Melkire

There's also the Auri creation myth of Azim and Nharma, Dawn Father and Dusk Mother, which parallels Althyk/Nymeia and Zodiark/Hydaelyn... albeit "light and dark" get interchanged between the genders.

Things to keep in mind: Althyk raised Nymeia as his own, even though she wasn't. The taboo against parent-child relations holds more in the modern West than it did in the ancient East. This has parallels with Adam and Eve, as well as other early biblical figures who populated the earth. Still somewhat disturbing, but taken in the light of ancient deities of a world not our own, it's... not as bad. Something to note: Althyk more or less disappears from the Myth altogether after they conceive Azeyma and Menphina.

Yeah, that was my take-away as well. The comet, of course, being Rhalgr himself and the origin of his symbol/sigil.

Seeing as how the lore book's dropped, I thought this an appropriate topic to revisit, given all the clamoring for anything and everything that might assist RP where deity worship and Eorzean beliefs are concerned. More specifically, however (and in part because I don't have access to the lore book outside of what I find online), I'd like to discuss the Creation Myth. I find this to be particularly fascinating, not because it necessarily retcons anything (it doesn't) but because it goes into a lot more depth and reveals key facets of the gods' relationship that we (probably) weren't privy to earlier. The Whorl is obviously the usual "primordial chaos" schtick. The formation of the world after Althyk's "weight" (space-time fabric, anyone?) brings it into being also follows the usual pattern: from the "lake" come rivers, and those rivers coupled with the sun yield life, etc. The parallels between Althyk, Nymeia, Rhalgr and Zodiark, Hydaelyn, Midgardsormr are somewhat disturbing (not in the least because it equates the former patron god of Ala Mhigo to the King of Dragons) but there's been enough in the way of history on the last three to suggest that the parallels aren't entirely coincidental: Althyk and Nymeia predate everything else... just as Zodiark and Hydaelyn do. Midgardsormr did, if you recall, come to this star from elsewhere... and he honors a covenant with Hydaelyn. I'm personally fascinated in how Oschon resembles Tulkas and Orome of Tolkien's legendarium, in that he basically shows up out of nowhere to the complete and utter bafflement of the other gods, only to wander the earth. More interesting in general, though, is the ongoing romance between him and Llymlaen, when older material links Oschon and Menphina as lovers. Note that the relationship with Menphina isn't nixed or retconned by this; the relationship with Llymlaen just seems to predate it. Menphina, strangely enough, gets only a passing mention. Oschon's also responsible for Nald'thal... that's strange to say the least, since they're supposed to be siblings. Surprising revelation: Byregot and Halone were not sired by Rhalgr, but rather he was appointed as their mentor/guardian/stepfather. Again we have parallels linking Nymeia to Hydaelyn, beyond the bit about her weeping and caring for Her children: she deliberately pairs up Byregot with Rhalgr so as to promote balance. The rivalry between Nophica and Halone also finally receives some much-needed detail and background, seeing as how it stems from Oschon taking Halone under his wing. Thoughts?

Didn't read every post, but some folks have already pointed out the obvious: The ten and thirty are specifically with regards to the Order of Knights Dragoon. Those are the dragoons in drachen mail who serve in what constitutes Ishgard's military. It does not include the retired, such as Alberic. It PROBABLY does not count the "lesser" dragoons at the Convictory. It certainly does not count the most comparable example for RP purposes, the Warrior of Light. In short: this changes little for the RP community, as there are many loopholes and workarounds so long as you avoid incorporating active service in present events for your character. "I was taught the techniques by an Ishgardian against tradition, doctrine, orders, protocol, etc." is the easiest out.

Welp. Lore book overrules naming convention assertions.

Dances...? Dances?! They were trying to beat the snot out of each other! Hell, Derplander at one point gathers wind or aether about his arm and strikes out at her. Sparring is now dancing... /snorts I mean, I guess she might still prove to be a Dancer... but still.

Scratch that, someone on Tumblr pointed out the man's scar. It's Derplander a.k.a. the Warrior of Darkness a.k.a. Arbert. The lady might still be a relative... or

We might be seeing a relative. Hells, we might be seeing her parents.

That's definitely a temple of the Fist of Rhalgr in the teaser. The purple sigil in the statue's headpiece more or less confirms it. I am so stoked to see how fast, quick, nimble, and responsive they are when sparring. Feels like having Osric's personal fighting style vindicated, in a way. That's incredibly egotistical but yeah. Pretty sure that temple is at the meeting point between Xelphatol and Gyr Abania btw.

