Melkire

Congrats, Xydane! I was rooting for you! :thumbsup: No, really, I was!

Kokojo didn't slow down. Of course, that didn't mean she was right behind her knight as he barreled through the door - curse his stride! - but she was close enough. She saw him introduce steel to flesh, registered the falling body as she cleared the doorframe, pushed off to her right as the Elezen fell and then doubled back to her left as she ran, full speed, past Xydane. The others didn't see her coming. They were too intent on the Hyur. She bowled into them. Shield raised, she slammed into the middle one from the side, sent him staggering into his fellow on the left. She used the rebound against her momentum to bounce off to the right, and her sword flicked out and drew back in, hamstringing the Elezen there; he went crashing to the floor with a cry, pushed himself up onto one knee as she circled back around for her wounded prey. She wasn't worried about the other two. She'd left them for the Unrelenting.

Oh lord, I got Berrod... so much potential... so many possibilities... ...time for bara.

Unless THF is in the works as the second Rogue job... Orichalcum. That thing's been an oft-overlooked staple since FF I.

Dat relic. Dat female AF. Hnnnnnnnggggggggg.

I've heard about this series but never seen it. Clearly I need to watch it now. =) Read it, the manga is by far better Seconded.

MUST. GET. VERAD.

...didn't I already do that via poison under the direction of Chancellor Jin'li?

"We'll be seeing you shortly, then." The lift stopped. "Hawker's Alley, merchants' strip due west, follow the rich-as-shite Seeker," Bartolomeo whispered as the doors opened. "Be slow about it; I need to check for tails." He let his head drop, drew his hood further forward and down, crossed his arms, hid each hand in the other's sleeve, and walked out the lift ahead of Bolvi, past the attending Yellowjacket at a brisk pace, robe billowing as he left his companion behind. A moment later, he was gone, lost amidst the populace.

"Bartolomeo Castille" glanced up at "Bolvi Blackblade" with a frown as the lift worked its magic. They were on their way to the lower decks now; he'd made it clear to Bolvi that they'd be passing old Baderon's establishment by. Not worth the risk of the Wench's proprietor recognizing either of them and giving the game away. "H-hawkers'?" He yelled in a high pitch, determined to see to it that his voice would carry well above and beyond the noisy racket of the lift. "N-n-not unless you mean that alley with all of the, the, the disreputable types. Seems an awfully crowded place to meet, ser... n-n-not that I'm doubting you! Just... just... how are we to find you amidst all of... well... that?"

He bit his lower lip and nodded, then turned to his rucksack and started rummaging through it. "Cathal Lynn... missin' persons case. Figured as much. Prepped our contact for materials as well, just t'be safe; I'll take care of that loose end shortly, don't you worry." He dug his robe out of the bag, threw it over his head and drew it on, adjusted the cowl until the hanging shadows obscured most of his face. He glanced over his shoulder at Montblanc, then eyed Erik. "Can the little maniac fake a near-crash?" The passengers were livid... well, one of the two was, anyroad. "C-c-cannot believe that the Alliance would sanction such a... a..." The shorter man pivoted on one heel and thrust an accusatory finger back at the smoking airship. "...a deathtrap! And don't even get me started on the crew! Arrogant, selfish, rude...!" They made their way over to the gated counter that awaited all arrivals who graced Limsa Lominsa's airship landing. The attendant on duty - Keeper, prim, proper - gave them a small, polite, indulgent smile as she slid a ledger towards them, along with quill and inkwell. "Sers. Your names and business here, please. Might I inquire if the captain will be along soon?" The midlander took up the quill in his right hand, dipped it in the ink repeatedly, and looked up at her with wide, open eyes. Indignant shock, that's what that expression was. Something along the lines of, 'how dare you suggest such a thing'. He scowled as he bent down over the rather large tome and scribbled furiously. "I should hope not! Accursed man and his engineer are arms deep in... in..." He gave the Falcon a curt and dismissive wave with his other hand. "...in insuring that our return voyage is a safe one!" He dropped the quill into the well, spun the tome around, reached into his robe and drew out... something. His highlander companion looked vaguely amused as he shoved the ledger back towards the Keeper and flashed her a... a badge? Red on argent... her eyes widened slighty, but she gave no other sign. Good. A professional. The latest entry in the ledger simply read, CALL YOUR SUPERVISOR. DO IT QUIETLY. DO IT NOW. "Just a moment, sers, and I'll see to it that you're on your way." She bowed and scurried off to see if she could find someone, anyone, who knew just exactly they were supposed to do when someone with something like that made landfall. The two men didn't wait to find out. They turned abruptly, passed quietly through the gate, and headed straight for the lift. The shorter of the pair replaced his identification, dug through his robe again, came up with a small pearl, and popped it into his ear, held it there with two fingers. "Master Raz! Our illustrious client has finally arrived. Pray tell, where can we meet you?"

