Raz

I've actually seen this happen a few times before, though I'm not a bit closer to understanding people who do things like this. :dazed: The thing is though, most people who I see doing this kind of thing aren't actually trolling, they're just (in the nicest way possible) stupid. It's rude, even moreso given the fact that this was at an event. Strolling in and waving your weapon at everyone is generally gonna be met with the same IC, and expecting all present to drop whatever they're doing to get killed or maimed by your op-super-sayain-teleporting-invincible character is just not cool. If it's an RPC circlejerk because people here understand that being rude isn't gonna get you anywhere then, well, I guess that's that.:angel:

Hey there! Welcome to the game and the RPC. Getting on to Balmung or Gilgamesh is pretty damn hard at the moment. Your best bet would be to transfer over, as that bypasses the character restriction, if you're willing to pay it. There are lots of super helpful people here if you have any questions, and feel free to PM for anything /wave Enjoy your stay!

Hey there - welcome back to the game. Feel free to give me a /poke in game if you see me around.

Welcome back! I'm also just returning from a long hiatus (man, there is just so much new stuff!) Feel free to hit me up if you have any questions (I'll try to help!) or if you simply fancy some RP.

Isabela's handling it... Pretty well, actually, considering she's never even heard of the Au Ra. She's more intrigued by them than anything else, and perhaps slightly nervous around them. Mostly, she'll just stare at them from afar because apparently nobody taught her that's rude. :bouncy:

Isabela thinks that the glass should be half-full with wine (or full-full.) Isabela also thinks that a glass sitting around is likely dirty, and would say something groundbreaking like, "Somebody should clean that."

Congratulations! Autumn is a beautiful name. And welcome back.

Isabela's stomach dropped to her boots, her palms began to sweat, her heart picked up speed. "No," she said, face screwed up like a sulking girl's , and she was surprised by the steady steel in her voice. "I am not marrying anyone, least of all- I'm not." Her parents stood before her. Isabela's mother was a woman of fourty-something summers with an elegant and graceful demeanour. She was dressed impeccably as always - black heeled shoes and a crimson dress that flowed just below the knees, adorned with beautiful gems which glittered in the sunlight pouring in through the window. Her father, on the other hand, was a man a decade older, with a harsh face and a large gut. His hands, which were stuffed in the pockets of his doublet, came to his sides in tight fists. One hand lifted to jab a stubby forefinger at Isabela's chest. "You'll do as we say, girl. We raised you, paid for you tutors, your clothes, your food. I'll not tolerate your ungratefulness." Isabela narrowed her eyes at her father. "Oh, stop pretending you've given me everything. You've spoiled Arthur rotten since he was born, and he only wastes the coin on gambling and whoring." Isabela's mother gasped, covering her mouth with a dainty, jewelled hand. "Isabela Rutherford, don't you dare talk about your brother like that! Arthur is responsible with his coin and time. Indeed, you could learn from his example. We no longer give you money because you waste it all on your foolish endeavours. Dusty relics and musty books? Pah!" Isabela scowled fiercely at her mother, tersely stating, "You weren't so dismissive when my findings paid off your dressmaker's debts, were you, mother dear?" Before another comment could be made, however, Isabela's father cut in. "Enough. You will be getting married, wether you like it or not. His family is extremely wealthy, and that's to say nothing of their ties to the Syndicate. Do you know what this will mean for us?" "Yes. It means you'll be able to prance around and pretend you're more important than you are while kissing the arses of your betters." Her father's face contorted in anger and he raised his hand. Isabela flinched, waiting for the blow, but her mother's voice rang out. "Alexander! Don't hit her," she shrilled at her husband, placing her hand over his. The man relented, glaring daggers at his daughter. "No less than the ungrateful brat deserves, Sarah," he spits. She ignored the comment, instead turning to face Isabela with a wet sheen to her eyes. "Please, darling, won't you do this for us? He is very handsome, you know, and he's interested in you. Won't you at least meet him at dinner tonight?" Isabela opened her mouth to reply, to tell them both she'd rather dive from a canyon than marry someone for their gain, but, as always, the fake tears welling in her mother's eyes filled her with guilt. "You know I can't. I told you both - I'm already court-" "You're young and foolish, girl. You're a Rutherford; I'll not have you sully our name with your... dalliance with that 'adventurer,'" her father spat the last word as though it were a rotten fruit, his ugly face twisting in disgust; at her, she knew, as much as Aldric. Isabela knew arguing with her parents was futile at best, and she could see her father's hair-thin restraint already fraying. She sighed tiredly. "Fine," she said in a small voice, "I'll meet him." Her mother embraced her, spouting things like 'thank you,' and 'I'm so proud of you, darling,' while she stood stiffly, feeling as though she were a doll suspended by strings; absolutely powerless to control her own life.

