I have their autopsies somewhere….” She ruffled through the papers. The sergeant nodded and took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He leaned back against the far wall and stared up at the ceiling in thought. “One by poison. One gutted. The last had his throat slit.” “And one married?” ‘I don’t know all the particulars, Miss Primrose. I didn’t commit these murders.” The Elezen nodded. “Then I suppose that will have to do. Do you have alibis of any sort? These charges are quite nebulous.” She shook her head, “It is clear they did not expect you to fight them.” She grinned rakishly ,”But you are tired of being chained, I think. A dog can only be beaten so long before it chews through its ropes.” “The chain, I wouldn’t mind so much… if it weren’t for them yankin’ on the gods-damned leash.” He looked back down at her and rolled a wrist. “Alibis. Ain’t ever met or been seen with a one o’ them gents, though I suppose that ain’t any good in court. Was off with the company on more’n one assignment that took us out o’ Thanalan. That one for the Adders, the Deepcroft investigation, that sticks out. Was also attendin’ the Grindstone often; Master Armstrong can attest to that. I’m… afraid I didn’t spend much time in the city back then. No, errr, neutral individuals who can claim t’have been with me at the time.” He blinked. “Piss, I don’t even know when these men died.” She exhaled. “Then we shall have to see what evidence they have. I’ve brought your service record, the autopsies, and some other relevant documentation. Whatever they assert, I can only hope that we shall have the ability to contest it.” She stretched. “Is there anything else Sergeant? Or are you ready to fight the Government?” She laughed. He pursed his lips for a moment. “This assassin I’m supposed to have hired. The one they’re claimin’ I sicced on these men.” He paused as the silent guard from the night prior arrives at the cell with a long table and deposited it rather carelessly at the end of the hall. “For the barrister,” the small little blonde jeered. Evangeline stuck her head out into the hallway, “A cart, not a table,” she growled, “and if it’s not here before the trial starts, I’m going to shove that table UP YOUR ARSE.” "Markus" recoiled in shock and mutterd an apology before heading off in search of a cart. Obscenities spilled from his lips as he took his leave; “former public menace” was audible over the rattling of his chainmail. The Elezen rubbed at a temple as she turned back to the sergeant. “I’ve been spending too much time with Klyn, you were saying?” Osric smirked for the first time that morning as he watched the man leave. “They’re goin’ t’claim I hired him based on an incident last cycle. Was thrown in the Hall gaol with him. We shared a wall… and a gaol break.” He paused to scratch at the back of his neck. “I’d be one t’argue that’s a flimsy as shite piece o’ proof… but I don’t write the law. There anythin’ we can do to, errr, well….” Evangeline tapped her cheek, “They are saying this person committed all three murders on your behalf?” She considered for a moment, “That could make our job easier or harder, though to start with it’s an improbable claim. You’re more than capable of having performed these murders yourself. Or so I am led to believe. We would need them to prove that not only did you hire someone else regardless, but you were so lazy as to hire the first person you met capable. They would also need to prove that money exchanged hands, and an agreement was made.” She shook her head, “Unless the man is there himself to testify, I doubt any reasonable argument can be made along those lines.” She cleared her throat. “If they do have testimony or proof in that regard though… it will make our task difficult indeed.” The man suddenly groaned as he covered his face with both hands and flopped sideways onto the cot. “Twelves’ sakes… I forgot… there was some bastard goin’ round dressed as m’self a few moons prior, back when I was with the Red Wings. I was cleared on account o’ havin’ an alibi. Was away visitin’ Limsa Lominsa with Erik Mynhier. But… the sod who looked like me killed a man. A paladin. Sultana’s own ‘sworn. Name o’ Besten.” Evangeline peeked her head out of the hallway to ensure the guard was still gone, then quickly opened up her briefcase and handed Osric a small shaving kit and a metal mirror. “Here, clean yourself up while he’s gone. It won’t help us if you look like a scruffy murderer.” The Elezen removed a slim flask of water from a pouch and added it to the pile. “In any case, they can’t charge you for past acquittals, and such a fact may even help us. If your impersonation is in the public record, it can throw doubt on any outlandish claims. After all, if it has happened once, it may do so again.” Osric stared blankly at the kit, mirror, and flask for a moment, then straightened. “Hate shavin’ the beard. Folks never like it when I do.” He set to work. She blinked. “Ah, you don’t have to shave it all. But to be honest you look like a man who’s had a restless guilty sleep. Cleaning it up a bit and washing your face will do wonders in the eyes of the court. You may even look like the hero of the Flames you’re supposed to be.” She grinned. “Ain’t no hero, Eva… but thanks.” He spoke slowly as he ridded himself of his facial hair anyway. “There might be one witness to an alibi y’can round up in the few bells ‘til the trial, I think. Man goes by Rand, spends most of his time sulkin’ about near the Hall. Think he regrets ever havin’ joined the Blades instead o’ the Flames.” He grimaced, but the blade came free of his face without issue; no nicks or cuts. No blood. He reached for the flask again to wash. “Anyroad, Rand ‘n’ I spent a good deal o’ time lookin’ into an incident up at Nanawa. We saw a lot of each other in the followin’ sennights.” Evangeline nodded. “I can do that. Any description? Tall, short? Hyur, Roe?” She took out a small pad and began writing. “And you may not see yourself as a hero, Sergeant, but if the Court sees you as such, it can’t but help our case. So be a dear and smile for crowd.” Osric looked up as he gathered the kit, mirror and flask to give Evangeline his best grin. It was a rakish thing, debonair, more befitting a scoundrel than a gentleman. “That, I can do. Tall, highlander by his build. Disagreeable sort. Worse’n m’self, to be honest. We were workin’ a crime scene here ‘n’ there. The early suns o’ the Lazarov case.” She closed the booklet. “I’ll get him there, somehow.” The Elezen slipped the shaving case back into her briefcase as she heard the rattling of a cart. “Was there anything else, or shall I meet you in the courtroom?” The rattling grew louder as the cart came rolling past, unaccompanied, and slammed into the wall at the end of the hallway. Osric rolled his eyes. “Anythin’ more I could tell you like as not won’t do us a lick o’ good.” She gathered up the papers and headed out. “Then we’ll just throw the dice. Seems to be something you’re good at.” Walking out of the cell, she approached the surly guard. “Women don’t like men with a temper.” She moved to pat his cheek on her way out of the gaol. The surly guard blustered, then called out to his partner further down the cellblock, near the entrance to the gaol. “BRYANT! THIS IS WHY I’M THE QUIET ONE AND YOU HANDLE THE OFFICIALS, GODS DAMN YOU!”

