Melkire

...ah. Ruru: In addition to more/improved OoC communication, I'd suggest that, in a group full of folks that you know are supportive of your efforts and are there to work with you make something like this happen, you be a little more assertive. This doesn't mean forcing authority over someone via an arrest or something; it could mean, as Zhi mentioned earlier, that Melodia calls in Yellowjacket NPCs or something along those lines. Suddenly you have a Brute Squad facing down a tavern full of folks not willing to put their necks on the line for a single Keeper. I've found that conflict RP is a lot like chess - someone makes a move on the board that changes the field and puts you at a disadvantage, and it's up to you to counter in such a way to not only remove their advantage but gain one of your own (Osric ends up trying to do this a lot... sometimes he succeeds. >_>) That's the advantage of roleplaying with a supportive group: if you go too far, they'll almost always immediately check in with you OoCly to let you know so that you can work things out, and if you're not going too far they'll play it out ICly. You've got a bit more leeway than you would with, say, random PCs you meet while walking around. Anecdote time (mentioned parties, please forgive me!): ...once upon a time, I checked in with C'kayah to fake an "arrest" in order for Osric to get a chance to talk with him privately. He agreed to it. Little did I know that he was roleplaying with other folks at the time, including one Sultansworn Lala Kage. Osric gently took Kage aside to let him know what was going on while his "Brass Blade" associate (thank you, Lanza) made the "arrest". It was an interesting bit of on-the-spot improv, but it worked out because the individuals involved knew each other well enough (or had otherwise communicated well enough) to make the scene work.

There's a point I'd like to make before seguing into my contribution to this thread: Sultansworn are not, strictly speaking, law enforcement. They are analogous to the Secret Service of the U.S. President. They serve as bodyguards for the sultana and guarantors of her safety in much the same way that the Secret Service serve as such for the President. The difference is this: on the few occasions in game that the Sultansworn leave the palace behind, they do so to deal with threats to the Sultana's safety and/or political power, or else to deal with one of their own number. The reason that Sultansworn (and Flames) on Balmung end up roleplaying as law enforcement ultimately stems from the fact that no one on RPC seems willing to roleplay as a Brass Blade on anything that even remotely approaches a full-time basis. Brass Blades are the police force of Ul'dah; law enforcement is their purview. I imagine no one wants to play one because that would require either: a. roleplaying as a corrupt a-hole, b. roleplaying as a world-weary good guy surrounded by a department of corrupt a-holes for coworkers, ...neither of which would appeal, I expect, to anyone but masochists (if i wasnt already heavily invested in my main, i would roll a Blade. ffffffffffuuuuuuu-). So people end up playing 'sworn and Flames as the law instead. That, in no small part, is why in Balmung's Ul'dah you see a reverence for Sultansworn: they are rarely-seen knights of legend who are giving what spare time they have to descend and disseminate into the common populace in order to safeguard THE PEOPLE. They more often than not get the appropriate reaction and appreciation ICly. You're not going to see anything of the sort in Limsa, because Merlwyb established a dictatorship over pirates, rapscallions, and other disreputables. Reverence is never going to secure you authority ICly; you're roleplaying in a city of criminals, respect is going to have be earned. What Yellowjackets need to prey upon to keep the populace in line is fear, and that means posing a threat. Posing a threat isn't something you can do without superior numbers or firepower, which means that, in large gatherings, you're either going to have to round up consent to NPC a large task force, or else not participate in that capacity until you have the manpower in PCs. Keep to smaller one-on-one or one-on-two interactions. If you build it, they will come. Might take some time though, and some dedicated perserverance on your part.

Creepy, she says. I haven't even brought Rotunda out to play yet. :lol:

...what's the Eorzean equivalent of dialing 911? Call me crazy, but Reno /shout raise pls at ! doesn't really flow all that well as a comedy show title. Also, all of you are insane. You're right... ...Reno Raise Please flows better.

