Melkire

Outreach has always seemed the point to me, though I'm not personally invested in such. I can see how a negative stigma arising from association with ERP might deter potential roleplayers and scare them off. It's the difference between viewing RP as a medium for creative writing and viewing it as a cybering tool a la Second Life.

Woah, woah, woah! Don't get it twisted! *Waves hands dismissvely* That Crimson Chin pic was just once and I had my laugh. Also, I have never stated that Xy was in anyway, shape, or form, a "hero." I'm just here to read the comments! *Grabs a bag of popcorn* That's true! Didn't he kidnap Kage once? And he tried to off Captain Anden Anduron, too! -nodnod-

~1571 - Limsa Lominsa~ "Look 'ere, y'can't honestly expect me t'let Dirk Problemsolver onto m'crew, do you, Rings? The boys'll either have m'head or your corpse at the bottom of the sea! Mutiny, that's what ol' Jetsam is faced wit', if I'm t'hire you on." Osric groaned as he leaned against the dock's piling and knocked his head against the wooden post a few times. "Just a few moons, Worthy, then y'can ditch me on this same gods-damned jetty we be standin' on. Swear on Lymlaen's teats I'll play nice. Y'know I'm good for it." The Sea Wolf - why the hells does he have a Hellsguard name, anyroad? - frowned as he stood, arms crossed, at the very end of the gangplank, barring the young midlander's passage. "Thaliak's mast are y'wantin' work from me now, anyroa'? 'snot like there's more coin in piracy than in, well...." "M'folks want me t'sod off for a while. M'last few hits weren't gutter, or even low. Bastards might start gunnin' for me now. Me mam's worryin' that some Storm blighter's goin' t'put a hole in me with one o' them fancy muskets or somethin'." He snorted. "As if I ain't done work for the storms 'n' jacks a time or two. Buggers, all o' them." Worthy Jetsam sat on that for what felt like an eternity as he rubbed at his chin, fingers mussing with his goatee. Osric shifted just enough to turn a curious eye on the roegadyn, that and a lifted eyebrow that asked, hells are you thinkin', eh? The old Wolf wasn't looking, though, so he spoke up instead. "A bronze for whatever's tangled up in your riggin'?" "Supposin' I could bring y'on, for ol' times' sake... ye'd hafta lose the fancy skins, eh? Raptor gives it away. Same fer yer knives. Y'know anythin' 'bout handlin' an axe?" "Er... no." The Sea Wolf barked a laugh as he pivoted on one heel and made his way back up the brow. "Piss poor marauder ye'll be makin', then." The eldest son of Melkire scoffed. "Long as I ain't bein' shot at." ~Present Day - The Goblet~ The handle shook a few times, then the door slammed open, the frame shaking in place as the wooden mass rebounded off the wall, as the man clad in darklight stumbled through the doorway into his office. His hold on the strap in his left hand loosened, and the darklight corselet with the gaping bullet hole in it fell to the floor, the dull thud of its weight on the rug below a mere nuisance of a distraction as Osric Melkire fell against the planters. He caught himself with his arms, but only just; a few moments of pained, labored breathing later, he was hauling himself back to his feet and pushing through to the back of his chambers. Off came the bracers, the caligae; his bandana, he threw clear across the room onto the featherbed as he turned and fell ass-first against the edge of the oasis bathtub. He panted as he slipped his breeches off, then turned and fell into the water, scrambling to pull himself up onto the bench. He grimaced for a few moments more as he cupped his palms and poured water over his chest, but at last, after a few ablutions, he eased. He wasn't relaxed, calming down was far beyond him for now, but... the tension was fading. You're a bloody fool if you're thinkin' ladlin' some water over it is goin' to help. He glanced down at his chest, where an ugly bruise roughly the size of an Allagan silver weighed heavily between his pectorals. He stared, then turned and reached for the breeches, fumbled through its pockets long enough to come up with the coin in question. The piece had been rather heavily dented... and the bullet in question was still there, crushed up against the silver. The darklight must've taken most of the impact. Gods know I couldn't breathe. From the instant that second shot had rung out, Osric had known nothing but a red haze of agony. Black tendrils of mind-numbing relief had been creeping their way in from outside when the pressure on his chest finally disappeared. The strange highlander had ripped the sergeant's pierced breastplate off as the midlander laid prone on the operating table of the Red Wings' medical bay. With the corselet off him, the small tote bag that had hung by a string from his neck had tumbled free. Plot devices. I owe m'ruddin' life to plot devices. Master Bellveil, I could kiss you right now. Their new chirurgeon, a Titor Jaraba, had offered further assistance with Osric's pain... but he couldn't be in that room right now. Couldn't stand to be. That'd been in the room where he'd seen Alexei's... that had been the very table where... and mere bells afterwards, he'd carved the "Garlean" spotter to shreds on Erik's orders, only to learn that.... The Vipers. He snarled as he chucked the silver into the corner and listened to it bounce between the tub and the wall before it slid to the floor. The Vipers, he'd learned from reports and case files acquired mere suns after he'd been granted the clearance owed to his new position, were once what the Red Wings were now: Ul'dah's premier espionage unit. That Erik had sent him after that poor sod's neck for a cobra hood tattoo and sent Setras after the man's organs for a hidden linkpearl meant that the captain had more than a passing history with these gods-damned bastards. I'd have been dead if it wasn't for that coin. Lucky it was me. Could've been another Alexei. Could've been Askier. Or Kahn'a. Or Kanaria. The pulsing adrenaline that came with mounting rage surged through him again as it had not a bell prior; he bit down hard, teeth grinding against one another as he fought it down. He had demanded dossiers from the captain, demanded everything the Flames had on suspected Vipers lying low within the city limits. He was through with getting shot at, through with the Red Wings and their loved ones being targeted when rightfully no one outside the unit should've known they existed. This is not going to happen again. I am not letting them take my family away from me.