‘Twas the cold that roused him, the bite of chill winds across the cliffs. His back to stone, beneath him dirt, ahead… a wooden fence. Beyond that… the ocean. The Lominsan groaned as he reached up and pressed the heel of one palm against his temples. He wasn’t sure what had possessed him to collapse here, of all places. Plain exhaustion was a reason, but it wasn’t a good reason. Swiftperch might not have been the most accommodating collection of hovels, but any shelter would have been better than none. Stress, then. He stripped off his armguards, one at a time, and let them fall into his lap. Last night had gone far better than he could’ve hoped for. Leanne Delphium, gods bless her -- ought’ve been born a moon’s coeurl, ain’t known a Seeker that keen ‘n’ intuitive -- had struck true with her observation… no. No, that was going a step too far. Her observation had the ring o’ truth to it, that was all. Smuggling their newfound employer into Aleport and onto a sea-farin’ vessel of his choice hadn’t proven too difficult, and with a little showmanship, they’d managed to walk old Balther Wright, deserter and former quartermaster of the Warbull, right onto the mid-deck. That was when the man had slipped his hired help their due… but to Dirk Problemsolver, a job wasn’t done ‘til it was done proper. When his employer left to spirit his family off into some secluded corner of the ship, he’d seen fit to dally for a little while, to watch and wait. The Sisters of the Edelweiss were involved, Wright had told them, and Dirk knew better than most that, to such as the Sisters could field, no freighter which could float was safely away until it was well out of reach of the docks. He’d grown complacent, though, when he’d spotted his erstwhile companions deftly handle both the rogues and young Iyrnent Thosinfarr himself, the man who’d inherited the Warbull from his father, before Balther’s pursuers could so much as lay a hand on the hull. With complacency came boredom, and soon enough he was rooting around in the purse to gauge their earnings. That was when and where he found the crystal. Singular… which is to say solitary. Deep blue… like the sea on a nice sun, skies clear and not a cloud for malms. He’d turned it over and over again in his hands. until at last the pressing necessity to abandon ship got him moving again, lest he too find himself disembarking from Vylbrand’s shores for distant coastline. The swim back to the docks wasn’t precisely pleasant, but it must have jolted some sense into him. ’If you wish to leave this place,’ he said…. Apparently, Balther Wright must have mistaken his fellow Hyur for a man of small means. Sensing in the younger man a kindred spirit, the old quartermaster had rather jumped to the conclusion that Dirk, too, was trapped… shackled to La Noscean shores by way of a society which beat the same tired lesson sun after sun after sun into small folks’ heads: The good cards are dealt only to a lucky few. The only way to win is to double down on your luck. Again and again and again… Mistbeard made it, didn’t he? Got away clean. And now Slaeglac…. Hells, even the ones who know better still don’t leave. I wouldn’t have, either. Didn’t matter how miserable we were. Home’s home. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was what Balther had said next, when he’d spoken.... “...of the Tumult,” Dirk muttered, a few malms distant and one dawn removed from that night’s revelations. And revelations there had been aplenty, though whether they bode well or bode ill, were good tidings or bad… it was still too soon to tell. But, at the very least, all their efforts had paid off, had resulted in something tangible. He pulled it out now and held it up to the light, pressed as it was between the pads of his fingers. Leverage. He supposed that he could blame the demon for convincing him to share what he’d found. Qaratai Hotgo. Until she’d posed the question to him, he’d been content to leave her and the others in the lurch. A moment alone with the Sisters would’ve sufficed to confirm his suspicions. Only after the question was posed did it occur to him how large the coming storm was. The Warbull, infamous for the blood oath sworn by all its crew… the Tumult, renowned privateer, its very existence a defiant thumb in the Emperor’s eye… the Dutiful Sisters of the Edelweiss, once known as the Upright Thieves in ol’ Bochard’s day… The stakes were high, to attract this much attention, and those were only the players he knew about. He’d need help. He’d need friends. You have friends. Aye, but I didn’t bring ‘em with me for this business, now did I? So he’d shown them… Leanne, Zanzan, and Qara… shown them what he’d found. In a manner of speaking, anyroad. He’d flashed it once, then slipped it discreetly to Leanne later when they’d been questioning the poor sods who were clearly rejects or washouts, not true rogues at all. Leanne had passed it along to Zanzan apparently, and the little thaumaturge had taken a good look at the bloody thing. A cursory appraisal, of sorts. Emittin’ a signature, he said. Like a linkpearl, but not. Might be magitek. That’s when the Seeker had all but confirmed Dirk’s growing suspicions. The Sisters, like as not, weren’t after Wright for coin he hadn’t stolen… nor were they after him for desertion which, in truth, wasn’t a breach of the code anyroad. He hadn’t swindled any purses from Lominsans. He hadn’t rooked his crew, saving only that he wished to retire against the spirit of an oath to a man long dead. He hadn’t clapped folk in irons and sold them into slavery. No, if there was a ‘crime’ of which Balther Wright was guilty, it was possessing a means to an end… a means he had either come into on his own and refused to share, or else a means he had stolen. Dirk was fairly certain that the Maelstrom was involved somehow. Them or the jacks. Little else would galvanize the Edelweiss into taking an interest in anything besides the code. He tucked the crystal away, pushed himself upright, and began gathering his things. There was a journey ahead of him; he’d thought it over last night, and came to the conclusion that -- despite what he’d told the others -- he didn’t have the time or luxury to wait around this poor excuse for a farming settlement. His supposed leverage wouldn’t open any doors to him if he didn’t know what it was or how to use it… and for that, he needed a magitek expert. He needed an engineer… and thankfully, he knew where to find one. Aigiarn Kha was, after all, a fellow member in good standing of the same company he ran with. He didn’t have the luxury because, quite honestly, he wasn’t sure where Aigiarn was at the moment. Linkpearls were notorious at times when attempting to communicate over great distances. Even if he could get word to her regarding his whereabouts, he didn’t want to burden any more of his friends and family with this business than necessary… and someone would inevitably insist on tagging along, if he made the call on an open channel. That meant he’d have to go to her… which meant a visit to headquarters. A trip home. For now. He didn’t have the time because, according to what gossip he’d been able to pick up since landing on Vylbrand, the Tumult had gone missing moons ago. Thom went missing ‘round the same gods-damned time. That thought brought him to a halt, as he ran a hand up through his hair. Everything came back around to his own foolish choices. When he’d offered to move the others, Thom had refused out of spite. The lad had a fire in his guts and an open wound on his heart that had never truly healed. Determined to prove that he could navigate the dangers and the temptations where others had failed, Tom had elected to stay behind. To fall even further into the abyss, in a manner of speaking. To race through the seven hells and come back out the other side whole and intact. Because they’d lied to him his whole life. Because when Dirk’s luck had finally turned, responsibility came crashing down upon a poor child too young to understand why. Because Thom hated Dirk for that. If the Tumult had gone missing, and the Dutiful Sisters were interested… then there was no doubt in Dirk’s mind that Tom was somehow involved. And if Thom was involved, then there was every chance that the lad was risking each and every horrifying agony that Dirk had whispered into Balther’s ears the night before. Keelhaulin’... Too slow y’drown, too quick y’get cut to ribbbons. Abacination... To blind with light. ...the boats. His left fist slammed against the stonework. Cracks tore through the bricks as pieces of brick and mortar cascaded down onto the earth, but he paid his handiwork no mind. Leanne was right. His method were, at times, deplorable. She could no more condone them than Thom could have done… but she could see that he knew. He knew what he was about, and he knew just how monstrous his decisions could be… how easily he’d slip and slide down the slope if he didn’t watch himself and take greater cares moving forward. Thom… Thom had never seen that. He’d never had the chance to so much as try to understand his older brother. That constant struggle to do better, to be better… to drag oneself up and out of the muck… that was the greatest trial of his brother’s life. First to atone, and then to redeem, and at last to reconcile. That was the path he’d been walking when Dirk Problemsolver had well and truly died. The ghost of a man who now walked the dirt path through Swiftperch raised his right hand before his eyes. He’d been trembling last night. He wasn’t trembling now. Osric Melkire laid that hand on the aetheryte and disappeared, bound for parts unknown.

