Melkire

Osric looked up from the paper, a frown creasing his brow as he rested against something big and red and feathery. "...doesn't sable mean black?" "Kweh!"

Osric is a registered pugilist. Trained there for a year cycle or so. Would go back every so often over the next four for advanced lessons. Just don't ever ask him about the Rogues' Guild, he hates those bastards. Haruko has some history with both Arrzaneth Ossuary and Stillglade Fane. Key word "history".

Keru used to frequently DC or else lag out during T5 attempts. This proved to be hilarious, and he was a good sport about it. I will love him forever for that. #backhanded compliments pt. 2

You mean a bow string, right? Right? 'cause that's the actual thing that requires strength to pull back? I hope you're not being lewd.

*glares* Hands off my husbando.

Confirmation bias at work. All it takes is for some long-standing and/or well-known member of the RP community to walk in the room and suddenly the chances of the person you're currently RPing with ditching you to go roleplay with Mr. Famous go up drastically. But the brain doesn't process that, because those qualities aren't visible. The brain only sees "Lv 50" and assumes that the reason Mr. Famous is getting all this hot RP action is because they're level-capped. Truth is, their level is merely a consequence of their having played the game long enough to clear content on at least a semi-regular basis. I've experienced this phenomenon from all three angles: the person being ditched, the person doing the ditching, and the person someone else is ditching someone for. It happens. If you're new and hanging around in a RP hub like the Quicksand by your lonesome, be prepared for it to happen A LOT.

Never thought getting harassed ICly could be so fun and amusing until I ran into Verad in-game. On at least two separate occasions, my thought process: "oh god it's him. he's going to try to sell me something again. shit where do I hide."

Quick tip for WARs: you can use Holmgang as an interrupt. The yanking motion on the chain actually counts as displacement, so it's good for anything that's not immune to such (i.e. anything that isn't a boss). You have to time it right, so it's not easy, and displacement doesn't interrupt -everything-, but it's yet another use case. You can also use it to prevent knockback or displacement on yourself, e.g. laughing off Landslide, but I figure most everyone who plays WAR already knows that.

"So the rumors are true." The old man stumbled backwards, his shoulders slamming into the wall behind him and the resulting impact spilling an ornate Doman carpet to the floor. Then, as suddenly as they'd separated, they closed again, the vicious beast bearing down on him with all the savage grace of a master and him with nothing but the brutal practicality of a legionnaire to his credit as he rebounded. He did not get his blade up in time for a proper parry. Steel slid against brass, and the rapier's point found his right shoulder, driving him back and piercing through his decrepit flesh only to sink into the rosewood behind him. Pinned as he now was, he could only manage a simple counter in riposte, an abysmally feeble effort with his off-hand to thrust his burning brand into his adversary's heart... but that, too, slid away, as had every strike since the first, this one driven up and out just enough for the fiend to drop his dagger and seize the old man's wrist and slam it against the wall, knocking the bastard sword from his hand and extinguishing its flames. Infurating, that not once had he slipped this brute's guard for even the slightest touch, let alone a mortal blow. He'd had the one chance, while the beast slept, and he'd squandered it. Silence reigned for a few precious moments, broken only by the scuffling of their struggle and the slow rhythmic dripping of blood from the stump of an arm where his right hand had been freshly severed. So viscuous and putrid was his blood that it gleamed as black as oil in the soft glow of candlelight. "Fascinating, Adonis," breathed the giant from beneath its platinum-blond locks. Adin Adonis, former Major Triarius, once a faithful son of Garlemald and loyal hand of the Empire, spat in the face of tyranny not his own. The beast merely laughed, its eyes never once leaving the old man's, pale yellow looking into red and black. Two moons ago, the Crow known as Rotunda had departed Aldenard for Ilsabard, intent on reclaiming the prestige and authority of his former life and setting that power to purpose as a platform, a platform with which to make his own bid in the succession war. His grief upon learning of the destruction of his House was paralleled only by his dismay when his worst fears were confirmed for him by his own men. As he'd thought, so it was: no Garlean would follow an abomination. As a man, he'd been fit to lead, to inspire, to rule. As the undead, he was feared, reviled, and renounced. Rank and title were beyond his reach, as forever lost to him as his own humanity. He paid his soldiers their just deserts, of course. Insults, he could live with. Deserters, he could not. Would that he could have waited for the witch. He had gone a fortnight with no word, though, and by then he'd decided to proceed without her assistance. He could not have afforded to wait: 'Opportunity waits for no Man, and Fortune favors the Bold'. So went the adage. Alas, the prejudices of his culture proved too great a hurdle in the end. He could not win over peasants, much less men and women of standing, and soon enough, despite his efforts, rumors began to spread. Adin Adonis left for Eorzea. Adin Adonis came back changed. That heathen land is cursed, and so now is he. Red-Eye. The Deadman. The Laughing Smoke. They knew. The ones that mattered, they all knew. Legatus was beyond him now, as was the throne. His vision was slipping away from him. The struggle ended as abruptly as it had begun, as another dagger flashed forth and sank through the old man's wrist to pin his left arm to the wall, securing him there. Rotunda strained against the steel, but the brute knew his business and had forced the blades deep enough into the rosewood that even the lack of pain afforded to Crows wasn't enough for the old man to break free. He tried. He failed. Repeatedly. The giant took its time as it strode over to a large, ornate armoire and drew forth a greatsword. "To think that you would deign to assault me, to attempt an assassination - personally, I might add - on the eve of my coronation. My, my, Adin. How desperate. How low. How... common." Rotunda froze. Deep down inside him, somewhere dark and primal and not of the material, something snapped. HE DARES fool PRETENDER discipline IF HE ONLY KNEW incompetent FAITHLESS pagan GODLESS heathen MINE mine OUT bloom SUFFER of PROMISE ages WITNESS stop-- When he came back to himself, he was panting, sweating, shivering, and the beast was shaking its head as if with pity and remorse. He could still hear the ringing of his own voice as the words echoed throughout the chamber. "HAIL THE TRUE GOD! HAIL THE TRUE GOD! NALD'THAL COMES FOR US ALL IN THE END! NALD'THAL COMES FOR US ALL IN THE END!" For the first time since he'd been wrenched from the Void in chains, Adin Adonis felt cold. Even as the brute made its way back to him and set the point of the giant blade against his sternum, he felt cold. Strange, to think that not even his rotting corpse of a body had done this for him. His eyes fell, and though the beast's next few words drifted to him, they may as well have fallen on deaf ears. "Out of respect for your many years of loyal service, and for the kindness you always showed me, old friend, I will make this swift." There came the sudden sickening squelch of metal in flesh and the hard crunch of metal in wood as the giant thrust the greatsword through his heart, all the way up to the hilt. Black ooze dripped from the gash, dripped along the steel, dripped to the floor. He coughed, hacked, spat up sludge, rested his head back against the rosewood, and laughed. Laughed, because it was futile. I can't win. You've failed. Not like this. Release me. Not here. Home. Yes. His gaze shifted as he peered down his nose and up at his rival, turning his red eye on the bastard, the sick grin on his face twisting midbirth into a leering rictus. "To the finish," he wheezed. And then he fell apart, fell into ash, flesh dissolving, clothes dissolving. Even his brass blade seemed to melt away. As if borne on a wind, each and every mote of ash swirled up into the air, gathering, the grey turning black as the cloud grew denser, swirled about the chamber, rose. Laughter echoed faintly as it did so. Then it fled, as if to emulate the last flight of Midgarsormr, twisting and turning upon itself as it flew right out through the vents. "Fascinating," muttered Varis Zos Galvus once more.

