Melkire

NEW THREAD IS UP FOR THIS STORY ARC. First event's details to follow soon. http://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/showthread.php?tid=8167

Osric knew better than to touch anything after that one incident. It had only taken him a few visits to the backroom to grow accustomed to the near omnipresent threat that Tarot's Moogle associate represented. The little blighter took to following customers about as the browsed the warehouse aisles, and the bugger was more often than not invisible while he did so. Smart, that one; he'd leave his... implements... lying about on tables, in drawers, on shelves, in dark corners, and so on and so forth. A floating club, a customer could see coming. A bat blending in amongst the merchandise? Far more difficult to spot. The sergeant had been rather overwhelmed with excitement one sun, having come across a first-edition volume of a particularly raunchy novel, so much so that he'd lifted the text off a bookshelf and made for the door to the storefront to inquire after its price... only to be met with a two-by-four to the back of his head and to wake up bells later to Tarot dumping cold water over him. Suffice to say he'd learned his lesson. So much for a lack of situational awareness. Now, though, he paced rather languidly up and down the length of the warehouse, eyes open for implements... and for gifts. A tome for Kanaria, perhaps, or a new pipe for Kahn'a, or incendiary compounds for Askier. He kept his eyes open for articles of a more professional bent, as well. Files, documents, bits of clothing that could lend themselves to useful disguises, poisons, potions, enchanted artifacts, anything that looked out of sorts.... What I wouldn't given for a gods-damned trenchcoat.

No funny IC-to-OoC bleeding on my part yet, but there was this once IG-to-IRL incident with SW:TOR (technically off-topic, I know ; ; )... My friend and I bumrushed our way, from June 2013 to December 2014, into end-game PvE raiding on the Pot5 server. We decided to help out a guildmate one night with the Macrobinoculars quest line. Unlike XIV's piss-poor Sightseeing, Macrobinoculars involved gaining access to a lot of neat, hidden areas designed and put aside specifically for this quest line. It was a lot of fun. UNFORTUNATELY, one particular quest in the chain (Dark Design) involved traveling to Nar Shaddaa and then jumping from moving speeder (read: flying car) to moving speeder in order to reach a rather large spaceship. Platforming in a MMORPG. We died so many times. We laughed. We tried cheating our way across via various movement skills. We died some more. Our sides, etc. My friend just about lost it, though. It was the most aggravating and traumatizing experience he's ever had to deal with in a video game. I affectionately refer to it as, "doing the Mario". It serves as a euphemism for, "you keep f#&%ing up." It occasionally slips into conversations with folks that weren't even there. They give me weird looks. My friend just gives me tirades.

Pictured: myself, five years ago. Ibid* is the greatest book ever. Of all time. Also pictured: also myself, three years ago. Not my apartment, but I approved of the décor. *A Novel

(Because that wasn't Askier's plot to conceive and organize, that was yours and Gharen's and Delial's! Duh!) I'd contribute to the thread, but everyone has already summed up my thoughts and feelings on the matter.

