Melkire

I'M BURNING UP DOWN THE STREET FROM THE SAME OLD THING I ATE LAST WEEK

On the more serious note of enemies: 1. Jin'li Epinoch tops the list for a number of reasons. Insane, thoughtlessly cruel, and with a habit of making everything personal. Once Osric learns that the albino runt yet lives, well... Jin'li will get his fill of freedom. 2. Adin Adonis. Root cause of most of the recent downward trends of Osric's life, starting with and courtesy of blackmailing a certain Garlean Miqo'te into trying to blow up Ul'dah with a high-yield ceruleum bomb. 3. Jameson Taeros. The epitome of Monetarist ideology. Like most low-born and/or low-class folk, Osric hates the metaphorical boot on his neck keeping him, and others, down. He'd rather consent to be governed than be bled and forced to submit. That Taeros and others of his ilk go about parading themselves as a lesser of evils, as gentlemen of business and class and morals, amounts to the sort of behavior and lack of honesty that enrages the sergeant. 4. Raelissane Banurein. A mysterious name dropped by former-foe-turned-frenemy Delial Grimsong. Possibly Garlean? Possibly another reason for pointless suffering? Osric hates schemers. Yes, he's aware that that's hypocritical. He hates himself, too. Haven't you been paying attention? 5. Natalie Mcbeef. A personification of chaos whose stumbling through politics hurt a great many of Osric's friends and acquaintances. And that was before she threw in with Taeros. 5. Coatleque Crofte. So much potential for a fresh start and an honest Order. Squandered due to weakness and corruption. Any animosity between the sergeant and this Sultansworn ultimately comes down to unfortunate circumstance. The general reaction after said three sentences seems to be, "I hate him already. Can we stab him yet?"

I don't see this as becoming any more of a problem than the sudden influx of infighters that supposedly exploded onto the scene with the release of ROG/NIN. You'll notice that plenty of roleplayers have shown restraint in that regard, merely adding (or, in the case of characters who already had these skills, merely visualizing) knives and daggers to their repertoire instead of going full-blown ninjutsu-wielding ninjaaaaaaaaa. I suspect we'll see something similar with Machinist. Case in point, I'll be adding a small pistol to Osric's "ace-up-my-sleeve" deck. He's an awful shot under pressure... but it takes zero to no skill to draw a pistol, place it against someone's temple or chest, and pull the trigger. I might be throwing a musket his way, as well... but that'll be sharpshooting, which again he's awful at, it'll rarely happen anyway, and when it does he's going to take so much time aiming down the sights that the occasional hit might come off as justified. Those are my only IC uses for MCH, and I won't be surprised if we'll see more shenanigans like those. Am I worried we'll see adept engineers come out of the woodwork to crowd out those who are already roleplaying as experts in that field? Not really.

*stands up violently and slams his hands down on the tabletop* C'kayah Polaali!