I, for one, have an incredibly lore-breaking (I would argue lore-BENDING but that's another discussion entirely) character for an alt. I'm sure many regulars here have something they've roleplayed at some point or another that wasn't, strictly speaking, lore-compliant. The attitude on these forums and the responses you see are more lore-adherent due to, in no small part, how most folk phrase their questions regarding their concepts. Too often they ask the question "is this in keeping with lore?" and the answer they get is a firm, staunch "no". Instead, they might have asked, "would this spin or take on lore interest you as a concept to encounter in RP" or perhaps "how could I explain this as-yet unseen concept in a way that lore fanatics will find acceptable?" Then, I'm sure, the direction and tone of workshopping would take a dramatically different course. In short, this community takes lore as a universal standard. Not everyone will accept 14 century doubloons. But just about everyone will be happy to have some USD. The trick lies in finding the folks interested in the currency you deal.

"Nunh" is purely for identifying which males have been deemed fit for breeding, though. There's nothing in lore, as far as I recall, that assigns the title any other responsibilities... so any comparisons to leadership positions are flawed, IMO. The U tribe's Nunh is a bit of a special case in that he also happens to lead his tribe. I'd say, in this case, that so long as the new Nunh in question regularly and frequently visits his tribe to, ahem, fulfill his sole duty... should be fine to live elsewhere. It'd be an unusual and probably frowned upon arrangement though. See: Miqo'te Naming Conventions.

Roe Country for Old Men with Osric Melkire, please.

The Source and thirteen reflections, with FFXIV's world (Hydaelyn) being the Source. 1+13=14. WoD made it pretty clear that the XIV setting is the focal point. The center, if you will.