[align=center]FWOOOOOOOOOOOSH Daily bump for visibility (as if the listed calendar event isn't enough, which, honestly, it isn't).[/align] Please note that even if your character's name is not listed in the original post of this thread, you are still welcome to attend! The only requirement is that you must be a member in good (or poor!) standing of one of Ul'dah's military, security, or law enforcement organizations if you wish to be in the official pictures. If you are not a member of any of the above, feel free to swing by anyway and be sociable. After we've taken said pictures, I'm sure there'll be plenty of time to mingle and fraternize and take photos of disparate groups of people.

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Courtesy Skype. Hutarin told me the Flames had just lost a match to the Adders, and, well... [12:46:10 PM] Osric: *sets fire to the Shroud* [12:46:19 PM] Osric: ...omg that should be an Adele parody. [12:46:25 PM] Hutarin: ... [12:46:31 PM] Hutarin: I SET FIREEEEE TO THE SHROUDDDDD [12:47:09 PM] Osric: WATCHED IT LIGHT AS I TOUCHED MY FAAAAACE [12:47:30 PM] Osric: LET IT BURN WHILE I LAUGH [12:47:38 PM] Osric: CAUSE I HEARD THEM SCREAMING OUT OUR NAME, US FLAMES

He did just torture a dude . . . We should do lunch. *shudders*

... *sighs theatrically as he pulls out a coinpurse and settles down to wait*

Dear Phoenix, Family can be such a bother. Enlistment suited me back when I was turning my life around, but now I find soldiering tedious and boring. I fancy a change, and the change I fancy is transfer. Ran into a few tight spots under my former commanding officer, you see, that required quite a bit of legwork as well as a discerning eye. Though I abhor and despise their practices, I suppose I could work within the system of our local red-clad constabulary, for the good of the people and in the interest of my own satisfaction. Alas! The wretches that call themselves my flesh and blood insist that I settle and marry, of all notions. I've neither the time nor the inclination for a husband, let alone children, and yet they won't hear a word against the idea! How do I go about getting their attention long enough for them to listen to me, short of setting their hair on fire? Signed, A Small Sunflower P.S. I love my parents, but they can be such a bother at times. P.P.S. Please pardon the desperation behind this letter. Appalling, that these words could not be committed to parchment without such disgraceful behavior typical of the self-absorbed: "I, I, I, I, I." Apologies if I have offended.

What a terrible night to have a curse! What a horrible misquote.... *waits for Roen*

...this calls for an intervention, seeing as how those cannons are in the same ward as Red Wings HQ.

A certain scavenger would like to know if a certain mercenary is available for a clandestine discussion this evening. ...on-topic, said scavenger detests Eorzeans as spoiled and weak-willed children in need of guidance. Who better to teach them discipline than he? A certain mercenary would invite him over for tea and cake, but I imagine that would be in poor taste. That is, if a certain scavenger /can/ taste. Where might they come across each other in an applicable setting? The night is dangerous, and there are many alleyways and tunnels in the Goblet.... Were I not so invested in my main already, I'd hop the border straight into full-on villainy.

A certain scavenger would like to know if a certain mercenary is available for a clandestine discussion this evening. ...on-topic, said scavenger detests Eorzeans as spoiled and weak-willed children in need of guidance. Who better to teach them discipline than he?