"Soothe your ills. Raise your stamina." Hands passed over hands as fingers manipulated cord, tying knot after sailor's knot with careful and practiced precision. He'd be betting his health on this tangle holding, so gods-damned right was he going to make sure that he'd done it right. A single baritone voice danced with abandon on the frigid air this morning, a lone golden melody in a clef of silence. "I thought I heard the Old Man say, 'Leave her, Johnny, leave her.' Tomorrow ye will get your pay, and it's time for us t'leave her." Chance - or fate, take your pick - had brought Master Rosethorne to him, and while his former mentor had been at a loss for a solution to the immolation of his former disciple's innards, a mere word had sent Osric scurrying after healers. Alchemy, arcanima, conjury... they all led to the same conclusion: no one knew what was wrong with him, and he'd best ask a more experienced practitioner of his order. Chance - or an educated guess, take your pick - had led him to the Grindstone, and there he'd met Armstrong at last, and what the highlander had to tell him was simple. So simple that Osric should've thought of it himself. More the daft fool, him. He was a cup filled to the brim, except the cup was filled with aether, and the excess energy that was spilling over was burning him alive from the inside out. "The Sacral is life." "Leave her, Johnny, leave her! Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her! For the voyage was long and the winds don't blow, and it's time for us t'leave her." He patted the forest of knotted cord, at last satisfied with his work. He threw the heavy loop of what was rest of the line - say rather, most of it - over his shoulder, then held the bit that ran between the loop and the knots in his right hand, fingers loosely clasped around the fibers as he walked backwards across the width of Highbridge. He'd soon be needing what he'd hidden here, down in the chasm where Zachary had dropped it, so many moons ago. He'd never told anyone, not even Kanaria, that he'd found his way back here, three suns after the dust had settled, just for that purpose. He always appreciated an edge, and often went out of his way to secure one for the future... and the future was now. "We swear by rote for want of more, 'Leave her, Johnny, leave her.' But now we're through so we'll go on shore, and it's time for us t'leave her." He turned at last, planted his hands on the railing opposite that with the tangle, and glanced down into the abyss with a shudder of dread. The last time he'd gone down there, he'd been scaling the cliffs with as much caution as possible... but back then, he'd only been half-alive. "Live, and the Sacral will provide, for that has always been its purpose." It took some doing, a few deep breaths, but at last he swallowed his fear. A small smirk grew into a broad, maniacal grin as he straightened and pushed himself back away from the railing, walking backwards again as he let the loop fall off his shoulder and into the clenched fist of his left hand, the line still firmly held in his right... "Leave her, Johnny, leave her!" One... "Oh, leave her, Johnny, leave her!" Two... "For the voyage was long and the winds don't blow..." He sighed, and smiled again as he turned on his heel. Osric broke into a run, skipped the last few steps on the bridge, bounded up onto the railing, and pushed off, throwing himself out into open space, tumbling through the air, holding the cord in his right hand at full extension, letting the loop in his left feed his lifeline as he fell, as he twisted and righted himself, legs straightened and held out as if was ready to... The line went taut. "Live." Ready to swing. The heat of friction against his gloves burned like a son of a coeurl, as did the screaming ache in his arm and shoulder, but he held on, still feeding the line, the loop growing lighter and lighter, smaller and smaller as the river running along the canyon floor grew and grew to his eyes. Those present at the outpost that morning heard a resounding whoop of exultation and sheer, unadulterated joy.

Not sure which of us yet, depends on date and time, but you'll have two reps from the Dauntless attending.

Gimme a slot in Part 1. 8-)

The buck stops here. Derail again and we'll lock. ^^ Highlanders, roegadames, and Au Ra babes, go!

Not if you are a minority, because the plurality almost always comes first when it comes to video game products. Deviations from this approach by big business are rare because, as stated, deviations constitute a risk as opposed to a safe and assured profit margin. Don't believe me? Ask yourself what happened to the space simulator genre and Six Degrees of Freedom games such as Descent. The answer to that is that those genres, along with old-school arena shooters, are only coming back thanks to indie and grass-roots communities and developers and start-ups. The minority had to make themselves what they wanted, because the plurality wouldn't give it to them anymore. EDIT: Coincidentally, this is also partly the reason why ARR's first expansion has to do with DRAGONS, because everyone likes DRAGONS and DRAGONS are COOL and DRAGONS will SELL.

All I'm gonna say in this thread is THIS IS WHAT I WISH WE'D GOTTEN, FOR MALE AND FEMALE ALIKE: Also to remind everyone to keep this a civil conversation. No inflammatory remarks or backhanded comments. Thank you.

I'm not sure how this is supposed to work with Osric's Dublin accent....

Maybe once, quite a while back, and even that fell more under "older-sister-complex" than crush. But since? Nope.

Cuckoo, cuckoo, cuckoo. :chocobo: One thing to note is that for many, many folks, this isn't a MMORPG they're playing, it's a Final Fantasy game, and for many folks (there is some overlap here) they're not playing a role, they're playing a flavor. Too many times I have seen shitty tanks who would've been happier (and would've spared us a lot of pain) if they'd just rolled DPS instead of playing PLD or WAR because "I really like swords/axes!" In short: there are plenty of derpy and/or bad tanks in XIV, trying to understand why they perform as they do will leave you with nothing but headaches. *beats his head against his desk repeatedly*

"If it took more than one bullet, you weren't using a Jakobs!" Grats, Souns. :moogle:

HOLY SHIT THE SIZE DIFFERENCE. RUN MIKH'A RUUUUUUUUUN.