Note to self: go read the Sun Sword series and go watch The Wire. Roen at times reminds me of Mrs. Brisby. Not in that their situations are similar (they aren't), but in how they meet, tackle, and overcome the relative hardships and difficulties of their respective lives.

Boat. Masts. Airship. No masts. A fact he was lamenting as he went sprawling onto his back and slid halfway down the deck. He rolled upright, one hand against the planks and the other clutching at his bandana, just in time for the airship to lurch. The deck fell out from under him by a good half-dozen fulms or so, and he fell. Slammed into the wood. He growled, regained his feet, and scrambled for the wheelhouse as the Falcon started climbing again. He caught a door handle, prepared himself for the worst... only for the airship to finally level out. He pulled himself inside, closed the doors, and glanced forward to find Erik at the helm. "Let's not do that again, shall we?" "Harder? Harder?!" The night's lack of rest, spent alone planning for as many contingencies as he could think of, hadn't helped his mood. He was particularly neurotic that morning as he glowered at the mammet before glancing about the wheelhouse. "...harnesses. First thing I'm commissioning Askier for is some gods-damned harnesses. And maybe some safety lines for the deck."

...I just lost. But then, so did you. Along with everyone else reading this thread.

You say muscle-y, but then you post soft curves as a sigh emote. Make up your mind.

Natalie.... (I wasted post #500 on you. I hope you're happy.)

[align=center] LIIIIIIIAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRR!!!~[/align]

...at first I thought this was a young Verad.

I've been waiting for this chance... Cody, from Tropic Thunder (always rarin' to go!)... ...with some Kukaku Shiba, from Bleach (all that energy! hyperactive! sly! missing arm!) ... ... and Captain Harlock. (suave mofo!) EDIT: Ninja'd. Oh well. Here's Crofte. “But no living man am I! You look upon a woman. Éowyn I am, Éomund's daughter. You stand between me and my lord and kin. Begone, if you be not deathless! For living or dark undead, I will smite you, if you touch him.”

Osric gaped. He couldn't help it. Street urchins such as he'd been, as a general rule, did not get to ride around in airships. Gutterborn - honorary or otherwise - rarely got to see such things, let alone board one. Even after starting his soldiering career, he'd never bothered; he'd been too concerned with sending what coin he could back to his family, and that had meant sticking to the vastly cheaper fares of the ferries. The one time - the one time - he had flown in one was when he and Od'hilkas had commandeered one to go after Adin Adonis. Airships were rare. Airships were expensive. And here Erik has four of them parked beneath his gods-damned basement. He followed Erik around, taking in the tour as if from a distance... until, that is, they re-emerged topside and he heard a familiar voice. Osric went scrambling for his pack, thought better of it, ran back into the cabin, dropped the tote bag off to one side, raided the icebox, scrambled back to the deck, reached the railing, and chucked a mirror apple at Askier's head. "You... you... you ASS." His face was pulled into a frown of utter disbelief, and betrayal was painted across his features. "Here I was, spending a fortune on fares to and from Limsa, while this... you... say something next time!" He pouted.

Osric slowly stepped backwards as he gave Erik a shite-eating grin that was half man and half predatory canine. "Aye, that'll do. Reckon I can work with that. Was goin' t'pass ye off as some Syndicate man, but lookin' at the gear... no question 'bout it. We're going fer Resistance smuggler 'n' crime lord. Y'deal in arms, but y'front it as precious metals. 'Cover story'... lookin' fer some cousin's relation. Y'owe him a debt, see, and y'don't like debts. Make y'rankle. Leave y'pissed." He nodded to himself. "Aye. Stories work best in layers." He held up a finger. "No roughin', tumblin', or consortin' with jacks or serps. Next t'last thing we're wantin' is local authority slowin' us down." He pivoted on one heel and reached for the front door's handle. "Off t'Vesper 'n' the ferry, aye?"

I think you'll do just fine, Ms. CAN-SOMEBODY-SCRATCH-MY-NOSE-PLEASE.