"Understood," he murmured, loud enough for the pearl to pick up yet low enough such that even Keeper ears would have trouble picking words out. "I've a few loose ends to wrap up here; one's new 'n' doggin' m'footsteps. Soon as the scum's off m'boots, I'll get movin'. Be best if y'ditch that associate o' Cenric's as soon as possible, it'll make things easier for me. Shadow, out." He dug around in a belt pouch for a few moments as he walked, then came up with two more linkpearls. One was a bright, solid green; the other was half blue, the two hemispheres divided by a solid band of purple. With his other hand, he plucked the company linkpearl from his ear and popped the green one in, instead. He'd cast this line suns ago. Time to see if he'd get a bite today. "Bolvi. Whenever your business is concluded, make your way to Mealvaan's Gate and clear on out. I'll see to payin' the runner and downin' the mark. Silence on this shell from here on out, please." He replaced that pearl too, as soon as that last request passed his lips, without waiting for an answer. In went the banded pearl. "I need the Keepers now. I need them out of sight but ready to pounce." Out came the third pearl, and those three went back into the pouch. His free hand went to his other ear, to the pearl that their runner had given him. "M-m-master Raz... our client tells me that he's seen to his business, courtesy of your associate, and that he is most... most pleased. Unfortunately, I have been held up by some h-h-hooligans and missed the rendezvous. Shall I meet you... mmm... say, where we first discussed business? To discuss payment? I do believe I owe you a favor, ser, and connections besides!" Bite. Bite, damn you.

...what's the Eorzean equivalent of dialing 911?

We've already had the Thief-slash-Smuggler/Sultansworn happen. But it ended badly. But it also didn't have this thread.. ROENxNERO PLZ Don't get me started on the fact that their first names are anagrams of each other's. Cleary, this was meant to be.

...so that's what Kayah meant when he wanted to know if Osric was "corruptible" and if they could "use" him... Hey, now... ...sometimes it's til-next-season.

I've read enough manga, seen enough anime, and gone through enough fantasy fiction - and fiction in general - to know where this is going. Nero x Roen, OTP.

This is such a neat shot... Zhi's the centerpiece, and the angle... well done.

"Brilliant!" #guinness :thumbsup:

This was bad. Osric snarled as he stormed his way across the lower decks of Fisherman's Bottom, and the crowd parted before him, for him. He hadn't planned on doffing his robe this early on; he'd been wearing that outfit underneath, trusting the old look to serve as enough of a surprise to give him an edge. Now, as women and children scrambled out of his way, old men left and right muttered under their breaths. "...Dirk..." "...back in town..." "...that's Dirk, that is..." "...he's back...?" "...Dirk Problemsolver...?" His cover was blown. Setbacks. Nothing but setbacks. Despite the precautions he'd taken, he'd been made within a bell of landing. The timetable had been accelerated: Erik would have to fend for himself far sooner than Osric had anticipated. Oh, he'd still be keepin' an eye on his captain... when he had an eye to spare. He'd be too busy from here on out, watchin' for the knives and daggers angling for his back, to do much more for the highlander. Sweet talkin' Raz by way of linkpearl? Of course. Conversing with Erik over the company shell? Sure. Peek in from time to time, in person? Mayhap. But direct contact? His cover was blown. Gods damn you, Faller. Why were you even there? If he hadn't backpedaled as soon as he hit the water, if he hadn't fanned out his arms and legs in old spread-eagle fashion, if he hadn't pushed forward, turned over, and kicked off back towards the docks, Faller would have caught him in the water and torn him to pieces. There came the massive surge of displaced water as the old man broke the surface; Osric pedaled faster, swam up right alongside one of the wooden pillars. He broke for air just long enough to hear a cacophony above him - had a fight broken out? - before submerging again. He braced his feet against the pillar and pushed off towards another, moving underneath the pier... he felt the rush of large, coarse fingers along his ankle and panicked, drew back his leg and kicked out, struck something that might've been a hand. He stroked the rest of the way to the next pillar, rolled over in the water, tucking his legs under him as he went. Feet met wood again, and he pushed off once more. He'd known better than to try his stamina against Faller. Geezer though he was, the toned man was a highlander, and that meant that, in short bursts, the bastard would run him down. Faller was built for such. Melkire - lithe as he was - was built for endurance and agility. Gutter games. Osric had spent much of his childhood racing through the crowds, causing chaos, creating distractions left, right, and center. He'd been a terror long before he'd gone to the gangs looking for a patron, long before he'd been taken in and set to task to make way for various small-time heists. What time he hadn't spent above decks, he'd spent in the water. He had loved to swim, had spent every moment he could wrest away from the crew in the water. These days, his greatest regret was that living in Thanalan more often than not denied him the joy that was the ocean. One of his favorite pastimes had been moving underwater from pillar to pillar, in just this fashion. He couldn't outrace Faller in the open water, but he could do it here, where his smaller, more compact form meant less resistance to abrupt turns, and the sudden bursts in speed from shoving off from fixed points meant he'd easily outpace his competition. It made little difference. He zigzagged down the length of the pier, surfacing every now and again for air, and every backward glance he stole only served to show him that Faller was still hot on his tail. He shook off the dread and focused again on the gamble he'd taken, on the sight he'd seen right off in the distance right before he'd chosen to hit the water. One more push-off brought him to left pillar at the end of the pier. A quick inspection showed him it wouldn't serve. Cursing his luck, he moved over to its opposite. Close, now: Faller was close. He glanced up and down the structure: this would do. He drew two knives and, as quickly as he could, worked them into the wood, shoved them in deep until they bit in. He turned, seized his makeshift handles with both hands, and planted his feet again. He could hear Faller coming up behind him, could hear the water shifting.... He looked up and out towards the trawler that was even now making its way to port. He stared at the fishnets that some poor sod had left hanging off the side. If the heading was any indication of its course... and given the nets... Fisherman's Bottom. Surely. If he could make it there, he could lose Faller. Lose everyone. He'd grown up there, after all. He thought back to the lesson that Endemerrin Rosethorne had given him, to the technique that he'd practiced long and hard over the course of a single night, to the skill that he hadn't had to use after all... until now. It worked with land beneath his feet. Surely, it would work with wood... especially if he braced himself properly. Gods, if only he'd had some knives to serve as handles, and some rotten wood in which to plant them. He fought down the smirk, closed his eyes, pushed aside the panic that was building up inside as that gods-damned man drew closer, left it all behind until there was nothing but his heartbeat. One hearbeat. Singular. He remembered when there'd been two, that first day on the plains of Thanalan beneath the Sultantree. His... and the land's. A burst. It's a burst. From everywhere, all at once. He opened his eyes, and pushed. Wood cracked, splintered. He surged, shot out. Setbacks, aye... but he'd lost the ruttin' ass, and wouldn't you know it, here came Sisipu with a bucket full of... she tripped, spilled fish everywhere, started piling it back in, and scrambled off. Osric stooped for a moment, scooped up a single herring that she'd forgotten, and went on his way. A score of fulms later, he ducked into a side alley, drew another knife, and sliced the disgusting thing open. Inside was a soaked parchment... with Thomys' handwriting on it. He threw the fish away. He'd have to double back for his rucksack, of course; he'd tossed the bloody thing aside into a stall full of its like. Cresting Wave was an old fixture of Cripple's Walk, and his wares hadn't changed much over the cycles. Either the Roe would have it, or Faller's crew would. Either way, he'd need his uniform back. The way he figured, he'd just entrusted the damned thing to someone else's keeping for a while. He unfolded the parchment and started skimming its contents, trying to make something legible out of the smeared and blotted ink. One hand went to his ear, tapped the Red Wings company linkpearl tucked away there as he continued to read. "Boss? Did you find- FUCK." He dropped his hand to the note and ripped the piece of flimsy to shreds, then tapped the pearl again. "Boss, Xydane's been in town. Watch your ass; my cover's been blown. Yours should still be intact... but it won't be if he gives you away." He stepped back out of the alley again and hurried along the docks. This was bad.

Is this confirmed to be a dye? The official event page only lists it as "Realm Reborn Red", and given the picture directly beneath that, I'm inclined to think that it's a consumable bottle of wine.

Red Wings might hit you up for party services if the timing's ever right. Might also need to subcontract some work out to mercenaries, which... could get interesting, considering we already have ties with at least one mercenary FC. Healthy competition for your more martial members? I'm just brainstorming. I'll hit up our FC leaders tonight (along as said allied merc FC) and see what they think.

Talk to Verad. He's very familiar/experienced by now with something very similar. As for peddling actual in-game items, you'd have an easier time if most semi-rare drops were tradable. Alas, they aren't. THAT SAID. You could peddle them IC to help folks justify why they have what they have (e.g. "I've got this sweet looking axe now thanks to Tarot!")