Welcome back! If you see Bela around feel free to gimme a poke!

Hey. Welcome! I'm just back from a long break and feeling super nervous to jump back in myself There are lots of EU players on Balmung - myself included. Feel free to hit me up on here or in-game for some RP or whatever else. Enjoy your stay

To be honest, I'm not sure I know a community where these things don't happen, be it in games, RP, forums, real life. It sucks, but people are people. All anyone can truly do is move on.

Thanks! Hope to see you around. :-)

hey there! I'm Tanner, or Shay, but you can actually call me whatever you like (Godzilla totally works for me.) I'm actually not new to the forums; I used to RP quite frequently until I had to take a break for a good long while. Unfortunately I forgot my log in details, so here I am trying to get back in to the swing of things (a LOT has changed woah):dazed: --MMORPG background Hmm I played a lot of WoW before FF, a little Runescape, ect ect. --RP experience I've been Roleplaying for a few years now! I believe I started with a few of my WoW friends, though that was only forum and IM stuff. FF was my first time Roleplaying in an MMO, so I'm still very new to it (about a year??) --Character ideas/info Mm, o lord. I've had so many different ideas it's pretty hard to get anything cemented, I'm super indecisive at best. But I very much like the idea of RPing a character from a wealthy family. An Ul'dahn noble perhaps? Noble rivalries and underhanded politicking really appeal to me. I'm totally open to some ideas, if fact I'd appreciate them. --How did you learn about the coalition? hmm, I honestly can't remember. I think a player told me about it. --What kind of a role-player are you aiming to be? Light, medium, or heavy? My time spent RPing in-game will be very sporadic at first, what with HW and actually getting my butt to finish the MSQ, but once I'm back in the groove of things I'll be medium-heavy. I'm also always up for some forum/IM stuff. --Anything from real life you're comfortable with sharing? (Work, school, hobbies, etc) sure! I'm a 19 year old student from London studying art at college, to my immense regret. Among my greatest passions are games, stories (surprise!) and art, and I've been known to ramble. I'm a total scatterbrain too, but hey, what do you expect, I'm a student. Whew! Introductory posts are always so hard. So yeah, that's it. As I've already said, I'd be super appreciative of any ideas - perhaps even some help fleshing out a character, or to brush up on the lore. Thanks!

Yeah, I'm buying the PS4 version, the beta was a blast. PSN's AtomicShay for anyone else who's getting it. :chocobo:

Awesome idea. Thanks for doing this! I'm sure Vivenne will need something like this at some point.

In her line of work, Vivenne's learned that names are often temporary, but sometimes useful. When she actually gets around to conducting business - like making threats for information - she's found that anominyity and employing specific names is the best way to get what she wants. Is the person she's trying to get information from in debt? Throw in their moneylender's name. In short: names are tools. Useful and pretty. As for everything else, she introduces herself as Viv. Most people don't know her full name unless they ask. She doesn't mind nicknames, either.