"Check, please!"

Biting down on the pain. Every nerve ratcheted, every muscle straining. Teeth gritting, sliding, catching. Blood. He could taste blood. Could feel the cold, rough stone beneath the heels of his palms. Ragged breaths, whistling between his canines, hissing between his molars. There was so much pain here.... A fortnight. I told Gharen a fortnight. Heaved with exertion. Turned his fist over until his knuckles pressed down against the hard rock. Lit a fuse that sent agony up his arm in a series of mind-blanking pangs that left his muscles inflamed, one after the other. Raised his fist. Let it fall. A supernova of blinding white light shattered his consciousness. When he came to, the weight was still there. Like a chain wrapped thoroughly around his gut. A weight so immense that it threatened to buckle him, to leave him a broken thing, a mere husk of a man, a shell with its very essence torn from it. That weight was suffering. Literal suffering. I didn't know... I didn't know.... But he had. Or, at least, he had suspected. He'd misjudged, though. Miscalculated. Mis-whatever-the-ruttin'-hells. Hells. That's where he was now. Drowning in the eternal anguish and despair of hundreds. How long had these caverns been here for? How deep did this labyrinth go? He'd come here knowingly, willingly. He'd been relying on the ancient history here. He was here for its legacy. He hadn't counted on so many... "Th-th-the Sacral. H-here lies all the b-b-b-... BODILY desires of man... oh, gods... f-f-f-foodanddrinkandflesh, its works in tandem, IN TANDEM, oh sweet Menphina why...?" Pointless drivel. He was going to die here. Here, where so many others had died, so long ago. Too soon. He'd come here too soon. He wasn't ready. Balls to that. I have to be ready. There's no one else. His hand flew up to his collar and tugged down, ripping the shirt, exposing himself to the cool, dank air. He was sweltering. Too much. He was taking in too much, too soon, too fast. Too late. "Fulcrum. P-p-potent and un-, un-, unas-, un-, ASPECTED. Indulge. Indulgence. Indulgence and abstinence. Ssssss. Control. Release." His eyes were squeezed shut, but he could almost see the words scrawled across the vellum, feel the ink beneath his fingers. Breathing. He needed to regulate his breathing. Everything else could wait. Wait. Weight. Gods, the weight. One may flood oneself with aether, but to what purpose that aether is put -- "...that, that... that is imp-, impor-, important. G-given the w-w-w-w-will. WILL. Second... second..." Wind. "Second WIND, after near exhaustion. Orange is its color. Orange is its color." Will. "Survival." Survival. "Will." He had it, now. Could feel it again. The pulse. Buried beneath the sorrow. Deep in the earth. He'd lost it for so long, his knees had gone numb and the pressure of his bladder was constant. He noted with surreal indifference that it was some sort of minor miracle that he hadn't just let go. "Will and survival mix to become desire." Desire. Jameson Taeros had to die. Osric pressed his forehead flat to the stone and screamed as he seized the aether of Halatali - left behind over the cycles by the horrific suffering and demise of all the beasts, slaves, gladiators, and men who had ever dwelt or fought or bled here - and dragged it up, pulled that power of the land into himself, and forced it through the second chakra. He screamed. No one heard him.

It's like work in real life! "Entry level position available. 2+ years of experience required."

Get famous.

Damn it. Thought we'd dodged another bullet this year when Ford survived his latest airplane accident, only for Terry to move on to the Next Great Adventure a few days later. JUDGMENT LIES AT THE END OF THE DESERT.