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(( Given a Martin-worthy delay that owes itself to a writing block stemming from converting a text log into a post, the remainder of this thread is several months behind. As such, please be mindful that the following events took place quite a while ago in-character, as well. )) "Ain't as pretty a sight as the sun on La Noscean waters, but I like the fragrance better." "It has a way of growing on you, to be certain. It all seems shades of green to me now." Ironic, that this particular woman was possessed of that particular sentiment. Wasn’t so long ago, truth be told, that the sight of her dark skin and the sound of her rich voice would have set him on edge. Now, though… now, he was surprised to find himself at ease. Growin’, aye. Shades, aye. “...I’d like t’wait ‘til she’s joined us before we get started, if you don’t mind. The means I’ve got for keepin’ this talk private… well, it’ll wear on me.” She nodded. “As you say. I have time.” Beggin’ your pardon, Lady Kinslayer, but time’s the one thing we don’t have. So much for being at ease. He did his best to rub a sudden knot of tension out of his neck; when it refused to relent, he settled for placing his back to a post and sitting down tailer-fashion against the fence. “...how’s Gharen?” Silence. He spared her a glance; taut, she was. Taut… and perhaps fraying, as might an old bowstring. “He speaks. Walks once more. Well enough.” “And yourself?” “I heard about Askier.” He sobered, dropped his gaze to the grass. That wound was still fresh, and while the whole of him rebelled against the idea-- no corpse you ain’t seen a corpse don’t ever count a dodo’s get ‘fore the basket’s full besides this is Askier we’re discussin’ you ain’t seen no corpse --there was little left for him to do but to hope… to hope, and to brace himself for the possibility that this time was for keeps. “Apologies.” He meant it, too. They’d been given a miraculous gift, in the form of Ki Grimsong; ‘twas a gift and a secret that they’d hidden away from the world as best they could. Delial had, somehow, brought him back to his family of friends… and they had lost him again. So he meant it. "It has become quite a tiresome thing," she muttered. She took a deep breath. "I know not how you intend to do it, but I pray you make it end." Osric Melkire fidgeted at that. "That'd be part o' what we're here t'discuss." Delial did glance his way, then, but before she could inquire further-- Footsteps. Light, too light for a… he looked up and was not entirely surprised to find himself staring at Roen Deneith. There was a set to her jaw as she approached that told him she wasn’t planning on being left out. He hadn’t invited her, precisely, but given her recent and rather startling appearance at the Dauntless residence…. “Why have you made a deal with someone like him?! Why are you working for him?!” “Every sun, I have t'live with the thought o' comin' home to all m'friends and family dead. Every sun." "I know you helped the likes of Jin'li for the sake of your family. I thought... that was an exception." "My family is my weakness. I own that." ...no, he wasn’t entirely surprised that she’d answered his call. “Well,” he said, “this makes matters easier.” Delial turned and froze for a moment. “Ah.” The paladin crossed her arms as she came to a stop a few fulms away. “I should have answered. I was… indisposed.” He shrugged. “Ain’t as though you’re obligated t’answer.” She shrugged back. “I know.” “We’re waitin’ on Kiht. Been savin’ m’strength for this conversation, and I want to be sure it lasts. We’ve got quite a bit t’discuss.” Roen Deneith glanced from Osric to Delial. She pursed her lips, as if contemplating what to say. "No new... news... I trust?" "No new news," Delial agreed. The tension between the two women was palpable, and it wasn’t long before the younger tore her gaze away to look out over the waters. Osric shifted uncomfortably, and eyed Delial. "There are a few things I'd like t'ask, mind, that ought t'be safe askin' after for now." She raised an eyebrow at him. "Who came t'you with your stone?" "A girl. Auri, with an odd name." "Dark horns? Green hair?" She half-sat against a post further down the fence, and shrugged. "Possibly. I do not recall, now. Certainly small, though I am not certain if that is normal for her kind." The former sergeant sighed and shook his head. "Well, shite. That'll take some more explainin'." "Forgive me. I have had much on my mind since. More important things than some small, horned girl." "Your brother and his fiance happened t'procure the stone that the demon gave you,” he spat in a dry tone, “so all things considered I'd say this might be a priority worth keepin' an eye on." Roen glanced between them, and then took up a spot next to the wooden railing. “I think I shall hold my own counsel on what I find to be important,” Delial spat back. “Their… happenings, their mistakes, whatever they are… ‘tis not my concern.” "I'd say he became your concern when you more or less adopted him, but that's your call 'n' your judgment to make, not mine." "Whose brother?” Roen asked. “Whose fiance?" "Askier Mergrey,” answered Osric, “known lately as Ki Grimsong." "Adopted," Delial hissed. "T'was his idea, his silly ruse. As though no one would see through it!" But he’d said…. Typical. One more layer to hide the truth behind. Osric looked up. "....then I hold you blameless." Strange, how