I don't know, all the males Crofte has had to deal with have been quite civil in public. Although those Tia's can be quite rowdy in private. What you didn't say is actually more telling than what you did say. :lol:

Anelia should try the 'Drink Dirty Water' cleanse. Is cheap and -always- effective. *dumps all the tea into Vesper Bay*

Walk away. No, seriously, I don't think any of the magnificent people I roleplay with expect Osric to just walk away. Which'll make it all the more surprising, dramatic, and poignant when he finally does.

Posted this to Tumblr in response.

I... I... ... ...I need to blog about this. :love:

The sergeant grimaced. Not so long ago, ten thou had been his life savings. Contrary to popular belief, most Flames were not paid well: a soldier was more like than not to retire to his cot not with a bag of coin, but with a fistful of seals. Four, nearly five cycles he'd scrounged and saved and amassed a small fortune, only to risk losing it all for a chance to return home to Limsa. Things had changed, though, with the turning of the seasons. He was with the Red Wings now. More importantly, the captain had left him in charge of the unit's covert operations, which meant that he had plenty of funds to draw on, provided he could justify the costs. Operational funding was just a small part of a larger sum, though: he and his men knew all too well the wealth that was information. Too often they came across secrets that were not only worth many a small fortune to the right persons, but were also not pertinent to state security. So yes, he could afford ten thou now, despite the rather dire matter of hoarding every bronze piece he could get his grubby mitts on for the sake of a rather pressing engagement. The damnable thing was that he couldn't afford it right now. The rumor mill had gone quiet as of late, and the well of wealth had dried up as the winds died. He'd walked in here with plenty for his usual, with enough set aside for both his commission and the matter of the perfume. On top of all that, he had five hundred and seven thou left over from his own purse... which left him short. Left him tantalizingly close. Downright maddening, that he couldn't justify dipping into his other purse, the one specifically set aside for business... even more so given Tarot's infuriating taunt of a grin. Bloody salesmen.... Is it even really worth that much, though? It's just a gods-damned coat. I've never seen anythin' of that quality. Fen-Yll Atelier couldn't make something like that, even if they had the whole Syndicate fundin' 'em for moons. Still. The hells do you want it for? Can't work that into a disguise... ...it'd go quite a ways towards makin' me look like an inspector, though. That decided him. He made a quick show of hesitance, stuffing his hands into his robes and leaning with one shoulder against the wall. "Listen, Tarot... can't afford that quite yet, but... listen, listen! I've got five and seven thou t'me name for this. I've the remainin' five and two thou on me now, but, ah, that'd be diggin' into official funds. If you could... I don't know," he pulled a hand out and gave it a little lateral twirl, "find it in you t'donate that five and two to a good cause... like charity, see, refugees and the like... I could recompense you next moon, along with a nice bonus when the commissioned item comes in." He spread his arms. "Your askin' price, a bonus, a... 'filled purchase card'... and a little touch o' reputation for the ol' Emporium. 'You heard o' Tarot? Damned blighter offers fair prices, makes a profit, and still donates to charity!' That sort o' gossip's got to be good for business, no?"

Meanwhile, every Adder within a three-hundred yalm radius was laughing their ass off at just how much the young hyur male stood out amidst the foliage, dressed in his dark leathers with their bright red trim.

The Hermit's Hovel? That old ERP hotspot? It's already stained with blood and sweat and... Ahem. Damn it Osric you said you wouldn't tell! I lied, sweetling. But of course, darling.

The Hermit's Hovel? That old ERP hotspot? It's already stained with blood and sweat and... Ahem.

If contradictions between 1.0 lore and 2.0 lore are not as prevalent as I've been led to believe they are, then by all means, work them together. Perhaps segregation was the wrong word to use. In hindsight, I'm far more interested in demarcation and/or notation of 1.0 lore. If someone's reading over the lore wiki, and they come across something they're not familiar with despite adamantly perusing every piece of in-game text available to them, there should be something on that page, in that section, that clearly says, "this is from 1.0" so that they're not left wondering "but where the heck did this information come from?!" Sure, we can slap citations on those sections, but I don't want to have to scroll down to the very bottom of a potentially long article to check the references in order to learn that it's 1.0 information. Maybe have the paragraph or section boxed in with a highlighted border... or maybe a little symbol for 1.0 lore in the margin. Something.

...I'm one-fourth Turkish. I feel more or less obligated to attend now. You big fellows don't mind a measly midlander, do you?

Uniforms are encouraged but not required! We'll probably take at least two different shots, one in uniform and one out. Free paladins are, of course, free. ...dirty joke goes here.