Major kudos to Kiht and Aya for their willingness to stay up a little later than they'd been planning on just so that we could have a scene. I think that might've been my first bit of roleplay outside of my usual circles in, God, at least two to three months. :love:

Those who mentioned me (omg ; ; ), I will say: life will find a way. Maybe at the coughgrindstonecoughthisweekcough. People I still really want to RP with on Osric but haven't: Oscare Sounsyy L'yhta Melodia Chachanji proper Crisiet Yvelont ...and more than I can remember off the top of my head, including many folks I've only barely RP'd with. <3 you all. Too bad you guys do not accept new members. ??? I'm not entirely sure where this misinformation is coming from. It's taken us about a month to hammer out the details (FC theme, mission statement, IC history, IC and OoC recruitment and screening procedures) and to land on our feet (made new FC, leveled it to rank 6, got a house, finalized our emblem, etc), yes, and for story reasons we started out with only four characters in the company, yes, but that doesn't mean we weren't, aren't, or won't take on new members. We're open, especially now that our in-game FC RP is live and moving. Hell, I've gotten at least three PMs re: membership, countless pokes re: details, and two folks to get back to ASAP now that the dust has settled (FC/LS page coming soon). Apologies for side-tracking the thread for a bit, but this misconception has been going around and it needed addressing.

WAR here, I can help answer these. Always astonished at how many good PLDs the RPC has compared to good WARs. EDIT: Speaking of, I just got ninja'd by Merri. I hate typing up long responses on my phone, takes forever. "Defiance on or off as an OT" is always a question of: 1. Do I need to be ready at any given time to tank the boss via tank swap or tank adds w/ enmity boost from tank stance and Steel Cyclone for snap aggro? 2. Optimal DPS is Defiance into Unchained into Berserk into Infuriate so that your DPS penalty is nullified, Berserk is on, and you're still benefitting from increased crit rate from 5 Wrath stacks. That said, this is only an 18s window. At all other times, Defiance Off is more DPS. 3. Are you perilously close to ripping hate off the MT? If yes, turn Defiance off. 4. Are you going to need the 20% DR from Inner Beast or the healing boost from Defiance at any given time? If yes, leave Defiance on. Don't forget that you do not have to "set it and forget it." You can stance dance during a fight. Just be aware of Wrath stack losses. One benefit of having Berserk on is that each use of IB/SC every 18s or so is one free GCD. This improves TP management quite a bit. Fracture is your most costly weaponskill. If you're losing TP too fast, leave it out of your rotations for a while. You shouldnt need to ask for Goad or Paeon unless you're in a Coil instance that calls for it or you are speedrunning content by Overpower-spamming. There is no reason to hold Berserk until you are low on TP. Berserk does nothing for TP management other than to grant a single Wrath stack. Use Berserk whenever you need either increased DPS or an extra Wrath stack AND you can anticipate being able to afford being Pacified for four seconds (Flash can cover all enmity needs during Pacification). Two to three Overpowers are generally sufficient (add in a Flash if you're antsy) UNLESS you are either hideously outgeared by your DPS or they have godlike AoE DPS skills (or are dumbasses casting Swiftcast-Flare), in which case adjust as necessary. Bloodbath+Vengeance is your best combo/source for mitigating damage fron mass pulls / multiple mobs / many groups. Depending on the size of the pull and pull frequency, you can either blow all your defensive CDs on a single large pull or cycle through them on many small pulls. DO NOT WAIT UNTIL YOU HAVE DROPPED TO 50% TO POP COOLDOWNS. Your healers will hate you. Exception goes to Holmgang, and in infrequent cases to Thrill of Battle and Second Wind. As MT, aggro, mitigation, and TP take priority. Slot in Fracture when feasible. In current endgame content, with Defiance on, Fracture is so shitty that its not worth it. Answer is the same as it is for OT. Remember that more damage = more enmity generated as a result of multipliers. PLDs pop HG, get healed to full, and then resume cycling CDs. Holmgang is different. Holmgang isnt "Im invincible," it's "I'm inevitably going to dip below 1 hp pretty soon so let me have Convalescence and IB and Veng and Thrill and SW and whatever CDs I have available ready to pop so that I can make it super easy for my healer to pick me back up at the penultimate moment before Holmgang expires." The difference between Hallowed Ground and Holmgang is the essence of the difference between PLD and WAR. PLD is about mitigating as much damage as possible whenever possible. WAR is about never dipping below 1 hp, mitigating BIG hits in small bursts, and then healing it all back. WAR is The Berserker. For the young ones, WAR is Tryndamere. EDIT: And as mentioned, Holmgang is more than just a survival tool. Clutch interrupt. Also CC. Also knockback prevention.