little the admission seemed to matter. Seven hells, if he hadn’t known better, he’d have sworn that Grimsong was trying to burn down the forest by glaring at it. Then again… perhaps he didn’t, and perhaps she was. He opened his fool mouth once more only for Roen to cut him off. “So is he..truly dead? Or….?” He glanced askance at her. "Mikh'a says this'd be for real. Knowin' the man himself, I'm inclined to doubt... but there are only so many times you can elude the end, no?" Before either of them could answer, a voice sounded out over the linkshell he’d been keeping an ear to. Osric reached up and tapped at the pearl in his ear to answer. He couldn’t keep from shaking his head in wonder at the irony of it all. “Out of all the places y’could have picked, it had to be here….” “Isolated,” Kiht Jakkya explained. He supposed that he must have looked stricken, because she paused to ask, “What is wrong with here?” How t’explain this to her? They’d been waiting on Kiht, of course; though he’d been surprised to learn of her involvement, Osric knew better than most how observant, resourceful, and competent the huntress was… and he was relying on those virtues now. Her testimony -- whatever she’d been told, whatever she’d seen or smelled or sussed out, he was sure that there was bound to be something -- would prove invaluable in persuading Roen and Delial. Upon her arrival, though, she’d led them through the Beds in search of a quiet and remote corner for their little palaver. To better distance themselves from prying eyes and curious ears, she’d explained. He’d approved her course, and they’d followed her… followed her here. How t’explain that this was once meant to be where Kanaria ‘n’ I would’ve wed, back before the Sanctum was opened once more to the public? That we chose this spot for how vibrant ‘n’ colorful ‘n’ full o’ life it is? For the approach o’er the bridge, for the flowers, for how that singular tree throws just enough shade for a couple standin’ before an official, for just enough space t’seat the right number o’ folk? How t’explain how sacred this spot is to us, though we never saw it through? How t’explain that this is where we see each other in our dreams? "Nothin',” he said out loud at last, “it's wonderful." He waved a hand in dismissal… a dismissal so casual that it wounded him to the heart. "Story for another time." Kiht’s reply was lost to him, though, for as soon as he’d addressed her concern, he shut his eyes against the little meadow of moonlit fantasies and shut his mind against everything else. Breathe. In. Out. From the reservoir… little by little. Slowly. Channel the flow. In. Out. No theory to which he’d ever lent an ear advocated such a measure. No technique he’d ever been taught supported such madness. What he was attempting now was the dread of thaumaturgy which had, long ago, resulted in the injunction against wholly divesting oneself of one’s own aether. ‘Twas said that aether was but those selfsame energies which fuel life, and how could he doubt it, knowing what he knew, having felt what he’d felt? Time and time again, he had drained the Sacral to the dregs until he could no longer so much as stand. Time and time again, he had been compelled to rest and recover, to eat and drink, until such time as health and vigor returned to him, that empty glass filled to the brim once more. The Sacral was surplus. To part with more was to invite mortal peril. All the same, here he was preparing to do just that. From one to the next. In. Out. Again and again, so that it builds. In. Out. Builds until there is no holding it. In. Out. Leak, it must leak. There. That dull ache, which had been his sole and tiresome companion over the past sennight as he’d refined this insane method. He could feel aether leaving him with each exhalation. As he’d devised, of course; he needed the freedom of mind to think and to speak, which meant this process had to be, for the most part, instinctual. Slow. He had to take this slow. He had to make this last. He opened his eyes, and the women were staring at him. Piqued curiosities… mounting concerns…. Suppose they feel that. Course they do. Wave after wave. A pulse, more like. Wind brushin’ past their shoulders. “There,” he said aloud. “Damned difficult t’keep up. Advanced application.” “What exactly did you do?” Kiht Jakkya. Faithful to her friends, feral to her foes; of the women before him, most reliable. “Indeed, what was that?” Roen Deneith. Self-imposed exile, for a choice he could never have made and would never envy her for. He glanced between them. He glanced at their shadows in turn. He glanced about the immediate vicinity. Shade everywhere. Pain in the arse. He supposed he couldn’t blame Kiht. The meadow was a quiet one, and well-removed from the rest of Lavender Beds. To her thinking, the odds were against eavesdroppers. He would have to explain, then, from the beginning. "Crows. Undead aberrations, souls dragged back through the void from the aetherial sea ‘n' bound to a corpse. Walkin’, not-quite-breathin’ folk when they choose to be. Clouds o' smoke otherwise, like motes of ash. Means they’re apt t’keep to the shadows and listen in." He shrugged. "I'm leakin' aether from m'reserves like a madman. Keeps them at bay. Enough distance between us ‘n’ them that they won’t hear a word." “The undead.” Delial Grimsong. Wit incarnate, and of a bent to flay him alive should he ever find himself standing cross-purposes