((This post obviously takes place mere hours after the events of this post.)) Mere bells had passed since the commotion. The east wind was picking up, and the overseers were none too pleased by the ongoing delays that kept them from getting their workers back inside the mines. Not that it mattered: there'd been another incident, and that meant visitors. A canopy had been pitched over the body. Word has been sent to Black Brush Station, and from there relayed to the city, to the headquarters of the Brass Blades. Not a bit of which explained why a lone figure now sat on his haunches over the corpse, emerald eyes darting back and forth over the dead man in what amounted to a cursory inspection, occasionally glancing over to the dismembered limb lying several fulms away. The figure's arms were strung out over his knees, the tails of his unbuttoned trenchcoat billowing behind him, and his boots crunched on sand as he pivoted to examine the body from a different angle. Not that it mattered: the cause of death was as obvious now as it had been from first glance. Charred face. Singed hair. Burnt fabric. Thaumaturgy. There came the heavy rattling of shifting chainmail, and those emerald eyes glanced back, glanced up, to meet the fly-mask of another highlander dressed in Brass Blade uniform. The figure smirked. "Friend of yours?" A disgusted shake of the head and downturned lips answered him. "Can't reckon why you middies all seem to think that the big blokes all know each other. We'd best get going, only just managed to convince the shortie in charge to hear you out. Might change his mind if we dally." The midlander nodded, tugged his gloves back on and zipped them up the back as he rose to his feet and fell in line with the other man, taking three steps for every two just to keep pace with him. "I asked you t'call ahead and ask certain questions, Rand. Did you?" The highlander snorted. "Aye, Sergeant, I did. Time-sensitive, you said, so I did. Just the usual, was the answer they gave me." "No odd prints? Unusual markings? Nothing untoward or out o' place?" "Nah. Usual prints and tracks for the wagons and carts leading in and out. Usual prints for the workers, likewise. Nothing out of the ordinary, Melkire." Osric frowned as they approached the Lalafell in charge. The Brass Blade lieutenant turned from his attempts to mollify the overseers as they pulled up short. The midlander flashed the little fellow his most winning smile as his companion saluted. The lieutenant returned the gesture, fly-mask still focused squarely on the man in the trenchcoat. "An inspector from the Flames. How tiresome. If this is another insipid attempt at undermining our lawful and legal authority--" "--I assure you, ser, it's nothing of the sort. No official inquiry has been made, no allegations levied.” The lieutenant scoffed. “Then why are you here?” “Given Nanawa’s recent history," Osric swept a hand out to encompass the mines, "Commander Swift thought it best that y'have our full cooperation in assessing the extent o' damages and, afterward, our testimony that this is an isolated incident, a tragic case in which a man lost his life whilst on duty, a man who performed with honor t'his upmost ability. So he sent me out, ser, with instructions to survey the scene 'n' report back." This was complete and utter gobshite, of course, as his companion knew all too well. The commander had done nothing of the sort; after the original incident at Nanawa and the resulting pandemonium, Osric had gone to Rand and offered him rather generous sums to pass along any word of Brass Blade activity in the area. The highlander had, of course, followed through, and here they were. It was vital, or so the Flame Sergeant thought, to keep an eye on this gods-damned facility and others like it; too often were they convenient locations for nefarious activities, and that didn't even take into account the numerous goods, supplies, and arms that passed through this mine in particular to Northern Thanalan. Several long, tense moments followed, during which Osric wondered if he hadn't been altogether wise to interrupt and interject. The little lieutenant glared up at him... then sighed. "My second and third are up above. Inspect the bodies and ask questions if you'd like, but don't get in the way. As you said, this is a tragic case. No incident worth looking into here; just misfortune. Understood?" One pair of boots and one pair of sollerets slammed together, and two different fists met two different chests. The Lalafell glanced between them, then returned the salutes before waving them off and turning his back on them in dismissal. Osric and Rand turned on their heels and made their way up the scaffolding leading to the mines proper. Shards were the first detail to catch their attention. Shards upon shards of ice were scattered about, each one thin, sharp… clearly aetheric in origin, or else they’d have melted away long ago, leaving nothing but a damp spot of earth for the sun to bake dry. A rough circle of ice sticking out of the ground was odd. What was odder was the lack of ice in the center of that space, in a shape that was approximate of…. “Rand.” “I see it.” The highlander gave the circle one last glance, then made his way over to another canopy that had been pitched over two more corpses. There, he drew a pair of Brass Blades - a midlander and another Lalafell - off to one side and into a heated discussion more suited to the sands of the coliseum than the perimeter of a crime scene. Now here was an opportunity, and the sergeant didn’t waste it: into the shade beneath the canopy he slipped, and his hands threw back his coattails as he knelt before his second corpse of the sun. This one reeked more than the last; they were decomposing fast. That was Thanalan for you: you had to move fast if you wanted to reach the scene before the sands swept away what little damning evidence could be had. The second corpse was that of a midlander. Osric reached out with one gloved hand and gently, slowly slid back the handle sticking out of the throat. A quick once-over of the blade itself told him that there was nothing to be gained by tracing the knife; this was a common piece, purchased for just such a purpose as this. He pushed the blade back in with a scowl, then shuffled over to the third corpse. Cause of death: asphyxiation, better known as lack of gods-damned air. Or it would've been, if it'd hadn't been for, well... the throat had been crushed, but not with a mere hand strike. For the structure to have caved in this deep... this much damage required weight, and that meant…. Osric’s eyes narrowed as he glanced back at the second corpse. Professional… the third corpse again… yet passionate. Knife to the throat, common steel that would undoubtedly prove impossible to trace? That said professional. Stomping a man to death? That screamed vindictive. He knew; no one better. Rand sauntered over. “Dead. Bled out before anyone could reach'm. There was a survivor, though. Took a bit of shock therapy, courtesy our perpetrator. He’s in no shape to talk, and likely won’t ever be. Gone simple, him. Even if he hadn’t, they’re not going to let us anywhere near the fellow.” The Flame rose and stretched, left hand holding his right wrist as he pushed his arms to full extension, first this way, then that. “No need, I’ve seen enough.” He cracked his neck next, then beckoned Rand back down the scaffolding. One terse farewall to the lieutenant later, and they were on their way back south. That fly-mask kept swiveling back and forth as Rand glanced at Osric, then back out at the road. The sergeant couldn’t help but grin. “Did you notice?” “Notice what?” “Those were bandits.” The Brass Blade sneered. “That’s not unusual. You know that, I know that. For everything in Thanalan, there’s a price. Everyone knows that. ” Chief Flame Sergeant Osric Melkire stopped walking and turned to look up at the highlander as the big man kept walking. “Those were bandits bribing a Brass Blade. Or somethin' t'do with coin, anyroad.” “Mhm.” “…Rand, where were the Stone Torches?” His companion opened his mouth… and then shut it again without a word. He came to a stop, and turned a deep frown on the Flame. The Stone Torches were not well-known among the general populace, and for good reason. That branch of service saw to securing the natural resources of Thanalan on which Ul’dah was so dependent for trade. Duty always called, and theirs was always to guard the various mines and quarries that supplied those resources, those commodities… yet there had been not a one in attendance at Nanawa this sun. Rand snarled. “That’s gods-damned peculiar, aye, but I don’t see why--” “--there were no goods, Rand. Where there are bandits and Blades and bribes, there are goods.” The highlander snapped his mouth shut yet again, teeth clacking against one another. He harrumphed and started walking towards the Jewel again. “Wagon, eh?” Osric fell in beside him. “Or a cart.” “So where to?” “Black Brush Station. Someone will have seen something.” “Well, good luck with that.” The Blade eyed him one last time, held out a hand, and beckoned. “…I already paid you.” “Aye, you did. Paid me to keep you informed. Now you’re paying me to keep my silence.” Osric rolled his eyes, dug inside his coat for a small coinpurse, and tossed it over. Business as usual.