Please join me in welcoming Graeham and Ha'uruh Nunh to the team! They'll be joining us as chat moderators and helping to keep the RPC Chat a nice place (or, to put it another way, helping to make the RPC Chat a nicer place). Site staff are also opening up more avenues by which chat issues can reach the team faster. More eyes and ears are a start; any issues users may have can and will be booted into a staff discussion if need be. You'll be able to differentiate chat moderators from other staff members by dint of their fancy new green names. Thank You!

Tengri's available to go if needed. If headed into a dark place, one should take someone versed in the dark arts. You shouldn't brave a wizard's tower without a wizard, after all.

"You're certain that this is what you want." "Aye." "...very well." Flame Commander Swift nodded to the men flanking Chief Flame Sergeant Melkire. Those soldiers stepped forward and each took up an arm, securing the midlander between them. "Osric Melkire. You are hereby placed under arrest for suspicion of murder and attempted murder. For these alleged crimes, you face a court martial, time and sun to be arranged. Owing to recent concerns over security within the Immortal Flames, as well as out of respect for your tenuous position and standing with certain elements of the Brass Blades, you will be handed over to the Sultansworn forthwith and held within the palace gaol, for your own safety as well as our own." The doors at the far end of the commander's office swung open. "Take him away. For Coin and Country."

This is a reminder that spoiler restrictions are now lifted for all 3.0 to 3.07 content.

Hinterlands FATE parties via Party Finder. Or you can take the slow route and just pop Leveling Roulette daily til you hit 59. If that's too slow and FATEs are a bother, just pop The Vault again and again.

