Melkire

*runs up to them and raises a hand* "Put up y'dukes." *drops*

I'm still waiting for a full moon so that I can ring a cowbell while drinking a cup of freshly squeezed grapefruit juice through a complex organization of five bendy straws. On-topic, as far as random open world RP encounters go... I rode alongside Ragnar Eisenberg once on the way back to Ul'dah. Snail's pace. Suffice to say that Osric was a little confused as to why the man wasn't putting his chocobo through its paces. YOU'RE NOT GETTING ANY YOUNGER, Y'KNOW.

...you started with Runescape. And you have the original sprite of Meowth for an avatar. I owe you a greeting. HI! WELCOME TO RPC!

Pugilist course starting in 50 minutes! Meet at Scorpion Crossing, just outside the Gate of the Sultana! Bring your fists. >_> P.S. I'm gonna have to be semi-OoC for this to make timelines work, as Osric is technically in Limsa atm.

...that, should security regulations and procedures be overhauled as outlined in the recommendations above, incidents such as the one at Nanawa will cease to occur. Signed, Chief Flame Sergeant Osric Melkire Co-Signed, Ser Kage Kiryuu Ser Lambert Arkwright He stared at those signatures for a few moments more, then slipped his copy of the report back into the manila folder where it belonged. A soft, pleasant moan came from behind him, and he turned in his chair as sheets shifted to smile at her as she rolled over, fast asleep beneath the covers, still in bed. He turned back to his desk and reached up to turn down the wick on the oil lamp there, dimming the light further from an orange glare to a reddish glow. They were in Limsa Lominsa now, on leave for some much needed and much deserved rest. It had been two suns since Northern Thanalan, two suns since the mere thought of the woman he loved had saved his life. Kanaria. Gull. Bird. Fly. Those were the final thoughts that rushed through his head as he staggered into the stonework between the merlons, and those thoughts gave way to instinct, and instinct had reached out with one gnarled hand to drag in his determination: he was not going to die. His arms shot up to full extension, hands grabbing at the rope, gripping it tight as he deliberately leaned into the fall, as his legs hit the stone and he went over. He curled over as he fell headfirst, arms straining in anticipation as he followed through, momentum helping as he swung his legs up and over and around the rope above him, crossing his legs, then yanking them back, finding purchase against the rope. He gave it everything he had: legs pulled back tight, hands and arms pulled in tight. He fell. He fell with some slack in the rope between his hands and his neck. He fell as he pulled. The rope snapped taut. His arms were nearly wrenched out of their sockets. His legs ached. His back screamed. His neck burned, but didn't snap. His neck didn't snap. He screamed, a blood-curling cry of agony that echoed throughout the small camp at the watchtower. They knew he lived, now, but there was no time to fix their mistake; he'd been heard, and those Flames and Blades who had not been bought off to look the other way were headed over now to investigate. His would-be killers fled. The rope. The rope had to be cut before his stamina gave out and he hanged anyway. He strained further, doubling his right hand's grip, releasing the rope with his left as he drew his legs further down, tucking further into a ball. There was an instant's marvel in which he wondered whether he looked like an upside-down fetus, then his left hand found the inside of his left boot and pulled the knife from therein. He eased up just a tad on the tension again, then started sawing at the rope between his neck and his right hand with the blade. He twisted in place, glimpsing back and down. It was a twenty fulm drop to the next stone battlement. This is going to suck. He kept sawing anyway. Less than a minute later, he fell. Osric Melkire hanged and lived. He assorted the rest of his papers and tucked them back into the folder as well. Askier's trial was in less than a sennight, and Osric would be spending his sleepless nights sifting through the evidence, looking for an out, looking for a way to exonerate the man for only doing what he had to do to save his sister. He moved to stand, and was amazed once more when his knee didn't complain. They had operated on him as soon as the commotion had died down, as soon as he had returned from escorting Master Rosethorne to the processing plant. Afterwards, Madam Rysen had sat him down and explained the particulars to very clearly. "It will feel as good as new, but it w-w-won't be," she had told him. The stutter was not indicative of fear, anxiety, or concern; that was simply how Daphine spoke. He'd grown used to the verbal tic, over the past year; it barely registered with him anymore. "You'll have full freedom of movement, full flexibility, full strength... but the damage was extensive. We can't rewind time, Mister Melkire. If something like this happens again... if it breaks again... you will have to l-l-lose the leg." He'd decided he'd worry about that when that sun came. 