with her. “That is….” Kiht blinked a few times, and then glanced about. “I have few words.” “There are folks I can direct you to, if y’don’t believe,” he went on, as even Roen regarded her shadow with suspicion. “Which is fine, I’m not here t’convince you they exist.” “I know they exist,” clarified Delial. “I did not think you would have anything to do with them.” “Not by choice, but I inherited Ser Filiangeri’s reports ‘n’ papers when he left the Red Wings a moon or so ‘fore I did. On top o’ that, a few of ‘em share a personal vendetta against me ‘n’ mine.” A few? Moreso jus’ the one. Damn you, Rotunda. Damn you to the seventh hell. “I have seen plenty of crazy things,” interjected Kiht. “I will not act like I understand all that there is in this world.” He turned to her and bowed, his acknowledge of and his thanks for her support. He was pleased to see, out of the corner of his eye, Roen nodding in agreement. “I’m here t’speak to you all about the stones that the Geneq have given us. We’re just missin’ Edda, but otherwise we’re all here.” Edda Eglantine, he’d been told, had been offered a stone. The “why” of it eluded him. Had he known which stone, he might have sifted through the sands for the answer… but alas, there had been so many stones. So many deliveries… though he couldn’t blame Askier and Nahare for falling into the bastard’s trappings, he found that he was still rather bitter over the whole blasted affair. Now there was a woman whose desires and motives were unknown to him, and she’d been gifted with power. Deneith exhaled sharply. “I meant to find her… and I still do. She and I have not been in touch for sometime.” “Try La Noscea. If she’s not been dragged back to that infamous family o’ hers, she’ll be in the vicinity.” “...’twas not long ago that I happened upon her, on my way back here.” Grimsong looked between them. “She has been given a stone as well?” Roen narrowed her eyes at Osric, but nodded to Delial. “I still mean to keep her out of this if at all possible. She of all people does not belong in anything like this.” “I have been practicing with the stone,” Kiht told Osric. “Difficult to do in secret.” “Aye, that’s why the bastards have been draggin’ me out to the Coerthan wastes--” --mounds, they looked like white mounds upon the white snows, white hair, white fur, only by their black tusks was it possible to pick out their corpses from the landscape-- “--once a fortnight.” No one seemed to have noticed the stutter step as he’d tripped over that memory in passing from one word to the next. He lowered himself to the grass and sat tailor-fashion as Delial spoke up. “Forgive my ignorance, but I am still not entirely certain what these stones are. Roen offered me a warning, which was only marginally more informative than what that girl gave me.” “That girl,” explained Osric as Kiht leaned back against a tree, “is Sarangerel Geneq, once Rema Mordhelm, right hand of Adin Rem Adonis, once known as Rotunda Crow, now known as Tengri Geneq.” “Oh my gods.” Kiht shook her head. “These people and their aliases….” “As I understand it, their Crow names weren’t their choice. Cult o’ Nald’thal, and all that.” Osric turned to Roen. “They call us the the Gifted. For the stones we’ve been given and meant t’use. We’re the distraction that’s supposed to buy them the opportunity to do away with Jin’li Epinoch.” Roen shifted on her feet. She nodded. “He did not quite explain just how we are to distract the mad cat…. or exactly how these stones will affect us.” “Kiht,” Osric prompted as he turned to the Keeper. “I don’t know the answer to the former, but….” The huntress took a deep breath. “He told me the stones were to give us the power to bring down this voidsent-possessed Jin'li, which he compared to the power of something else that recently plagued this forest." "Aye. Not sure how they'll do so, but tappin' into one is like reachin' through someone else's memories. Feeling their movements. Hearing what they heard, seeing...." "... their power,” interjected Grimsong. “The girl mentioned power. And -- Roen -- knowledge." Kiht Jakkya glanced between them. "He tried to caution me. He said two were likely going to be corrupted by the stones. For some reason, he thought Edda and Delial would be the ones." “He told me the same,” said Roen. Kiht looked to Delial. "Have you tried to use your stone yet?" "I have not. I have kept it, but... not used it. Truth be told, I was not certain how to use such a thing, though I suppose I have an idea now." She shrugged at the Keeper woman. "Did you ask our... benefactor,” asked Deneith, “about possible corruption within these stones?" "As for asking my... benefactor,” said Osric, “he's not made contact since I reached out. Thrice, mind you. But I think we've lucked out. Mikh'a' got a hold o' him before he could convene us." Step carefully, Korofi. Gods help you, step carefully. Kiht sighed. "If he thinks the stones will corrupt Edda and Delial, why give them to those two? Or mayhaps he doubts their minds? Mayhaps he wanted us to doubt their minds." Delial huffed, as if to assure them that her mind was perfectly fine and quite made up. "He seemed earnest in armin' us,” Osric explained. “I'll have t'ask Nahare why the change in plans. Might be things didn't go his way?" He shakes his head. "Not sure it matters now. Mikh'a Korofi has a plan for dealin' with Epinoch, but it'll leave Adin's plans in the lurch... and I don't think he