From behind the bars of his cell, there was little else to be done other than to pore over the article again... and again... and again. To say that he'd spent most of the sun fuming was an understatement; he was livid. He'd risked life and limb, present and future, for a chance to bring an end to no small amount of suffering, and for what? Gods damned rook was still milling about, and here he was rotting away in gaol. Dead men walkin', the lot of 'em. Not for ruttin' lack o' tryin'. Infuriating, was what this was. Adonis, Epinoch, Taeros; the faces didn't matter. What mattered was that the dead refused to stay dead. Knowing that the struggle, all the pain and tears and blood... knowing that the struggle would never amount to any meaningful change... that was eating him alive, killing him from the inside out. The knowing. Knowing that Lazarov had been right. "I will escape with no difficulty, and face no punishment for the wrongs I've committed." Futile. "The choices you make when no one is looking paint you as a man not too dissimilar to I." He'd been engaged in little more than exercises in futility for more moons than he could be bothered to count. All he had to show for the pain and tears and blood were a handful of lives here and there. Innocents. Bystanders. "The women and children." His hands moved seemingly on their own. No thought drove them, other than perhaps the thought that he'd had enough. Tearing the Lantern in half didn't seem sufficient. Quarters... no. Eighths. Sixteenths. He bounded off his cot and cast the shreds into the far corner of his cell with a roar. "You care that much?!" "I swore an oath." He wanted to be done. He so desperately wanted this to be over. He wanted his freedom. He wanted to take his family and flee to the farthest corner of the realm, to a place where heartless men couldn't follow. He wanted his life back. "Pick your own ground and stand on it, gods damn you." The most difficult task, he thought, is always the taking of one's own advice. "As you serve, you will live, and as you live, you will serve.” "Do your best, Flame Sergeant." He stepped over to the bars, took them in hand, and marveled at how the cast iron wasn't what held him here. He could've broken out at any time, had he wanted... but that would've meant a life on the run. He'd be a vigilante in truth, then. Outcast, exiled, a man on the run from the law was in no position to shield his own family, let alone the innocent. No. He had to let the system work. Bless you, Lights. Bless each 'n' every one of you. "I WANT ME A BARRISTER! GET ME A BLEEDIN' BARRISTER, RUTTERS, OR I SWEAR ON RHALGR'S NAME, THERE'LL BE BLOOD SMEARED ACROSS YOUR GODS-DAMNED WALLS, SHADOWS CREEPIN' THROUGH YOUR PRECIOUS PISSIN' PALACE, AND MY FIST THROUGH THE HEART O' THE SWORNS' OWN GUTLESS CAPTAIN!" Death ain't to your likin', Jameson? Fine. Destruction'll suit. "GET ME A BARRISTER!"

1, 2, 3

Leveling Roulette and Guildhest Roulette net you a nice daily bonus for running them. These bonuses scale to your level, so they are always relevant until you reach level cap. Each guildhest features an experience bonus for the first time you complete them on each class. There are Hunting Logs for all classes (but not the new jobs, DRK MCH and AST) that consist of ten monster types for every ten levels. Completing each tier nets you a nice bonus on top of the monster type bonuses. There's a Challenge Log that you can unlock at either level 15 or 16 by picking up a quest at the Adventurer's Guild in Limsa Lominsa. There's loads of weekly bonuses available here: for completing a certain number of roulette runs, for running a certain number of dungeons, for completing a certain number of FATEs, for completing a certain number of levequests, etc. The best part is that these weekly bonuses scale to your level, so they are always relevant until you reach level cap. There are FATEs on every overworld map that correspond to that area's level range. FATEs are basically open-world events for which you can net some experience by participating in activities that count towards the goal's completion. Generally speaking, if you unlock the Challenge Log, complete your roulettes daily, gradually work towards Hunting Log progression, and hit every Main Story Quest and sidequest available on each map, you'll level at a decent pace. FATEs are either a last resort or a means of quickly progressing through otherwise painfully slow level gaps (47-49, 58-59, etc.)

Moderators, administrators, and technical staff have convened to review the pre-existing rules pertaining to post deletion and/or removal. After some discussion, new features have been implemented. The site staff's stance, however, remains more or less as it was with regards to potential abuse cases. For the sake of clarity, clear language, and addressing any misunderstandings, the following phrasings will embody our stance on this issue moving forward: Edit History has been implemented. Edit History can only be viewed by moderation staff. Due to this added feature, users are now allowed to blank their post(s) and/or request that their post(s) be deleted by reporting the post(s) to the moderators, either through use of the report function or via Private Message. Moderators will review deletion requests on a case-by-case basis. Posts will be archived at the discretion of the moderator. Innocuous deletion requests (such as removing one's own advertisement in the Making Connections forum or removing a redundant post in the Town Square forum) will generally be approved and acted upon. Edits that break the context or continuity of a discussion will be subject to moderator review, and we encourage users to report posts that they suspect of such. Users have always been and will always be allowed to edit, revise, or alter any portion of content on any post they make. Users are now permitted to omit or remove any and all content on any post they make. The RPC site staff has reviewed these policies extensively and concluded that the above best addresses both the concerns of this community as well as the needs of the moderation staff as they pertain to fostering civil discussions. Consequently, these are the rules on post removal/deletion moving forward. They are not subject to change under the current administration unless a consensus that the ruling is inadequate is reached by the staff. Any users who may feel that additional extensive discussion is necessary may post in the Off-Topic Discussion forum.