After leading the client through the narrow, less-trodden streets and arriving at the docks, Skit watched the exchange between the client and a man who he called Cathal with an air of utter boredom. He listened regardless, and was rewarded with a few details. Names. Places. The man named Cathal had called the client Mynhier. His next destination was the Shroud. A woman named Holly, something about a child, and the name of his man currently in the city: Osric. None of this meant a thing to Skit, nor did it interest him, but Cenric was on edge and maybe, just maybe, he could use the information. Skit knew the many steps to this dance; knew that this Mynhier would thank him and make his excuses to leave. So Skit bows, smiles, that ever-dazzling smile. "I trust we're finished, then? Wonderful. Do take care, sir!" With that, they part ways. Once he makes the corner, Skit reaches up and presses a finger to the linkpearl in his ear. "Cenric? My part is done... Why are you out of breath?... You're about to climb? So you foisted your dirty work on me so you go could for a cl-... I will not be quiet!... Hmph. I called to tell you I have information regarding your client and his man, among other things... Are you listening? Good." -- "So.. Me client's name's Mynhier, eh? And 'es lookin' fer a kid? His kid?... What's that? His man in the city's called Osric?" Cenric asks, clueless, and glances at Zhavi. "Hm. Thank ye, Skit. I'll be sure to get ye good'n drunk soon!" Well, wasn't that interesting? Cenric isn't sure if the information will be of any use to him - he has no reason to cross anybody after all, but if it sheds some light on what powers are currently at play in his city... No sooner has he got off the line with Skit does his other linkpearl sound - the one connected to Bart-... Osric. He quickly swaps out the linkpearls. "I'm glad yer man's happy!" He says, as brightly as he can. "Ye wanna meet at the same place? Aye, o'course. Ye remember the way? Best ye don't get lost. I'll be there soon as I can." Cenric can't help but feel suspicious, can't help the paranoia that could rival Zhavi's clawing it's way into his mind. This Osric was far from threatening, stumbling over his words with that air of uncertainty. But there was nothing to say that wasn't an act - a very good one at that, and Cenric feels like he's falling deeper into somebody's schemes. He has no choice but to acquiesce, lest the man becomes suspicious - a runner who doesn't accept payment? - and he doesn't want to give the impression that he's anything more than a simple runner. So he makes ready to meet the man. (Ah, sorry I took so long!)

Skit turns to face the voice. Well, about time. My clothes will stink of this city if I linger any longer. "Ah, why hello sir! I am here on behalf of dear Raz. There have been some... complications. Curious sets of eyes, you could say. I am to accompany you away from said eyes, if it please you." He smiles. It's a well-practiced expression, charming even, intended to put people at ease. "If you would like to contact your man to accompany us, you may feel free to do so. I realize this is unorthodox, and most certainly not how I do business," he shakes his head. Really. Why am I always cleaning up after that fool? "Shall we leave now?" --- Cenric jumps at the voice, hand shooting to the knife tucked into his belt in blind panic. The voice registers before he can draw it and he stops, a frown pulling at his features. "Zhi?" Cenric doesn't think he's ever called her Zhi. "Wha-why-huh?" He stutters dumbly. Her statement raises several questions in his mind - such as exactly whyshe was here and, more curiously, why she was warning him about... whatever was wrong. He knew Zhavi. She wouldn't involve herself unless there was something to gain, and Abiga wasn't likely to involve Zhavi in her games. So what then? Despite the many questions he wants to ask, the urgency in her voice stops him. "Aye, alright. Fine. Lead the way," he says. "But would ye please tell me what's happenin'? Ain't sure I like not bein' the one shufflin' the deck."

Cenric isn't really much for sentimentality, but there are two things he won't sell off for a bit of change. The first is an old, run-of-the-mill sailor's knife which was given to him by the pirate crew that sort-of raised him. It's old and has probably changed hands countless times. It has no special properties, save for the few weathered and likely worthless gems inlaid in the hilt. The second is an old grimoire given to him by the Arcanist who taught him most of his letters. Beyond that, Cenric likes his jewellery and trinkets (which are not stolen, thank you very much). And his hats. He is very protective of his hats.

Goddammit, I deleted my draft. :dazed:

The muted crack of distant gunfire snaps Cenric from his thoughts, and it's this which alerts him to something he would have otherwise missed: the pair of eyes watching him, belonging to a lanky elezen. Gunfire was not an uncommon sound in Limsa: the Jacks could often be heard practicing their aim - on targets or rowdy pirates. Never anything to pay mind to. Ordinarily, the man would not have raised suspicion. He looked like just another lowborn, pale and awkward, too slim to be in proportion. Certainly nobody to worry about. But with the way Cenric's nerves are wound and twisted, he feels his skin prickle and heart speed up. He's sure he's a got a tail. The question is; who's he working for? Rather than making eye contact and breaking the illusion of obliviousness, he waits for a group of peddlers to break the man's line of sight before slipping from the bench and into the throng of people. If there was one thing Cenric was good at it was blending in with a crowd. He swaps out his linkpearl with the one in his pocket, his finger reaching up to press it. "Skit? Think I've got a tail. Ain't got time t'wait 'round. Find this client. Now. I'll come t'ye." Everything feels so... convenient. Abiga's sudden return, the arrival of his client - who came from Ul'dah, no less - and now, his possible tail. He feels like there's something going on, something that everyone knows about but him. And that, that makes him uncomfortable. Nophica's flamin' knickers.. Has he stepped in something more complicated than he wanted to? Can he make a clean exit, stay clear of the fallout? Somehow, he doesn't think so. Suddenly, Cenric has a very bad feeling.