>_> Run Nero. Run. Kage might be interested in sharpening his sword. Is that like sharpening one's pencil? Do they have one of these for that... ...or am I reading too much into this? That was a metaphor, right?

-Why- are they wearing such things in the middle of Ul'dah?! Are they -trying- to bring on heatstroke?! It was the middle of the night, broheim. The desert gets relatively cold when the sun ain't shinin'. We sand-pounders ain't used to cold.

COATS! ...not 'leques. (No, Warren, NOT FIGHTING YOU)

This can happen at times because feather changes have a "HQ" proc chance. You can essentially skip over colors purely due to RNG.

Many of us use double lines in our custom emotes to separate our character's name from the action. This allows us to use custom emotes to rp NPCs in an easily recognizable and understandable way. e.g. /em || Moggie blew a raspberry at the twit. "Kupo!" becomes Crooked Tarot || Moggie blew a raspberry at the twit. "Kupo!"

I've verified several paths on that. Was super happy when we found it. Supported my theory. \o/ This has already been outdated. Latest version I can find: https://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/1814x979q90/661/vBZmlD.png DELICIOUS UPDATES Edit: that means thank you! You're welcome. =D

I've verified several paths on that. Was super happy when we found it. Supported my theory. \o/ This has already been outdated. Latest version I can find: https://imagizer.imageshack.us/v2/1814x979q90/661/vBZmlD.png

I love this thing. Have ever since I was first linked to it. Scored 15 for my XIV character. Woot. Never been sure how well it works given a MMO setting, but it's excellent for pure writing.