I use quotation marks for speech in /say, if only because you can then emote in the same post rather than needing two separate posts, one for speech and one for emoting. ..plus, in my opinion it's good practice, since quotation marks are standard just about everywhere other than screenplays and scripts.

[Admin Hardhat] Going to preemptively ask that folks cool their heels on this. If you find yourself making personal remarks, or you find yourself on the receiving end of personal remarks, it's probably for the best if you step back from the thread for a while. That will help keep this discussion on track before a significant portion of it devolves into derailing personal disputes. Thank You. [/Admin Hardhat] As far as collaborative writing and roleplay are concerned, I come from a play-by-post background and the use of future tense, or present tense phrased to communicate intent and request permission, is almost unheard of there. The Grindstone was the first time in XIV or anywhere else that I'd seen such a thing. Perhaps that was and is common in AOL and Yahoo RP. I wouldn't know. What I do know is that there are plenty of ways in which to phrase actions in past tense so as to leave whoever follows up with the next post enough freedom that "godmodding" was a rare accusation (and usually enough to get the violator booted from the thread). Just my two cents.

[align=center] "....you're the one that spoke t'Kana. The one A-- the one Rotunda's so damned pleased t'know survived." "So you are familiar with the state of the dreamer. Excellent." "This one was not entirely cruel. This one fed him, changed his bloodied attire, and left him armed. Lady Nahare, this one doesn't know what these Dauntless individuals have told you about me, but this one has always been a gentleman first and a monster second, not the other way around." "Tha perrrson's name that wanted Askierrr." "I know it not." [/align]

He waited patiently at Raubahn's Salute, eyes scanning the horizon for winged beasts. Though the clouds rolled across the skies and the winds gusted through the valleys, there was not a sign of the mythical monster of Alabathia. There was no griffin in sight... nor, he was beginning to realize, would there be. Wisps of black smoke creeped over the edge, beneath the stone railing that safeguarded the Salute. He couldn't help but smirk as he watched the smog gather in a small pool behind him. Hands emerged, then arms, then a head and shoulders as Ortolf Forgehands clawed his way back into his corporeal form. The undead highlander stretched, then ran one rotting hand up through his hair and glared at his midlander cousin. Each and every motion was short, agitated, and promised untold violence. "Ansfrid found me." Osric's grin grew even wider. "I can see that.' "...spik, bairn." The smaller man sobered as he turned from the railing towards his mentor. "It's time. The target wishes t'meet." A long, hard silence fell between them. Forgehands' eyes searched Melkire's. The old monk paced back and forth as he considered. "Too soon. Putting aside that your training is incomplete, the others have barely begun their own. Why risk this now?" "Grimsong's missin'. Not the woman. Rotunda's runner. The runt claims t'have taken him." Ortolf stopped in his tracks and turned fully to Osric. "...so?" "So how many o' these bloomin' stones has Ki delivered, eh? You still need him." The sergeant - sergeant f'now, dead man soon, mayhap - stepped forward until he was mere ilms from the Crow. "I can get him for you." Forgehands frowned. "For this you require...?" "A doppleganger. I can't leave Thanalan at the mo', I'm bein' watched. Damned Flames are waitin' t'see if I flee, 'n' if I do, they'll condemn me. That's a complication to his plans that's best avoided, no?" "Bah... Zhwan's best at what you're asking for, but he's not one for playing civil. Gnasher is worse, and I can't be spared." "Pierre." "Pierre. I will see to it that he is within the city on the morrow. Recover Grimsong. Kill Epinoch if you can. How long will you require?" "One sun, perhaps two. Supposed t'be turnin' m'self in come end o' the sennight. That'll be in two suns." Ortolf turned and walked towards the railing, through the railing. He glanced over his shoulder. "Then two suns you shall have." The Crow fell, then fell apart into motes of ash that drifted away on the winds.

[Admin Hardhat] Thread has been locked upon original poster's request; moderator team discussed this at some length and came to a consensus. While it seems that the discussion has run its course, if anyone wishes to continue they are free to open up a new thread in the same vein. Thank You. [/Admin Hardhat]

Sign me up as Tengri for Player Event #2, please. It's the only thing that doesn't conflict with raid. ; ; EDIT: Although.... if there's an Amdapor event in the works...