means t'let us go." The huntress nodded slowly. "I have reason to trust you and Mikh'a more than he." Osric looked about. "Mikh'a's bringin' this to a head within a sennight. Adin might go off the wheel, so t'speak. Questions?" Delial Grimsong folded her arms and went quiet again, seemingly mulling it all over. Roen Deneith, on the other hand, turned to Osric and asked… with a straight face, her tone unwavering…. "Is your wife... involved in this?" There it was: the question he’d been dreading ever since Roen had arrived, the question that he didn’t want to answer. The question was why he hadn’t invited Deneith to this gathering. She’d seen through to the heart of him-- "In your attempts to save your wife, you would jeopardize everyone else?! You would risk everyone else... for her. You and yours above the rest." --and now she knew which sort of man he was. He’d given her his answer, and his answer had drained the color from her face ‘til she’d been as white and pale as a fresh sheet. Here and now, this question threatened to undo everything, and cast them all to the wolves. An answer. She needs an answer. Or else she’ll walk, and the other two’ll follow in her footsteps. "Directly?” he asked. “No, not the way y'might think. Ultimately? She's drawn the worst lot. I can't explain how, not now. Too much at stake." Roen Deneith stared at him rather squarely. "And you are going to let her go through with it?" Tell her. Tell her, damn it. Osric Melkire sighed and stood. He stepped up close to Roen and whispered into her ear, even as he caught a glimpse of Kiht lofting an eyebrow. "Something went wrong, when we killed him the first time on Highbridge,” he whispered. “His mind... a duplicate, a remnant, I don't rightly know... he's in her head. Dormant... but not always." Roen had leaned in to hear him better. Now, she leaned back, her eyes wide as she stared at him. He stepped back. "Try livin' with someone that close t'you, knowin' that the wrong word at the wrong time can doom everyone." She stood there in silence, her lips parted. Some vindictive part of him was pleased to note that she looked positively stricken. Out of the corner of his eye, he could just barely make out Kiht and Delial exchanging a glance…. Roen, however, frowned and looked away, shaking her head as she did so. “I cannot imagine,” she murmured. Make them believe. "This is all hard t'believe, I know. It's a stretch, I know. I'm askin' more than I can ever repay out of all of you, I know. But there was a time I didn't ask, and I paid for it. Kiht remembers." She’d damned well better. Ours weren’t the only necks that were collared, back then. Jakkya’s ears wilted as she slowly nodded. "Many paid for it. " Osric nodded back. "I don't want another poisonin'... or worse. And I, for one, am done with shackles 'n' leashes." He looked Delial’s way as he said that last. She, at least, would understand. Surely, she would. Hadn’t she labored tirelessly under Banurein for as long as she had? Looking at her now, though… whatever her train of thought, it didn’t show on her face, and that worried him. Kiht, meanwhile, shook her head. "Agreed. But you needn't ask a second time. I am in this." The Kinslayer sighed, and rather loudly at that. "I know not of the rest of you, but I have plenty enough upon my hands without these undead to concern myself with." The former sergeant turned to her. "We know." "Good. Then you understand why I decline." Stunned. Stunned and speechless, that’s what he was. He could almost feel the bottom dropping out of his stomach, and there was a hint of bile towards the back of his throat as he slowly processed her decision and what it meant for the rest of them. Fuck. He had a damned good idea which of the stones had been passed on to her. Nahare and Mikh’a had been quite clear as to which had been delivered and when. He knew well enough the talents of those who stood here with him.... Edda. Edda was the unknown factor, and without knowing which stone she’d received, he could not be sure which stone Delial now held. He could only hope and pray that it wasn’t one he dreaded. He took a deep breath and sat back down atop the grass. "Do we even need to use these stones?” asked Roen, as though Grimsong had not scattered what plans he’d made to the winds. “If what Mikha has planned is successful... then we ... and the stones… are not even needed. Aye?" "Aye, I suppose.” Mikh’a’s plan is a long shot, ‘n’ like to get most of us killed if it fails. “That'd depend on a lot--" Cold. Hungry. A sudden wave of exhaustion coursed through him, and for a moment he faltered: that constant stream of aether lapsed, and he grimaced against the pain. He forced more up through his torso and out, but the sensation was now beyond unpleasant; he felt as though someone was slowly carving him to pieces, sliver by sliver. The stream, however… the stream was flowing again, and for now, that was what mattered. Roen looked first to Kiht… then to Delial… and, at last, to Osric. “Askier was my friend once. He tried to save me.” Her voice had grown quiet. “And his wife chose to warn me than attack me. I..." She paused, then exhaled. "I said I would do this. What do you need, Osric?” They have to believe. They have to. Convince them. Convince them, damn you. He shook his head ruefully. “You’re going t’laugh when I tell you.” Kiht all but snorted. “Tell us anydusk.” “...I need Tengri and Sarangerel murdered. Simultaneously.”