Setting aside the public airing of private grievances (in short, I agree with you), "Mary Sue" is such a broadly overused and misapplied term that I might as well get mad because somebody called me a hipster. It could mean anything. These days, I interpret that term, however used or applied, as someone trying to get the following gist across: "Your character is either too close to perfect, or else has too many things going right in their life. They are too competent, too secure, and/or too disruptive when placed into a situation with other characters who are less perfect, less lucky, less competent, and/or less secure." LOL.

Re: that distinction... I don't want to use that term (I hate saying "combat RP") but I find that it is important to have because it distinguishes between the more passive and the more active play-styles/writing-styles/what-have-you. As a matter of personal preference, for example, I can't abide characters who do nothing but talk, talk, talk. I don't care if your character is going to free some slaves through coin or through a long and grueling legal process, or spend their days jotting down notes and writing new texts on Arcanum, or fight off an undead army of zombies with a holy sword, or run down some footpad who just stole some old lady's purse, or trip and fall because some dubious peddler left his goods lying about in the middle of the street: a character has to live and breathe, IMO, and you can't have that by just standing around and talking all the time. It's why I can't stand tavern RP in anything more than small doses. So the distinction has some purpose; it's not entirely unnecessary. Also, what Liadan and the others have said. Keep names out of it, if for no other reason than because a mod/admin will come down hard on this thread if you don't.

kxHOCk7Fx2U

Seconding this. It's even got an avenue in place already.

I'm dead. I've died and I'm dead.

...it...never showed, did it? It did! ...at three in the morning when I had work the next day. :cry:

You might as well as call it "Ration" if that's the case. It will at least know it's purpose before it dies. I approve of this practice. I know someone who named their chocobo "Drumstick".

I know how you feel. I want Allagan Cuirass of Striking for vanity purposes. Some a$$hole at Square-Enix decided it should go into the T5 loot table, unlike every other Allagan chestpiece. At the end of every failed raiding session, I tell myself: next time, and if not next time, then the next next time, and so on and so forth. It'll happen eventually. Kind of like that Atma that refused to drop for me in Upper La Noscea. Spent a few hours a day on it, then blitzed it for 8 hours on a Sunday. Lo and behold... >_>

OK, the pudding is now named 'Wilbur'. Yes, I am a terrible person. *snickers* Glad I'm not the only terrible person.

...I love swap meets. There's one that's held every Sunday at the drive-in theater near my mom's place. ALWAYS a treat going there. It's fun, there's concessions (fooooooood), you get to see neat and interesting things, you get to acquire awesome stuff at bargain prices, etc. For something like this, you don't even need to be a professional merchant or peddler to show up and sell/trade. I'm all for a swap-meet.

I don't even know how to go about doing this. I haven't even found any Hunts Linkshells so I could get at least 1 sands for my i100 weapon Same way you do RP walk-ups: talk to folks out of the blue. Ask around in the linkshells you're already in. Ask your friends, and ask them to ask their friends for you. Keep an eye out for PvE FCs, note their guildmasters, and throw those people or their company members some tells, something like, "hey, I was wondering if your FC is raiding SCoB, do you guys have any statics that are looking for fills/subs/more permanent fixtures? Do they a need a ___?" Go sit in Fallgourd Float and listen to shouts for a while. Sometimes folks advertise there in order to recruit folks for SCoB, the way they used to in Mor Dhona for FCoB. Hell, sit in Revenant's Toll for a while, too. Keep an eye on PF for advertisements for statics. As for hunts, that's harder. I haven't done this yet, but I was planning on asking about and seeing if I could get any word on what THE Hunt LS's are on Balmung, and then tracking down someone with a silver star for an invite once I'm ready to get into hardcore Hunting. As an example, American Steaktheory was the dominant Hunt LS on Gilg for a while (not sure if it still is). I've tried. I go 1-3 days and then go back to being even more sad trying to again. It hasn't worked. Step away from it longer. I'm talking weeks to months, not mere days.