"Hello." Flashes. Red and blue and yellow and purple. Heat. Cold. Explosions. Eruptions. The crackle of thunder. Sparks. The smell of blood. The scent of flesh. Brimstone. Something ripping, cracking, flooding. Searing flames, white hot tendrils, engulfing him, devouring him. His fist blazed like the sun. His brain cooked in his skull. Shaking, spasming, falling, collapsing. Knees now, on his knees, like some barbaric heathen. Something wanted in him. Somehow it was getting there. Someone was playing a dangerous game. Somehow they were winning. This would not do. "Welcome to my involuntary employ." The whole of him rebelled at the very notion. Character, personality, ego, essence... call it what you will, but he wasn't about to subject himself to someone else's whims. He'd spent a lifetime doing so, and for what? To end up dead, then worse than dead, abhorred by his own people. Discarded. No, he'd had a vision, and seeing that dream realized required that he usher in a new future, that his plans come to fruition. That could not come to pass under the yoke of some mongrel pup. I was once Adin Adonis. I am now Rotunda Crow. I will be Tengri Geneq. There was beauty waiting for him, for them, for all of them. A flower. One that would bloom, one that would grow, one that would herald a new dawn. For now, though, that flower was yet budding, and that meant he was needed, even if that meant fleeing to his last and final refuge that he had gone to such lengths to prepare. There were too many dangers out there, too many threats to peace and prosperity, for him to succumb to this latest trial. One too many. One which he and only he could vanquish, would vanquish. "We should have a little chat." NO. He cursed the intrusion, threw himself against it, pounded and thundered and wailed and slammed and bellowed and shrieked. He lashed out in each and every way he could, inside and out. He screamed. He rallied. He twisted and writhed. He chanted his names to himself. He raised his fists and brought them down to crash onto the floorboards. His fingers splayed open for the slightest of moments. The red-hot stone tumbled free, clattered against the wood as it fell and rolled beneath the window sill. As swiftly as it had descended upon him, the presence was gone. He panted as he swayed and shook on all fours, well aware that he was now drenched with sweat. For a long while, he could think of little else than to merely hold himself up off the floor. That'd he'd been assaulted within the confines of his very own private quarters... ...no. I've been violated. The rumble that began deep inside his chest grew into a growl as he pushed himself to his feet and staggered into the stool. A few moments more had him right again, and he stumbled forward a mere two paces to bend down and pluck the now-cool soulstone from where it had fallen. As he raised it up to the light with the same left hand which had clenched it tight not so long ago, he noticed something peculiar. Not about the stone. About his hand. His hand should have been badly burnt... and yet the only scar tissue to be found... the center of his palm was marked now. A circle with... no. A meteor, descending from the heavens. He'd been marked. The growl grew into a roar of fury as he spun on the balls of his feet and chucked the little bauble across the room. "GRIMSONG!" Panting again. Sweating again. Profusely. Something creaked, and he glanced at the corner, at the bed. She was awake, half upright, propping herself up on those small, delicate hands, looking at him with concern. He went to her then, sat on the edge of the bed, cooed to her, brushed her hair out of her face, held her cheek in one hand for her to nuzzle into. He did everything he could to reassure her. The gestures came naturally, instinctively, mindlessly, leaving him to ponder the near ruin of his plans. Clearly, he'd been betrayed. This latest delivery, this latest piece, had been rigged. Was he the intended recipient... or was it the intended target? He frowned. Had he gotten what he needed, in those brief moments, in those flashes of memory, before the intrusion had severed the connection to the imprint of the soul? He thought he might have... but he couldn't be sure. Not yet, in any case. He would have to reflect, to meditate, to sift through it all. He eyed Sarangerel and whispered. "In the morn, you are to begin our search for the Kinslayer."

As of September 23rd 2015, we will have reached the three-month marker since the general release of FFXIV's Heavensward expansion, otherwise known as Patch 3.0. On that date, the restrictions on posting spoilers specific to all content from 3.0 through 3.07 will be rescinded. Moving forward past the 23rd, the following restrictions will be placed on all spoilers specific to post-3.07 content until such time as we reach a three-month marker: Do Not Post Spoilers in Thread Titles Tag Your Thread Titles with [spoilers] At The Beginning If They Contain Spoilers Make Use of Spoiler Tags in Your Posts Where Appropriate Moderators Reserve the Right to Strictly Enforce the Above The Only Exception to the Above is the Town Square (IC) Board. Thank You for Your Understanding!

[Admin Hardhat] This thread has had a number of posts excised for the following reasons/offenses: Derails, off-topic discussion, etc. Low Effort Posting Personal Attacks Warnings will be handed out as deemed appropriate by the mod team, who will be reviewing the excised posts. The topic under discussion, as per the original post, is "do you ever feel bad about a decision" with regards to choices and/or decisions made by roleplay characters. Let's try not to stray from that topic so that this thread can remain open. Thanks! [/Admin Hardhat]