I'm sorry, you're not big enough for this attraction. Must be at least five fulms tall to desecrate the W.C.+C.C. carving.

As far as an individual's event attendance goes, there are quite a few reasons why someone might not show: 1. Engaged in PvE or PvP at the time. Might have been a scheduled thing (see: raids, statics, etc.), might have been impromptu and it clashed with the RP event because the individual was not aware of said event / said event's time. 2. Unavailable ICly. Case in point: Osric's been unavailable in-game for a time because he's been in Limsa via forum RP. Another example: Roen Deneith wasn't available for a time because she was being held in a Sultansworn prison cell. 2a. Conflicting RP session(s). Too often I've been held up in RP with one person/group and not been able to join a RP session with someone else, thereby missing out on someone's character development / event, etc. There are undoubtedly more reasons, but those are the ones that come to mind at the moment. EDIT: whoa, this thread took a huge swerve in the time it took me to post this. o_O

Might wanna reconsider lacing your opinion with insults if you want to hold a conversation (that's been discussed at length in other threads, actually). It's offensive as hell to imply that people hosting events in their houses, which are designed to encourage thematic roleplay, is "pushing" players there. Nice dig at calling those sorts of thing "trite, monotonous" events, too. Pleasant fellow, that Gus. And these two posts right here are the answer to the question being posed: RP communities are full of folks with thin skin. If RPC is a microcosm, just take a look at the World Wide Web as an example of a macrocosm. Websites are thrown up for folks, and like-minded individuals cluster together and ostracize/excommunicate/exclude those that aren't like-minded. Flocking together in cliques is natural human behavior. It happens on the internet (the only places where this doesn't happen as extensively require you to have a thick skin, e.g. 4chan) and it happens in communities such as this one (folks gathering together by common interests/goals and "bubbling").

I see your machine gun leg and raise you a... Those only shoot bullets. What you need are crotch-shot laser blasts so potent that they fertilize and create LIFE. (click on the video title to view on YouTube)

Most of the newer ones, yes. The early FF games were more medieval-themed, as far as fantasy goes. FFVI was where the shift came, if I recall correctly. Suddenly, Industrial Age!

Immortal Flames standard-issue chocobo. It's a love-hate relationship, because the bird is as stubborn as Osric is. He's not really that attached to it. Hohum. Planning on grinding out a drake mount eventually that he'll actually care about. Justifying it ICly might require some forum RP that gets my character involved with the Brotherhood of Ash.

Most of Osric's... tools... are either standard-issue Immortal Flames gear, or are otherwise run-of-the-mill knives, daggers, dirks, etc. that he acquires through legal and illegal means. He also owns a pair of brass knuckles for when he needs to beat someone down without fatally wounding them. He does, however, possess two weapons of intense sentimental value. The first is the rather ornate axe that his father left behind for him (model used for it is Eisentaenzer). It's not a tool he uses often, for a number of reasons. First: his father committed suicide, and he inevitably associates the axe with his father and thusly his father's cowardice. Second: Osric spent somewhere between six months/moons to a year/cycle as a marauder at sea, but that was hardly enough experience for him to become comfortable, let alone very adept, with the thing. In point of fact, he took up the axe recently for a time precisely because he isn't any good with it (if he'd gone with his knives instead, he might've gutted his friends). The second is a distinctive knife with a wooden handle and a wickedly serrated edge. This blade has a rather long and personal history with Osric: it's instantly recognizable to those who knew him as Dirk Problemsolver, as the knife and that identity are inseparable. It was his signature weapon, calling card, etc. for a long time while he worked as a free agent. It's the ghastly momento he's entrusted to the keeping of the one person he loves most, to serve as a warning: this is Dirk's woman. You touch her, you die.

/facepalms This is what I get for posting from work. Need to read closer. :blush:

I was under the impression that everyone lost their memories of the Warriors of Light, regardless of their presence at Carteneau, as a side-affect of Louisoix's spell. This is supported considering that NO ONE remembers that the MSQ PC as having been one of the Warriors. Spell throws Warriors of Light into the future. Everyone forgets who they were, exactly, but retain general memory of their existence and participation. I don't see how the GC leadership leaving the battlefield or not leaving it has anything to do with the matter.

\o/ It's J.E.N.O.V.A.'s frikken head! "Mother...."