The door opened on darkness, and the silhouette within nearly gave Osric a heart attack. I keep forgetting how gods-damned tall he is. He nodded to the captain and stepped back, affording the highlander room to clear the doorframe and step into the hallway. He cleared his throat as Erik turned to close the door; they had a lot to discuss, a lot of ground to cover, and not nearly enough time to do so. Best get started. "Beggin' y'pardon, ser, but I think it best that I brief you on the move." They started back up the hallway, headed for the lobby. Osric fielded questions as they walked, Erik falling into stride and then gradually overtaking his subordinate, forcing the midlander to double-time it to keep the pace. "First and foremost, you'll be needing an alias. The less the locals learn about you, the better. Twelve forbid they learn who and what we are, as that'd close off so many avenues, shut so many doors... ain't worth the risk. I'll leave the name to you, ser, but make it a good one, please. The more merchant-soundin', the better." His voice shifted as they turned one last corner and spotted the lobby down the hall, took on a tone of deference and respect that he hadn't used since Halatali. That came as a surprise, and he couldn't help but stammer as they approached a certain door... "J-just a moment, ser." Hells is wrong with me? He swung his rucksack around, opened a zipper and pulled forth a folded piece of parchment before hoisting the bag back onto his shoulder. He sped up a tad as he did so, moving ahead of Erik just enough to quickly kneel and slip the note - no letter, this time - under Kahn'a's door before falling back into line. THE BOSS AND I ARE OFF TO LIMSA FOR A FEW SUNS. WE HAVE OUR PEARLS. MAN THE FORT. - SHADOW He glanced up at the captain, saw the man nod, and resumed speaking, his native accent gradually slipping back into his voice as he loosened up, as he prepared himself mentally for the journey. He recalled each and every stone and plank and tankard and whore that he had ever experienced. He called up Dirk Problemsolver to the forefront. "M'first choice in an information broker fell through. Alias 'Kink'. She didn't want t'deal; has a bit o' history with m'self. Long story short, had t'fall back on m'second choice. Man's alias is 'Raz'. He's another streetrunner - what you'd call an informant. I've arranged for you two t'meet, though time 'n' place ain't set yet. Don't dare be seen with you on the streets, so him 'n' his'll be showin' y'round. Bastard wanted carte blanche from the 'client'. Gonna haggle'm down to a hefty sack o' gil and a single favor from me wit' line veto, courtesy a knife t'his throat." They passed into the lobby, and Osric lifted a hand and two fingers in greetings to the Seeker at the front desk. "Buttons." He walked over, reached around, pulled the bottom drawer of the desk open, and lifted a small tote bag from within. "Apologies." The bag had been Askier's; Osric had filled it with the medical supplies and instructions that Alexei had left them, after thoroughly inspecting, scrounging through, and emptying the bag. It belonged to an explosives specialist, after all. Hells, one could probably set a light to it and watch the blasted thing go up in flames and smoke. He threw the tote bag over his other shoulder as he walked back over to Erik, dug at a pocket, and came up with a tiny green linkpearl. A spare, not the the original he had now in his right ear. He held the spare pearl up to the captain. "This bein' a network of contacts what took me moons t'put together. Ain't as extensive as it was 'fore the runt forced me t'hand it off t'Sizzie for a while, but the framework's still there. Linkshell ain't secure: damned thing has all sorts o' unsavory types on it. Criminals, Garleans, the works. But. They're all competent, they use each other when they need to, and if'n y'need a question answered, more oft than not they can answer it. Know that I'm givin' y'this so y'can listen in. Ain't safe for you of all folks t'use it; at best, they'd all get cold feet and leave me hangin' dry. And a warnin'... I left a pearl with Kink. As bait." He hefted it in his hand. "Take it."

o.e Changed img hosting..hope that helps since code looks fine They're all working now! \o/ ...and gosh Surilian's Wanderings is pretty. :surprise: Also, grats on nabbing post number 10,000 with your OP!

The corporal wasted no time: she rolled out of the traveling pack, rations spilling this way and that, her small boots finding purchase on the cobblestones despite the blanket of snow. Her little fists clenched tight around the hilt and the sheath of her sword as she gave their surroundings a cursory scan. Her eyes eventually fixated on the billowing smoke from further down the district, and she frowned as she belted her blade. One quick glance at her companion... "My kind are rare in these parts. Should prove a fine little distraction for your fellow 'knights'. Keep up." And with that, she was off, sprinting down the alley, left hand holding her scabbard level as she ran, right hand poised over the hilt and ready to draw. She cut corners where she found them, darted under tables and through stalls where possible, hopped up and rolled over stonework where it wasn't. She hurried. If the cycles spent serving with the Flames had taught her anything, it was this... Explosions always mean trouble.