'til then, he'd be careful. The operation alone, he could have handled. Could have gone about his business, gone back to work, back to duty. There had been the ceruleum poisoning to consider, though: he'd gone swimming in the stuff, to pull out Zachary Evans after that bravehearted man had dived in after Askier's sister. They'd been warned: no aetherite contact and no fighting or any other such strenuous activity for at least a sennight. So he'd applied for leave after filing his report the very next morning, put in for six suns. That request had been approved. Before they'd left, he'd made an excuse out of dropping by his room at the Hourglass to pick up a few things. He'd made that excuse to check in on Teryn and the others. The companions were still targets; had been, since Sedalyne had been attacked a few nights ago. So he'd gone to Peak, presented the women's case as if it were one he was officially working on, and asked for a protection detail. He had tried to find Lanza - Lanza and Liliana would've been perfect for this, he trusted them - but the former Blade and the current Flame had been scarce. So instead, Corporal Kokojo was staying with the women, and Otopa had honored him by assigning his best guards to the hall outside their room... and his best archer outside, just below the companion's window. He'd called it in to Lady Grace, of course. It was the best he could do - he had to go out. Ul'dah had been smothering him, and he needed to be away for a while. He'd check in on them when he got back, but for now... for now, they were safe. His eyes glanced over to his linkpearls, strewn atop the small bag he usually kept them in. Orange: the Flames. Red: Peak's. Blue with three black dots: Heaven's Gate. Lavender: hers. His heart sank into his stomach as his eyes fell on the next two: sky-blue and green. He had forgotten. In the hectic craziness that had come to characterize this past sennight, he had forgotten Vale and the Miqo'te. Had nearly forgotten Erik, as well. He reached for a quill and tore a slip of parchment from a spare scroll, then wrote: [align=center]Headed out for a bit to meet with D'lyhhia. Should be back soon. Don't get up; I've ordered breakfast in bed. Have my pearl with me; if you need to reach me, just call. Looking forward to your surprise.[/align] He left the note atop his pillowcase, then headed for the armoire. The sun would be rising soon; already, the songbirds had started to chirp. He pulled his clothes out, pulled them on. Not the Flames uniform: he was on vacation, damn it. He went for the other outfit instead. Finally dressed, he made his way over to the bed. He couldn't afford the luxury of a good night's rest, these suns, but for her sake, he had taken the two or three bells he could afford and spent them with her, lending her the comfort of his warmth to lull her to sleep, before slipping out from underneath the sheets to head over to his desk. Here, now, he bent down and pulled the blankets further up and around her shoulders, then planted a soft kiss on her forehead. His turban was hanging from the bedpost; he left it there. Today, he had his bandana to wear. He made his way across the room and out the door, snatching up his pearls as he went, dropping them back into their bag and the bag back into its belt pouch. He locked the door behind him; she had her own key, and the establishment had the master. He stopped to have a word with the innkeeper, then left the Mizzenmast behind, left the Wench. He plucked out and held up the two pearls in one hand, looking, considering. Sky blue, or green? Green. You owe them. And Rosethorne said he needed more time, last you checked. He pocketed the Blue Skies pearl, and slipped the little green one into his ear and held it there. "This is Thomys to the Exiles. If anyone's hearing this... I owe you an apology. And an explanation." He started moving faster. Turned a walk into a brisk morning jog. "I have news."

As with Siha, Thursday at 8:30 works better for me. Could do Wednesday though.

Six gil for some pumpkinweed ale is such a steal. I'm in.

Heads-up: won't be able to make good on 4-6PM happen today for Pugilist Courses, will be falling back on 4-6PM this Sunday. Thank you for understanding.

The Community of Ul'dahn Walls Appreciators can testify that one needs to wander around in town to be able to catch jewels of RP, eh? Indeed, indeed. The Wall Appreciators tell the truth. X3 ...gonna kill you both. Swear to gods.