Sounsyy covered just about everything. To sum up: Paladin is a standard "cooldown suite" tank. It's simpler. Warrior is an atypical "damage soak" tank. It's more complex. Neither is "better" than the other, as they're fairly well-balanced at the moment for most if not all levels of play. Most endgame raid teams will want one of each, so you won't be left out of content regardless of your choice. Which you should choose comes down to personal preference.

From hand to hand and sailor to sailor passed the little brown package, unmarked save for the label denoting the addressee. In sharp block letters was written, "To R.D., for N.L." By the time the little brown package reached its destination, a fortnight had passed since Starlight. Inside was no letter, no message. Only needle and thread.

I think I'm in love. I CALL DIBS ON THE MANLY MAN.

Put on some pants, please. Or at least a skirt. Don't make me call the local authorities on you for public indecency.

Name: Osric Melkire World: Balmung Character main class/job/role (Optional): Rogue, Monk Cards (recommended): Wheel of Fortune Reason for Card choice (recommended): For Osric, each and every day has been comprised of turning points, of sudden shifts in fortune or drastic changes in the course or direction of his life. The good, the bad, the serene, the dramatic, he's been through it all. Tumblr name (optional): cfs-melkire.tumblr.com

Well, FIRST I have to defeat Duty Finder not wanting to pop it because who the fuck wants to do Shiva regular. Guildmates? Friends? Charitable folks on the RPC?

I can whack things with my axe, Let them spew over my board; Though I'd rather stack some Wrath, I am not above the sword. If the truth is what you'd like, Don't you dare ask for my pike; I don't care for knives that rend, with my fists is how I'll end.

Closest we PGLs and MNKs can get to bare-fisted right now: http://xivdb.com/?item/1686/Brass-Knuckles

Haven't you heard? Flying zombie laser shark mounts coming with Patch 3.0 Heavensward. Please look forward to it.

...now that I think about it, I'm not sure if I've ever seen Grumpcat and Grumpelf in the same screenshot. This needs be remedied.

All those easy poetics tomestones you've been missing out on from Expert Roulette....

Realist, Oscare. Nothing significant changes in the second it takes for us to go from one year to another. ;D *revs chainsaw* I'm ready.

Osric's inevitable reaction every year: "Oh! We've hit that arbitrary time again! You know, that time when we add a plus one to the date! It's the next cycle! Yestersun was last cycle! Gods, the world is so different now! ...idiots." No, he does not celebrate Heavensturn, nor does he make any resolutions.

Alternate link for the new WoD CT Monk gear, since the link Kage provided is off: http://www.rpgfan.com/news/pictures2014/FFXIV-2-5-WoD-5.jpg WANT. WANT. WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAANT.

Since no one else has posted them, New Dungeons Trailer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Nv8AXoTptWE Manderville Gold Saucer Trailer https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-_BLgeTVbdc

We interrupt your regularly scheduled harbinging to bring you this special news bulletin: DAT CT TANK ARMOR, HOT STAGGERING FUCK! We now return to your regularly scheduled harbinging.