Pagl'than is home to the Amalj'aa. Beyond that, I'm not sure if the game ever goes into any significant detail.

I don't really think Osric would favor any one of his Pokemon over the others, since he identifies with each of them in one way or another. Charmeleon shares his fiery spirit, Marowak his lonely past and resulting protective streak, Umbreon his love of the night and sneaky backstabbing underhanded tactics, Zangoose his instinctive drive to put down vipers and serpents, Milotic his heart of gold, and Pachirisu his mischevous personality. ...he'd probably end up as some force of law enforcement, private security, or P.I.

[Hardhat On] Edited the topic title to better reflect the development of the discussion. Still a housing discussion, but it's grown to encompass 3.4 in addition to 3.3, so there~. [/Hardhat Off]

1536 is going to go so fast, when you factor in alts. I'm really disappointed in Square. Guaranteed personal housing is something that many MMOs are managing these days.

Quick correction before someone gets around to answering you: the War of the Sisters was between Sil'dih and the original Ul'dah, long after they resulted from Belah'dia being split in twain as a result of a succession crisis.

You're in luck. Roll Eorzea runs events off FATE and is somewhat similar. Honestly, what you're describing strikes me as something closer to AOL RP groups of old, but Roll is probably as close as you'll get.

Signing up for Arbitrator with Haruko Kokojo. Alas, out of town that night. Another time! /shakes fists