I kind of like the shared one though, because we get to spy on each other. Muhahahah But yeah an all sultansworn one could be nice. ...curse you, Nat. Curse you forever.

Another round of /applause for Askier and Raven, after reading both logs I realized they must have been toon-hopping from main to alt and back like mad just to keep things rolling. /cheer Sihaaaaaaaa, quiiiiiit iiiiiiiiiiiit. :cry: ...besides. Zac is obviously a bottom. Did you see how many times he got flustered and/or stuttered? You are a horrible friend and I don't want to eat sushi with you anymore ;; @Melkire's logs: How did Roen make it in there??! Roen comes up twice; once because you mentioned her OoC for gods know what reason, and once because Osric needed to check something with Siha.

We'll just ask Merri to build Askier a new eye. ...he can do that, right?

...I counted on Kage to take hits for us. And he took them heroically. That's a win in my book, not a loss.

[align=center]NORTH THANALAN, REPRESENT[/align] [align=center]THE LOG[/align] Things to note: Log has been edited to protect the privacy of numerous individuals who messaged me regarding several different incidents. Any /tells that remain are (or should be >_> ) drama-free. If you would like something removed from the pastebin, please PM me. I will Make It So. Linkshell Channel 8 was the one used for the event. Linkshell Channel 2 is the official Immortal Flames channel. The final resolution was not recorded due to maintenance-imposed time constraints. To sum up: Merri and Blue Skies were confronted by 'sworn and Flames and asked to return the ceruleum fuel. A compromise was reached, and Sgt. Melkire will be filing a report and making recommendations to insure that an incident of this nature never happens again.

BADASS- I mean, pugilist courses will be Sat. & Sun, 4-6 PM PDT. I'll be holding two this weekend instead of one, as there's only be one sign-up and I want to leave some leeway time-wise if anyone else wants to join in.

Thanks for coming, Reiichi! Thanks to you, Natalie, and Zularti for playing our mercenary villains! You guys are great. ...you. IT WAS YOU! lol. Thanks for hosting, Askier. From my angle on one half of the event, it was awesome. Had a lot of fun! Osric's taking a little leave time to go visit Limsa. Will totally be back for the trial. Looking forward to it. :thumbsup: In a deck stacked full of aces, you and Blue Skies turned out to be -THE- ace in the hole. Thanks for coming! :bouncy:

Chief Flame Sergeant Osric Melkire paced back and forth atop the stoneworks of the Eastern Watchtower, and stared out into the frigid cold night air, hoping to catch a glimpse through the fog... a glimpse of something... from the direction of Castrum Meridianum. Soon. This all ends very, very soon. His sister was out there, somewhere. Not his own; Askier's.That was the man's ransom price for Ul'dah: one for thousands. That was his price, and gods damn them both, Osric couldn't blame him. We're going to bring her home. He stopped in his tracks and blinked, listening. Not a sound but for the shrill whistle of the night air... where was Private Dawn? She'd been up here just a moment ago. He walked over to the east end of the tower and looked down. No one there, either. No Blades, no Flames... no one. A freezing drop of certainty chilled his heart just as a single large, burly arm coiled itself around his neck and pulled up and back, cutting off his air and hoisting him bodily off the ground, leaving his feet flailing. His eyes went wide, and his first gut reaction sent his hands scrambling for his neck, desperately trying to free himself... Knife. He dropped his right hand to his jerkin... and recalled that he'd given his best blade to her. He curled up his right leg, hand dropping to the boot... as another burly arm grabbed his and held it out at full extension, just as a third grabbed his left arm and did the same. "Watch your back," she had said. "And you don't agree?" the other had asked. "We saw you there, with her," said the deep, ugly voice belonging to the man cutting off his air. "At the 'sand. What, you thinkin' we were blind? Stupid, or somethin'? She ought've decked you. She didn't. So we knew. Worthless piece o' trash what can't even do his job. You're dead." Someone slipped something brown, rough, and scraggly down his face and around his neck. His eyes widened further as it tightened 'til it was choking him, too. A noose. No. "Syndicate says goodbye." And with that, the arms released him, and a boot planted himself on his spine and pushed out, sending him careening towards the edge, through the gap in the merlons, and his legs hit the stonework.... Daphine. Raandal. Kiest. Mialyre. Kahn'a. D'lyhhia. Nanamo. Andralyn. Ma. Dani. Cori. Thomys. Kanaria. No. No. He went over. The rope snapped taut.