It isn't too bad for me. I don't get much sleep, and so I get by with less than most. My work also keeps me awake pretty late, so my schedule coincides pretty nicely with NA players. The only EU group I can think of from the top of my head is Europa, but I'm sure there are plenty others scattered around the EU servers.

Fair warning: There's going to be child abuse in varying detail. I'm going to be dumping some short stories/scenes from various points of Cenric's past. The post aren't likely to be chronological. I'll try to leave them somewhat open so if you'd like to have some IC history with Cenric, this thread is also for that! Abiga's house never fails to amaze Cenric. It isn't a highborn's estate - not by any means, but there are three seperate rooms and two blimmin' floors. He feels tiny when he stands in the hallway of the house, the eyes of Abiga's hired thugs searing into him. He wasn't allowed here often. Only when he was well behaved and did a good job. If he did a really good job, the woman would give him an extra blanket and whatever leftovers were in the cookpot. If not, well. He'd be out on the piss-stinking streets tucked into a small alcove with naught but the rats for company. The room is well lit by warm firelight as Abiga looms above him, arms crossed and her worn face a mask of stone. "Pathetic. Again," she commands, her voice cold and sharp like steel. He knows that voice. He's not so young to fail to recognise that dangerous edge of barely-restrained anger. So he does it again. Just as she showed him. Stick him in the gut, twist the knife, pull it out at an angle. Repeat if the bastard is still standing strong. He doesn't want to make her angry. The last time he'd disobeyed her, he'd made plans in secret to leave - run away with another lad his age. To where, they didn't know. They were to steal away in the night and put this cursed city far behind them. It was a childish notion. He'd known that then and he knows it now, but it was still something to cling to. When Abiga had found out she'd unleashed a fury to rival Halone's - not because she's ever cared about him, but because he was useful, well-groomed. She'd spend a lot of time picking him apart and putting him back together how she saw fit, and Abiga wasn't one to let her assets get away from her. As punishment, she'd slashed him across the cheek with the glinting silver letter-opener in her hand. It cut deep, and he remembers the deep shade of his blood as it dripped from the blade. Remembers the dark, damp, clastrophobic walls of the storeroom she'd locked him in. He hasn't seen nor heard from his friend since. Neither has anyone else. No, he doesn't want to make her angry. But he doesn't want to do what she's grooming him for. "Better." The edge to her voice has lessened, but he doesn't dare relax. "Again." Cenric obeys. In the gut. Twist the knife.

Cenric waits. The markets are bustling, and he remembers how he used to love it. Loved watching the people; the seafolk, the merchants, the wealthy and the cut-purses eyeing them from the shade. When he was younger he'd spend the nights with the other gutter kids from lowtown, but in the day he'd watch the people at Hawkers'. It was a great place to practice picking pockets. Easier still to the lose the jacks in the crowd if he was caught. Now? Now it makes him nervous. He's on edge. His eyes flitter across the throng of people, to the ground, to the side, back to the ground. Surely Abiga didn't know he was in the city; it was unlike her to wait. But then even now, Cenric doesn't understand the woman, how her mind works. He isn't sure he wants to. He hasn't brought his lance - wanted to remain as inconspicious as possible - but he wishes it was in his hand. He's one shiv in his boot and one tucked in the belt he wears, but they don't offer much comfort. His eyes turn back to crowd. Pull it t'gether. Yer fine. It's fine. Everything's fine. Godsdamnit. He's getting restless with no sign of Skit. He hopes his client doesn't take long.

God damn, these are great!