Pffff. You had THREE sweet little lala honeys sitting on your ledge that whole time, but no Kage! And I was heartbroken the whole time! T_T I was raiding. "Guys there's 3 lalas on my railing in Quicksand, one of them is Jajara and I can't... I can't- /whine" "T_T They're not there anymore" I feel like this is the appropriate time and place for this quote:

I apologize in advance for this, Haeden, but... I'm not really sure I know who the villain is anymore. I mean, look at this guy's face:

To clarify, we need at least four GLD/PLD/MRD/WARs who are at least level 25. You'll be running around in tin cans... uh, I mean, Heavy Iron armor.

...I love you too, Kahn'a. You ass.

tl;dr: we have a forum RP thread going and we'd like to know if any Lominsan peeps would like to join in robbing some papers from Maelstrom Command. 8-)

"Done, then." Five. He'd killed five of them. Three of 'em children. Killed them with a bag o' coin and a mouthful o' words. His knives had only sealed whatever blood pact he had goin' with Thal. Thal, and Rhalgr. His stomach was still churning when he finally sat down to the table farthest from the bar. He kicked his legs up and onto the tabletop, pushing back in his chair 'til he was leaning so far that the seat was balanced, poised, on its two hind legs. The Wench wasn't particularly busy tonight, and that might've been why the short-haired brunette at the counter spotted him so quickly. The Miqo'te lad had been bad enough; jumped on the way to Yayabuko, and he'd been obliged to slit the kit's throat and give the body to the Navigator's waters. The Lalafell lass would've been the worst, though... had it not been for the Hyur lad. Thomys. That could've been Thomys. His eyes fixed on Corinna as the serving girl made her way over. Murderer. You're a murderer. I'm a murderer. Gods, why did I ever let you outta the brig? Why'd I bring you topside? Shoulda left you in the bilge to rot. The boy in his head scowled as he shoved Osric aside. Weren't any time for this self-pityin' gobshite. He dropped his eyes as the girl came up to him, pad 'n' quill in hand, ready to take his order. "What are you doin' here," she hissed at him through a forced smile full of clenched teeth. "Cori," he said in a whisper, "shut up and listen to me. Take the rest of the night off. The next three nights. Tell'm ye'll be over at the Bismarck, for extra lessons. Get word home t'Ma. Keep Tom off the streets. And ask ol' Baddy if I can have twenty-three at the 'mast. I'm going to need it." "Ossy..." He didn't look up at her; he didn't care to see the concern in her eyes. Bad enough that he could hear it catching in her throat. "Ossy, are you working again?" He grit his teeth. 'Course he was working again. Why else would he be here, when she'd told him outright, four years ago, told him - near spat in his face, really - to never, ever visit the Wench during her shift? "Piss 'n' blood, Cori, move your ass. I've got a problem. Don't make it worse." A moment's harsh silence... and then came the scribble and scratch of quill on paper. "Yessir, that'll be one glass, comin' right up. Thank you." She bowed, arms folded over her pad, then stormed off. A single glass of pineapple juice arrived not a minute later; he looked up, and caught Tenfinger's eye. The man at the bar nodded. The boy drained the glass in one long pull, slammed it back onto the table, slipped out of his chair, and made his way over to the Mizzenmast. Two flights of stairs, a door, and one dead would-be assassin later, and he was in twenty-three. Dirk Problemsolver was back in town, and gods damn did he have a problem.

Hey! Give me some credit too! Like Osric working your character, I helped Ruru! :bouncy: Don't make me rep you again. >_>

Yvelont is correct, we can fit you in. Either the "Faces of Mercy" are after you because you left Ishgard, or maybe after someone your character cares about? Or maybe they aren't, but Kiht thinks they will be, and tracks you down. She is constantly looking for exiles. Hmm... Kiht in Ul'dah... "Thomys" better not be around for that, or he'll be upset. Outta my city, woman. :evil: