Nero

Really, being a deer is almost entirely about context. "Deer" and "not a deer" pretty much boil down to the same thing; people often write the traits first, and the deer second. Generally speaking, deer characters aren't annoying because of the traits themselves (though in some cases it certainly doesn't help). A deer character isn't necessarily annoying to a lot of people because they turn run from wolves or become delicious venison, but because their traits are more or less written in a way that says "Please see me as a deer". It's essentially a plea for others to look at the character as a deer without actually engaging in the meaningful interactions that, well, make the character a deer. At the same time, non-deer characters are certainly capable of falling into the same trap of being, intentionally or inadvertently, written as a deer that just happens to have a character attached to it as opposed to a character that just so happens to be a deer. It's the difference between designing the chassis before the engine, or vice versa, the engine being the character's personality that drives things forward and the chassis being the "unique" traits or abilities that decorate it. And yes, some people consider it pretty important to have a nice looking chassis, but it's not the pretty chassis that determines whether or not you can be a deer in the first place. A character's status as a deer can be played in such a way that is identical to the non-deer character: "Please acknowledge my character as a deer". Non-deer characters can be just as irritating to deal with as deer characters. So how do you avoid this? That can be a difficult question to answer, but the short answer is "Don't force anything." As I'm ever so fond of saying, it depends on the context. When introducing your character as a deer to other characters, some people are attracted to the pretty chassis and want to interact with that and its implications. Some people don't care about the aesthetics and only want to see how your character is, in fact, a deer. There are some fairly safe things to use. When introducing your character, don't make overt attempts to make their status as a deer relevant. Give it a sentence or two. Less than a paragraph. And if the traits aren't relevant, then don't crowbar them in or try to draw attention to them. Let your engine do the driving--the deer--and if other characters on their own notice the pretty chassis--the non-deer--then great, you can roll with it. And don't get bent out of shape if characters don't immediately acknowledge you as a deer. Let their interest in venison and your hybrid deer grow naturally.

It was some time later when the new linkpearl fixture that Edda had given him did its job well; the stern woman had contacted him, inquiring as to his location so that they could meet in order to discuss the matter of arms and armour. It was convenient timing, as Kasrjin had just returned to the city from an expedition, and he was growing increasingly weary of the suspicious and hostile looks that his tribal furs and wild demeanour earned him. Their rendezvous was almost wordless, and the Xaela had thrust himself past the armoury's double doors quite handily. An austere Elezen attendant stood behind the desk, her face raising with curiosity at the new customer. She gave a short nod to Roen, and resumed reading a leather-bound book behind the desk. His emerald gaze glanced over the pieces with a practised, steady eye. The treated steel and coats of chain contrasted with the hardened leather gambesons and greaves that decorated the racks. Kasrjin could not help but snort at a mannequin displaying a full set of heavy plate, complete with underlying chain shirt. The armour had an absurd number of straps attached to it. "Is such heavy armament required against dragons?" he asked nonchalantly. The stern woman nodded. "Ishgardian knights and dragoons have been fighting the dragons for centuries. I cannot call myself an expert, but it is their way." She looked from one armour to the next then gave a polite but familiar nod to the Elezen armorsmith. A frown split across the Au Ra's face. "I do not have experience on the matter. It seems somewhat inefficient. Dragons are powerful creatures. Do they not make short work of such armor, thick as it is?" He reached out to trace the contours of a set of heavy brigandine. She squinted, as if to eye the armor more closely. "If one is facing off against a true dragon, then nay. I do not think any amount of armor or steel will save you. But aevis and smaller dragonskin, it may save you from a gash to your chest from a tailwhip." Roen's explanation prompted a sage nod from him. "I see. That is sound." He shifted to the other wall of the armory. "...what do you recommend, in this environment?" He glanced towards her, gesturing to the white fur lining around her breastplate. "Your own armaments appear to be heavy, given that it is winter." She glanced up at him. "They can line chain or plate with fur or other insulating material to ward off the cold. Have you been in other forms of armor other than furs and leather?" He turned his attention back to the armor, shaking his head. "No. Metal is a valuable resource, and it fares poorly against the cold. A single...that," he gestured to one of the full suits of armor. "That may become a hundred nails, which in turn may become a dwelling. Creating such armor is wasteful. And Khadai combat doctrine demands mobility in strategy and tactics both. To avoid a wound entirely is better than being struck and surviving." He shifted in his own furred tunic and stepped as if demonstrating the light weight of his own garments. "The black ones in our homeland are often immobile due to heavy armor. That is a weakness we take advantage of with ease." Roen's expression turned pensive, a small furrow to her brow. She flicked a glance at him. "The black ones?" Kasrjin pursed his lips. "I am unsure of their name. They are encased in black armor, and wield weapons that emit flame. Firelances and fireswords. Many of their parties contain....I do not know the word." She seems to ponder that for a moment. Her voice lowered. "Machines?" The Au Ra pursed his lips and nodded. "It is a...thing. Made of black metal, and walks on two legs. This too emits flames." A part of him was quite dissatisfied with his explanation, but he lacked the vocabulary to describe it in any other way. "....Magitek." He shot her a thoughtful glance. "That is the name, then?" She nodded, but avoided his gaze. "You mean Garleans then. Their uniform is usually black. Perhaps with accents of red." Kasrjin nodded."Yes. That is an accurate description. Gar...leans." He rolled the name in his mouth, as if tasting it. "That is the name of our foe." To be honest, he did not think much of remembering the name, as "black ones" was a perfectly adequate label. Still, it would be helpful in conversation if the other people on this continent mentioned them. The stern woman folded her arms. "Then that is yet another thing you share with the people of this realm. Eorzeans also consider Garleans their enemies." His gaze became curious. "Truly? Have the black ones spread so far to the Western continent, as well?" She found herself frowning even though her tone remained neutral. " Aye, they have encroached upon Eorzea as well. The Empire of Garlemald ever seeks to expand. Or as they believe... 'bring order to the primitive people.'" She sighed. "...they do a poor job of it," he observed as he stepped forward to examine one of the gambesons. Roen let out a long exhale, perhaps in relief. She tossed a glance instead to the Elezen armorsmith and tilted her head towards Khadai as if to indicate that he would be who she was interested in fitting today. She then approached the armor models, leaning over slightly to study them. "Did they hunt your people? Or try to assimilate you into their culture?" "They hunt us. They are an ever constant threat. It is enough that we remain hidden from them. They are a mortal sovereignty, and so their threat shall evaporate given time." "...this design. Is this simple to don?" The Xaela gestured towards a particularly elegant looking piece: it was a simple black coat, lined with straps to hold brass-coloured pieces of metal against the shoulders. It looked lightweight enough. The coat was long and made of a layer of resilient leather interwoven with fabrics. The design was elaborate, the plain blue gambeson beneath it appearing to be rather slim beneath the tabard. She glanced up at the Xaela. If she questioned his statement, she did not voice it. She turned her attention to the armor instead and nodded. "There is only one way to find out." "I wish to do so. Are there other pieces to complete it?" A frown. "It seems...incomplete. Aesthetically." Roen nodded. "It makes sense to try something that would allow some freedom of movement and yet Ishgardian made to fit in." She glanced to the armorsmith. "Perhaps if he can try this piece? And others that may match it?" "...what is the appropriate course of action in this circumstance?" He looked confused. "Am I to undress here?" The Elezen approached, her expression one of practiced professionalism. She scanned him up and down as if sizing him up immediately. Roen twisted her lips then glanced about. "Ah. Perhaps up the stairs will give you a bit more privacy." "That is not necessary." With practised ease, he began to strip the heavy furred tunic off of himself, revealing a protective black leather harness beneath. Roen's brows shot up and she immediately backed off as he undressed. She turned and watched the armorsmith walk around the corner to retrieve more pieces of armor. Crossing her arms, Roen glanced back over her shoulder with just a briefest of looks. He'd rapidly managed to strip himself almost completely, his garments scattering the floor beneath him, revealing the smokey gray hue of his skin and the obsidian scales that scattered themselves upon his arm and back. Roen's head turned quickly enough again when he began to shed more clothing. The sounds of rustling and clanking metal eventually became replaced with the pulling of straps and closing of buckles. Eventually, his voice rumbled from behind her. "You may turn." The Elezen armorsmith was however not shy about equipping a customer. She stood by rather proudly. The Xaela was adorned in the jet black coat. Brass plates covered his legs and arms. The coat was decorated with similar brass accents and straps of noble blue crossing the coat. His scattered furs and leathers had been discarded upon the armory floor, and the Xaela stretched, testing the limits of his new garments. Roen glanced over first, almost tentatively, as if to reassure herself that he was armored. This time her auburn eyebrows arched for a different reason. Grey eyes looked over the armor and the paladin nodded. "It... looks good. How does it feel?" "It is...light," he murmured. "I did not expect this." He swung his arms and jostled his legs. "This design is...effective. My range of movement is mostly unrestricted." She walked around him, eyeing the joints of his armor, the as if looking for vulnerabilities as well as the mobility. There was approval in her voice. "I think this would do the job well." The corners of her lips curled upwards slightly. "Countless years fighting against dragons, and forging armor for the same reason... I think they know what they are doing." He bent his elbows, his fingers, and his knees all at once. He reached his arms behind his head, and managed to reach remarkably far before the metal shoulder plates restricted his stretching. The mailed leggings would slow his stride somewhat, but did not feel excessively weighty. As another test, he stepped back and withdrew the blued steel of his sword. Thankfully the armory was roomy and lacked in customers, so the few test swings he did would not threaten any. Satisfied after a few basic manoeuvres, he slipped the sword back into its harness. "Acceptable mobility. I suspect it will be much more difficult to move in snowbanks, however. Weight sufficient. This takes time to put on...but it is not uncomfortable." She nodded, appraising his movements. "We oft travel on mounts that we do not need to climb snowbanks unless we are already in battle." Kasrjin nodded. "But if your mount is disabled, it is your physical ability and the weight of your armament that will determine your speed." Roen nodded. "Indeed. We would be much hampered. Especially in the snow." The Xaela glanced at Roen in an expression that contained the barest hint of sheepishness. "...what amount of currency is required for this transaction?" The paladin's eyes narrowed just slightly at the change in his tone. She glanced to the armorsmith who only answered with a placid grin. She answered her with just a nod, before turning back to Khadai. "I suspect you do not possess any gil, aye?" His face had hardened into a neutral expression...but if one had to say, the way he his emerald eyes flickered with the barest movements would imply that he was embarrassed. "...I do not." The Elezen armorsmith shuffled off as Roen approached the Au Ra. The paladin crossed her arms. "I am sure something can be figured out." Kasrjin's head tilted from one to the other. "...will a transaction of services be sufficient?" His tone did not seem to think so, despite the query. She kept her voice low as if to keep their conversation between them. The armorsmith did not need to hear it. She nodded. "Indeed. That is another thing we should figure out. I know you do not want to owe others. Edda has already offered to provide for anything you need." He shrugged again. "...I am unsure as to what action to take in this circumstance." She shrugged. "I am still unsure what arrangement you have with Edda. If you are comfortable in her paying for this as well, that is up to you." She glanced over her shoulder to the Elezen. "I know the armorsmith somewhat. At least, my knight captain does. If she needs credit now, I can pay for it." Her voice dipped slightly as she shrugged. "I have recently come across some funds." There was a wistfulness to her words. She nodded after some thought. "I will arrange for credit then if the armorsmith will accept. I think she would be open to it." Kasrjin gave a thoughtful pause. "I believe Edda will wish to pay for it. Regardless of protest." "Edda asked you to fight for her?" She flicked a glance at him. "Did she tell you any specifics?" There was a slight frown returning to her expression. He shook his head. "She did not wish to tell me in what capacity I am to fight for her." Roen narrowed her eyes. "Khadai. You were fortunate to have encountered her rather than anyone else. You should not be so free to offer something so blanket and encompassing as doing whatever someone else wish for you to do, for something as simple as gil and guidance. What if she asks you to kill someone?" "Then as per the terms of our agreement, I will do so. To do anything less would be...improper. I lack material possessions or currency to barter with." A shrug. "I myself do not have a firm grasp on this concept of trading services. But it appears to be something that will suffice for a time." Roen exhaled. "You told me I do not trust the people I identify with. There is a good reason for that. Many would take unfair advantage of such a bargain." He frowned. "I do not understand." A pause. "There are guides who would point out the most direct path or the safest course. You need only to pay them gil. Gil that you can obtain in trade for furs or food or other supplies. But if you agree to do whatever they ask, and if they demand such a thing as for you to kill someone...You could end up paying for that with your life in the end. They can ask you steal something. Again, that could end with you in the gaols for a long time. Or worse. There is no equity in that trade. I believe you make your offer in good faith, but not everyone else returns that favor." Kasrjin looked at her quizzically. "....That does not make sense. If I were asked to perform theft, then to be detained would mean that the other party of the transaction would not obtain that which they requested. It is self defeating. If I were asked to slay an individual, then it is in the other party's interests to furnish me with information and resources to do so, thereby reducing the possibility of my demise." Roen shook her head. "They would gain the result they were looking for, but you are the one that they would point to in committing the crime. A foreigner like yourself without any influence or family... they could deny all knowledge of working with you after the fact." She shook her head again, her expression darkening. "It is deceptive, aye. But entirely possible with some people you may come across.” Again, his head tilted in the other direction. "I possess no personal stake in such an act. For what reason would arbitration suspect the tool, rather than the one who wields it?" "If the tool breaths and speaks, you are still punished for your deed." Roen unfolded and folded her arms. "Whether your accomplice is caught or not, to enter into such a bargain is dangerous for you." Kasrjin shrugged. "My calling demands that I accept such dangers. So long as I obtain what is agreed upon, that is satisfactory enough." She exhaled then glanced away. "As you will." The Xaela offered his own quizzical sigh. "I wish to have clarification. For what reason are you concerned about my part in such transactions?" She seemed to be staring at the wooden floorboards a bit longer. It was after a long pause that she answered quietly. "I do not wish to see one such as yourself taken advantage of." Kasrjin shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Why?" She still did not meet his gaze, but she shifted her weight slightly. "Because people who have faith in others... are often easily fooled. Deceived. Taken advantage of. It does not sit well with me." His response was almost immediate. "...I do not understand. But I will bear your words in mind." She finally looked back up at him, her eyes narrowed. "What do you not understand? That people of this realm can be biased? Treat you unjustly? That many do look to take advantage of others simply because they can?" His own gaze bore into hers, though he did not seem to be able to formulate a proper response. "...I am aware. That people possess...self-interest. Even so, I do not understand why such a thing has destroyed your faith, Roen." She broke her gaze, grey eyes flitting about the various patterns of the wooden floorboards. The twitch of her lip was the only thing that escaped her stoic mask. "This world is not kind, Khadai. And people within it, even less so." Her voice was low and quiet. "....yet you are willing to provide such aid to one you do not know. One to whom you possess no obligations. One who has repeatedly erred in his understanding of a land in which he does not belong." Kasrjin fixed his stern stare upon the paladin. "I possess no reason to believe this world is any less kinder for it." He paused, suddenly seeming self-aware. "...I wish to test this armor." That statement accompanied an abrupt spin and long strides out the door into the cold.

Solitude was a simple thing. The veil of night had fallen over the highlands after Kasrjin had departed from the graveyard, and with it came the deadly chill. There was no fanfare of biting wind or howling of a great storm to accompany the demise of warmth; naught remained but a raw, brisk silence. A brilliant tapestry of stars enveloped the heavens above, solemnly gleaming against the night blue sky, poignantly lighting his surroundings in a pale silver light. He adjusted the furs around him, thin eyebrows twitching in surprise at the western continent's surprisingly hostile environment. The glaciers and mountains among which he had occupied with the majority of his life were unforgiving, and the winters were as fearsome a foe as any number of black-armoured intruders. It would seem that this region was not lacking any number of fangs in that regard; he'd abandoned the metal spaulder and unfolded a short, folded shawl, lined in vanilla-coloured fur that matched his tunic. His boots crunched in the snow, punctuated by the cry of wolves splitting the air and the occasional beating of draconian wings. His patrol of the area was an experience of contrasts. More than once he'd buried himself beneath snow or lain flat against rocky outcroppings to avoid the wildlife or an errant patrol of knights. At other times, his march was surrounded by nothing but hills, mountains, and snow, with nothing to threaten him for miles other than his own thoughts. In a way, the latter was far more dangerous to him. With the sky clear, it would be a simple matter for him to return to the settlement; the grey towers of the fortification he had passed through to enter the highlands peaked in a black silhouette against the glittering canvas above him. Thus, the Xaela felt rather confident in exploring as far as he felt the need to, so long as those towers were within his eyesight. Emerald eyes flashed in the darkness, glancing at everything of note and then some. The seclusion was comforting in a way, and heartrending in another. It had been a nigh uncountable number of suns since he'd landed on the western continent, and though the number of people around Kasrjin had increased considerably, his chest still felt the dark grasp of isolation tugging at him. Solitude was a thoughtful thing. His contemplation and his march practically skidded to a halt. He found himself atop a cliff, just visible enough to see the fires of a secluded military camp that was huddled beneath the stony embrace of an imposing escarpment. What startled him was not his location, however, but the sight he was greeted with that had escaped his conscious notice until he was almost right on top of it. It was a heavy wooden stake, a head and a half taller than him in height, the end sharpened to a fearsome point. And upon it lay the lazily-shrouded body of an Au Ra, a ragged length of tarp barely covering the body's torso. The body was a male Xaela, like himself, though from whom or where he had come from was impossible to tell. The body had obviously been discarded for a disconcerting amount of time, for the telltale blue-green tinge of frostbite had long claimed the body in a frozen rigor mortis and various bits of chilled flesh had been picked by what carrion could brave the harsh cold. Splatterings of dry blood could barely be seen crawling down the length of the stake, though they too had frozen in the chill. The Au Ra's horns had been hacked off with some manner of implement, the horns themselves nowhere to be seen, and though his eyes were closed, his mouth and face had stretched in pain. Kasrjin stood stock still at the sight. It was the second of such he'd seen, and though it did not shock him, the message it carried was blatantly aware. He wasn't welcome here. His hand found itself reaching towards the leather-wrapped handle of his sword, but upon grasping it, he stopped. "Do your people not mourn those who have passed on?" His right hand still lay clenched upon the sword handle, but his left reached into a pocket that had idly been sewn into the folds of his tunic. His left hand grasped the smooth, obsidian pebble. The instant he did, a small, slight burst of warmth spread from his arm to the rest of his body. He could feel even through his gloved hands the engraving that Tsanai had carved into it. His hand dropped from the hilt of his sword. Kasrjin's hand pulled a knife from within the folds of wide outer sleeves. The rigid length of tiger tooth that Nayaga had painstakingly formed into a fearsome blade--despite the scout's admitted clumsiness with tools--easily buried itself deep into the brittle length of the wooden stake. The durable tips of Erdeni's immaculate leather gloves that wrapped his hands made short work of the frozen dirt and snow at the base of the stake, loosening the earth's hold on the shaft. "You do seem intolerant of any sentimentality." His hand reached into his tunic again, grasping Tsanai's runestone. Another jolt of energy coursed itself through him. It was weaker than the first, and barely perceptible, like a final weak heartbeat, but it was enough. With the soil loosened, Kasrjin had managed to bend the stake enough for him to stand with one leg on the ground and the other planted firmly against the hilt of the planted knife. With a heave and a grunt, he planted the top of his head and the palm of his hands firmly against the corpse's back. His ever stoic frown across his face, the Xaela grunted and heaved against the frosted cadaver, with each headbutt and shove of his hands the length of dead weight moved off of the shaft. After several attempts of this, Kasrjin moved to the front of the stake where the fearsome point lay aimed almost at his head. Still panting, the brisk night air biting the inside of his lungs, he bent his legs beneath the body and, with a final mighty shove, forced the body off of the stake. The dead Xaela's stiff corpse unceremoniously popped off the stake like a cork, and the tortured pose the body held prevented it from rolling. The combination of the exertion and the cold had robbed Kasrjin of his breath, and he bent with his hands against his knees to recover. As he did, veridian eyes glowed to examine his deceased compatriot. Solitude was a tiresome thing. "The dead should not burden the living." Familiar words. His own. After a few minutes, he set about to work, gloves reaching into the soil and snow both, peppering the body in a blanket of churned dirt. He shouldn't be here. Kasrjin, in an odd display, circled the body, his knees bent and feet shuffling, throwing snow and dirt clumsily with both hands onto the body until an awkwardly conspicuous mound had formed over it. A conveniently adjacent rock served as a headstone. An uncelebrated grave for an equally uncelebrated individual, whose name would forever be lost. He tossed the harness, sword and all, away from him and collapsed next to the grave, thudding next to it in a slouching sit. A snowfall had begun, his only company after such an endeavour. Solitude was a lonesome thing. A hand reached in to touch the runestone again, but it had no more comfort to give. Isolation's dark grip tugged at him again. The stoic frown still lay artificially plastered on his face, and he felt an ache between his chest. A finger lay on the rune stone and traced the engraving. It was complex, but by now he could recall the pattern through muscle memory alone. His right hand tugged at the base of the glove wrapping his left. It was made perfectly to size, as always. Not a seam or scratch in sight, so carefully was the leather treated and stitched. The bone knife still gleamed at him in the dark, the immaculate polish on the piece reflecting the moonlight. With the snow between his fingers, he closed his eyes, his head resting on the palm of his hand. He could almost imagine familiar mountain passes. The sprig of evergreen hemlock that had been woven into the collar of his tunic had lost its scent. He breathed deep, and exhaled. He could feel his chin begin to tremble, and it was not because of the cold. It was a distant memory, that feeling of clarity. Of certainty. A terrified eye shot itself towards the grave next to him. Hacked off horns. Left on a stake. Nameless, and with none to know the cause. Feelings that were a distant memory. The sensation would be forgotten, with time. He shouldn't be here. Solitude was a painful thing. A wolf's howl jolted him from his reverie. Instinct took over. A hand reached for Ersugen's flawless sword, before cognition reminded him that he had tossed it away from him. Impulse commanded his muscles, and he scrambled for his weapon and its harness. The howl came again. His hands frozen in fear. His mind finally acknowledged the sound. It was too far away to be a threat. For several long seconds that felt like years, Kasrjin lay sprawled on the dirt and snow, hand frozen in desperation to reach the length of blued steel. His fingers grasped the leather-wrapped hilt, and pulled it towards him. The Xaela stood up, not a second glance being spared to the slipshod grave he'd left. The harness again affixed to his back, tunic brought in order. Legs locked straight in a martial stance. Stoic expression on his face. He walked over and pulled the knife from the stake, shoving it into its sheath affixed to the inside of his sleeve. He could still see the fortifications in the distance. A deep breath. And he marched again.

Mod note: Users posting in this thread in favour of Estinien will be given an infraction for being wrong under the forum rules section Estinien Is A Punk-Ass. Users who are wrong will have their posts deleted with the post deletion tool and be given an additional infraction for deleting their posts. hail hydra

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I haven't particularly had reason to use future tense. Generally I word things in past or present tense, but the action itself has no actual conclusion or consequence attached to allow the other party or parties to respond, especially in free-form fight scenes. e.g. "He swings/swung his sword in a wide sweep." "With a crash he leapt towards the banquet table." "He slipped a white powder into the punch, hoping he wasn't seen." I can't think of any contexts in which anything else would be simpler to use, and I don't feel any particular need to control the other party's response in any circumstance.

Goddamnit. You people.

This is a pretty pointless discussion, for a couple of reasons. People who want to roleplay in the most active community will find a way to roleplay in the most active community. Trying to guide people "away" from Balmung and Gilgamesh is like planting a series of neon arrows pointing away from a casino that says "GAMBLING IN THIS DIRECTION", or putting down signs on Interstate 78 that says "OTHER MANHATTAN BEHIND YOU". These are central hubs, and nothing short of the game shutting down or Yoshida spilling his morning coffee in the server room is going to change that. While it makes sense on paper to sympathize with the new people who'll have to pay for transfers, Square Enix's server capacity issues aren't up to roleplayers to solve. I don't speak for anyone, but I, at least, am not here to save other people money to get them something that they're not going to get anyway. If they want an active roleplaying community in FFXIV, they'll go to Balmung first. Period. Nobody who's new to the scene really wants to be lumped onto a "tertiary" server. Nobody who's new to the scene wants to be on Gilgamesh, either, not unless they've got friends there. They want to be on Balmung. It's the most active. It's the largest. It has the biggest community of like-minded people. And if they're okay with settling for less than Balmung? Then it doesn't matter. They'll go to Gilgamesh. Or they'll look on Jenova. If all they want is to RP, and not RP on the server with the most RPers, they'll find a way. It's not up to us to cater to them. And hey, that's a good thing. If enough roleplayers don't care about being on the largest server, then they'll propagate their own presence over time to turn into other "unofficial" RP servers. Putting a sign and some cheap slot machines inside a Qwik Stop doesn't turn it into a desireable casino. Painting the buildings to look like Wall Street isn't going to turn Staten Island into Manhattan. Does it suck to have to write off new RPers if they want to play in-game but can't get the character creation window, or don't want to pay the $18 transfer for whatever reason? Yeah, it sucks. New people are, typically, always welcome. I'm not about to cater to them with a subpar experience though. I'm not about to shuffle them off to Brynhildr and say "There's no space, but here's your RP playpen!" And I'm not about to try to convince other people to shuffle off to Brynhildr to try to convince that new person into staying. And yeah, it sucks that people have to pay money to get onto Balmung to do the hobby they want: RPing in FFXIV. That's Square Enix's issue with server capacities, though. And character restrictions. Ideally one would be allowed to "queue" a character creation, limit one per account per world. Ideally. I don't think roleplayers should be in the business of trying to save other people money. If they want in, they'll transfer. Does it suck? Yeah. Is it at all the RP community's problem? I don't think so. We're just here to roleplay.

Walls and gates were not a foreign concept. The so-called Gates of Judgment, however, and the long bridge that the guard had referred to as the Steps of Faith, did not seem to fit the moniker of "wall" or "gate". "Monument" seemed more apt. Even oblivious as he was to this land's culture, even he could tell that the ominous length of the bridge, the towering parapets, and the massive gatehouse were both designed for defense...and to be a symbol. The traffic was varied. Ragtag groups of armed individuals idly passed through the gates after consulting with the knights on duty. Wagons and carts full of goods managed to make their way through after lengthy, exhaustive inspections. Armoured soldiers similar to those that were present at Dragonhead kept a vigilant watch, eyes narrowly peering through the slits of helmets, scrutinizing all who passed by. Kasrjin noted the stern glances of disgust and the tensing of hands on weapons whenever one of their eyes fell upon him. The fact that they did not immediately take action proved that they did not believe him to be a Dravanian, or at the least, they'd been given orders to the contrary regarding individuals such as himself. That told him two things: one, that there were other Au Ra present around or perhaps even inside the city. That would be advantageous. Two, these knights were not like the two buffoons that had assaulted them earlier. Though, it was entirely possible that if they--that is, the knights--did not know Au Ra existed, they might have attacked him on sight anyway. Just to be sure. The Xaela adjusted his clothing and made a pointed notion of keeping the handle of his sword out of reach, attempting to minimize the threat he seemed to presented. It was easier said and done; Kasrjin stood half a head taller than most of the Elezen knights, and more than a head and a half taller than the shorter Hyur. The number of ugly glares the Au Ra received exceeded counting. Despite that, the trio managed to reach the gate and the knight attending to it with little trouble. It would seemed that random, motley groups of armed individuals were not of note, as with little more than a stern nod, the knight ushered the trio through the portcullis of the gate, and into the city proper. It was...not what he expected. Crumbling fortifications lay desecrated. Idle bits of stone and lumber were strewn about. In the far distance, what once must have been an intimidating statue was missing a great deal of its upper body. The Xaela was expecting something more...substantial. He was expecting a fortress. He was expecting soldiers training in every street, porters carrying supplies, something that indicated that this was a city prepared for war on a moment's notice. Instead, what he saw were battered, tired knights, destitute rabble, and an atmosphere that reeked of a certain measure of melancholy. Somehow, it reminded him of the body that they had found impaled on the side of the road. "...shall we secure lodging?" was all he managed to successfully filter from the whirlwind of thoughts and observations in his mind. He suddenly felt consciously out of place; his tribal furs and leathers were well-constructed, but if Kasrjin was fully aware of anything by this point, it was that he had become far too insistent in projecting his own expectations on the Western continent. Some compromise would be necessary, if only to avoid conflict.

"Ever shall she contend with her fixation on regression." -- Were the premises of the situation be described to anyone else, one might have expected a round table surrounded by high-backed chairs, austere gazes flowing from the individuals seated in them. As it was, however, the Aljai were arranged in the manner deemed most practical. The contents of the yurt had been almost totally cleared out, save for a small number of seats and stools arranged in no particular order. The group of female Xaela stood or sat wherever there was room. Alaqu's arms were folded, and she constantly tossed her crimson hair with a flick of her head in impatience, her moccasins tapping against the hardened dirt. Seated on a stool next to Alaqu was a wizened, shrunk down female even smaller in stature than her already compact compatriots. The wrinkled matron's ashen skin contrasted sharply with that platinum hue of her hair, and perhaps stereotypically, she held a worn but sturdy walking stick upon her lap. It was this scene that Kasrjin was led to. The other male who had guided him here merely opened the flap, and when the Khadai gingerly stepped inside the same flap was abruptly dropped, leaving him alone to face the curious stares of the Aljai. The elderly female was the first to speak, raising her head to stare at the warrior with piercing magenta eyes. The hard scrutiny with which she applied belied her apparent age, and it was evident that the constant seasons had not dulled the clarity of her mind. "Khadai," the elder spoke smoothly. "The Aljai have been made aware of a special circumstance where your presence is required within Kaarad-El even with the ongoing Communion. We would like any insight you may be able to provide." Kasrjin paused, first to get his bearings--there was something overbearing about being faced with so many Aljai, and the females seemed to be aware of the effect they had on him--and then to consider the request. "I do not believe I know anything more than you," he spoke slowly, his rough voice careful and deliberate. "I have been informed by the Tsenkhai that somehow, Kaarad-El remembers my previous role as Tsuven Tsenkhai. I do not know how this is possible. I do not believe the Tsenkhai know, either." Alaqu bent over to whisper to Albei, the elder female nodding in response to whatever information she seemed to receive. "I had been speaking with the other Aljai..." Albei gestured to the other females gathered around in a semi-circle inside the yurt. "...in order to determine if there has been precedence for this situation, and if not, what precedence we should establish." The look Kasrjin gave her was notably confused. "I request clarification," he said in bewilderment. Alaqu folded her arms within the sleeves of her robe. "As it stands, we are unable to consult with Kaarad-El's memories during the Communion, but even we understand how...uncommon...it is for one who has the capabilities of a Tsenkhai to be transferred to another role. Ordinarily, you would be considered as Khadai and nothing else, and therefore be under the jurisdiction of your korum and subsequently, your korum's Aljai." The crimson-haired female began to pace somewhat, though stopped as the limited availability of the yurt's floor space did not provide adequate room. "However, the fact that Kaarad-El not only remembers Tsuven Tsenkhai, but remembers that Kasrjin Khadai was previously Tsuven Tsenkhai provides a difficult dilemma for us, for now the Tsenkhai believe they possess grounds to collect you." "We do not disagree, yet nor do we agree," Albei's statement was punctuated with a tapping of the walking stick on the dirt beneath her feet. "If we acknowledge Kasrjin Khadai as Tsuven Tsenkhai, then we have effectively nullified and denied his existence as a Khadai, from the day of his transfer until now. However, if we do not acknowledge Kasrjin Khadai as a Tsenkhai, then it is possible that we will be interfering with the operation of Kaarad-El, and put far more at risk than is necessary." Kasrjin pursed his lips, an expression of contemplation curling the features of his face. "I have undergone the Forfeiture. It should not be possible for me to be considered Tsenkhai if I am no longer able to use a link." Alaqu uncrossed and crossed her arms, practically fidgeting with the constant changes to her posture. "Yet you yourself, in addition to that Tsenkhai, have said that you received a character of the Correspondence. Your link to Kaarad-El is still active, or at the least it is present, if dormant. We possess no precedence for this." "Tsuven--that is, my transition to become Khadai was formalised by the shift in name and role. Under the premises of the system, am I not to be considered as such?" Kasrjin asked quizzically. Such discussion was, although not beyond his comprehension, certainly outside of his typical capacity and made him rather uncomfortable. Albei inhaled before letting out an introspective sigh, the elderly Xaela adjusting her position on the stool. "The Tsenkhai govern all that is associated with Kaarad-El. Your link is still active, and regardless of extenuating circumstances you have received a character of the Correspondence that you are required to forfeit. I believe it to be best to turn the Khadai over--" "You will not do so!" a forceful, feminine voice practically shouted from outside the yurt. Storming into the yurt was another female Xaela, unkempt black dreadlocks matted with snow, her azure robes lined with white fur in disorder. She was breathing rather heavily, and as soon as she had flipped the flap open and practically careened into Kasrjin's back, she placed her hands on her knees to catch her breath as if she'd been running across the valley. Albei's mouth wrinkled into a frown. "What is the meaning of this interference, Tsenkhai?" Tsanai paused before answering, allowing her pants to slow to a manageable level. "He is to be released into my discretion. He belongs to me." Albei's sharp glare was met with a forceful look of Tsanai's own, a silent clash of wills. "I am Tsenkhai. You may consider this a surrender." The elderly Xaela's frown deepened into a scowl. "Why do you attempt to disrupt the process? He is to be taken to--" "You step outside of your role, Aljai." The interruption was quiet but abruptly halted Albei's protest in its tracks, Tsanai's tone muted with a reservation of tranquil fury. "Tsuven is mine. As he still possesses the capabilities of an adjutant to Kaarad-El, he is to be released to me. Resist my demand and you resist the structure of the system you claim to have such respect for." Kasrjin could do naught but shuffle awkwardly to the side. To her credit, Alaqu shot him a sympathetic glance. Lightning practically crackled between the elderly Aljai and the younger Tsenkhai, though the former eventually relented with a nod of her head and another sigh. A tired yet satisfied expression crossed itself across Tsanai's face. An idle gesture with her hand indicated for the taller warrior to step outside. The pair walked away from the Aljai's yurt in silence for a time before the Tsenkhai practically whipped around, her arms crossed. It was a familiar stance, and Kasrjin reflexively stiffened upon seeing it. "Do you remember...the plans we had made several seasons past? We must needs be prepared for that." Tsanai was noticeably quieter; were she tall enough, she would have surely attempted to speak closer to his horns. Kasrjin nodded his head. "Then...?" "I have other individuals to gather. The old amphitheatre on the west side of the valley is where we will gather, and discuss travelling to the western continent."

I've spent way more money on Gunpla than I care to admit. Char's Counterattack, War in the Pocket, 0079, 08th MS team, Wing....Gundam 00 was my latest series and I enjoyed it quite a bit. One day I'll have the time, space, and money to buy those PGs. Red Astray, I shall savour thee.

I was told that this was because left their contracted VA studio for a new one in the UK or something, but I don't know for sure. Square did change to a UK-based voice acting studio, hence why "Take A Shot Every Time The Scions' Accents Slip" is sadly no longer a viable drinking game. As for Ishgard, looking at dialogue transcripts, the only real difference between commoners and nobility is that the commoners, including those in the Brume, occasionally skip consonants. Direct examples of "commoner" dialogue: Pretty self explanatory. As above, the Ishgardian nobility and merchants tend to be a bit more posh. The high nobility too occasionally throw in gratuitous French phrases.

It's really the same discussion as "when is a character overpowered", and the answer I find is roughly the same: a character is too overpowered or too skilled when they can no longer be meaningfully challenged or defeated by a narrative, and/or when other player characters are no longer interested in engaging in conflict with them. Take, for example, classic comic book hero Superman. A lot of people find the concept of Superman laughable: how can anyone find the story of an almost totally invincible, handsome, charismatic demigod with no drawbacks to his powers be compelling? After all, we're talking about a protagonist who can literally fly into the sun and prevent it from emitting too much solar radiation. It's because for all of Superman's omnipotence, he still has weaknesses and mortality. That's not all, though. It's not a matter of simply having flaws or weaknesses to balance excessive power or skill, though; it's a matter of making the effects of those flaws or weaknesses have significance, effect or meaningful consequence on the character. One of the most widely acclaimed Superman arcs is about how Superman is faced with his impending and inevitable death, and explores how a character who is so used to being practically omnipotent deals with such a fate. A character is a master crafter who can literally fabricate anything imaginable. What's his flaw? Maybe no social skills leads to complete isolation that lends itself to bouts of depression that seriously impede his or her work. A character is literally an un-defeatable combatant; his or her skills in battle are so great that they are capable of warping the reality around them so that said character can win. What's that character's flaw? Life has no meaning and there is nothing else this character can do but fight. Make a character's weaknesses have real, observable detriment to them and how they live with little to no benefit. Do that convincingly, and it doesn't matter how powerful or skilled your character is.

This is the advice I would give. The reason I was interested in rolling a Xaela was because I had a set of specific themes I wanted to explore and challenge other players with. One of those, for example, was the difficulty of collaborating with someone who possessed a fundamentally different way of thinking, and the tendency for people to project the standards of their own society upon those who are ignorant of those same standards. Raen don't have nearly as much wiggle room as Xaela in exploring these themes. I appreciate the fact that there's little to no real concrete lore in Xaela because it's allowed me a great amount of freedom in writing them so I can establish the themes I want to establish. So, like Calliope said, I'd try to find out what you want out of a character's story. How do you want to see them grow? What kind of reactions do you want to see out of them? What kind of conflicts or friction with other characters do you find interesting, and how can you write your character to cause such friction?

"And they seek to conquer tribulation with routine." -- He had laid still and unmoving for quite some time, but feeling gradually returned to his limbs, enough for him to stand and even walk. The caretaker at the entrance of the chamber had quickly dispensed Kasrjin's equipment back to him once he'd identified himself. The furs and leathers had been cleaned and washed, his sword had been polished, and the harness was new. The Xaela re-equipped himself quickly before leaving the cave in a brisk, refreshed stride that increased in pace as he grew more comfortable with the return of his motor functions. The air was somewhat cold but not frigid, and a gentle breeze whistled past him, sending his loose hair rippling. The solemn blue walls of cave's ice gradually gave way to dirt, rocks, and snow, and when Kasrjin emerged from the mouth of the cave he came upon something truly unexpected--brilliant sunshine piercing through idle tufts of cloud. The sky seemed to glow with azure radiance in sharp contrast to the constantly gloom of the overcast lowlands that he and his warband had spent the last moon occupying. All circumstances considered, it was far too welcoming of a day. The Xaela shielded his eyes, allowing them to adjust. From the sun's position in the sky it appeared to be barely midday. The sensations of the outdoors bombarded all senses and he found himself stunned for a spell before managing to regain his bearings. The mouth of the cave sloped into a familiar dirt path, the incline of the trail descending rapidly into a wide valley, surrounded on all sides by sheer walls of snow-topped mountains. Though it was the middle of winter, the climate had been kind; the soil was frozen but the snowfall had been gentle, blanketing the region in a soft white sheet, and the defensive blizzards that usually blanketed the area had ceased for the Communion. With his vision fully focused, Kasrjin could barely spot the gold-streaked walls of black granite occasionally poking out from at the base of the opposing series of mountains, but what interested him more were the neat, organized squares of leather tents that had been erected. While this season's Communion generated no small amount of consternation, such events always held a bright side. He could see the smoke of fires, hear the sound of his people, and while there was much to worry about, the Khadai warrior could at least take refuge in the relief that seeing the bustle of activity brought him. There were roughly nine squares of circular tents distributed in the valley in front of the wall of foreboding black granite, the structures arranged in practical straight columns and rows. The number of tents differed with each square; the largest square of dwellings, in the centre, held nearly eighty or ninety tents. The smaller squares ranged anywhere from ten to fifty tents. Communication at range was highly difficult, especially given the terrain, so it gratifying to see the presence of so many. He swiftly made his way down the trail, eager to collect news from the others. Kasrjin had not seen any members of his own korum since the formation of the warband nearly two full moons ago. A marked smile creased his face at the anticipation of seeing them again. The Xaela swiftly made his way down the snow-covered trail and into the nearest passageway between two rows of tents and was soon greeted by the true commotion of the gathering. The artisans worked tirelessly on their crafts, daring those around them to interrupt in the stretching of hides, the shaping of metal, and the carving of wood, while the caretakers fussed over toddlers and young children, carrying baskets of foodstuffs that would inevitably be required by those who had yet to recover from their experience of Communion. Kasrjin stepped through row after row of circular tents, taking in the sights and scents, boots crunching in the gentle flakes that had settled onto the ground. Every gathering was different, and the mood was borderline festive despite the grim implications it held. A group of Jungsai near one larger tent were wildly swinging trophies and shouting at one another; one male Xaela, wearing a necklace of animal teeth, held the tooth of a shark that was nearly the length of his forearm that had been fashioned into a fearsome-looking awl. A second male, whose horns were ornamented with wild ivory, held a furred winter mantle fashioned from the fur and hide of one of the steppe tigers. A third who had a large hawk feather tied into his hair held aloft a small but impeccable roll of silk extracted from some manner of insect. The shark tooth hunter would wave his awl and yell, the mantled hunter would merely scoff, while the silken hunter would spin his trophy in satisfaction and nod silently to himself. "Move," came a grunt from behind Kasrjin. Without dispute or even turning to see who it was, he swiftly stepped to the side of the tent aisle. Marching past were two more males, their faces splashed with orange paint, vigorously transporting a collapsed tent to an undisclosed location. The Khadai continued his stroll. A pair of young children sprinted in front of the warrior's path throwing snow at one another, and chasing them was a female Xaela from whose curled horns dangled thick string holding a band of turquoise and a sprig of mistletoe. The exasperated Yerenai dropped the basket of dried meat she had been carrying to roughly snatched the children by the shoulders before herding them into a nearby tent, clearly out of patience. "Kasrjin!" He turned his head at the shout, and was greeted with a familiar clump of wild, unkempt white hair. Kaizhan was waving his spear in the air; clearly, the younger Au Ra had not been affected by his experience all that much, even though he had been the first in the warband to succumb to the Forfeiture. The younger Khadai was quick to close the distance between the two. "You appear to have recovered quickly," Kasrjin murmured, offering his adolescent peer an affectionate pat on the shoulder. Kaizhan merely shrugged. "For a second Communion so soon after my first, it was not much. Perhaps the Tsenkhai simply did not want me." "That would not be surprising in the slightest," Kasrjin responded dryly. Kaizhan merely grinned and held his spear aloft. He cocked his head towards a different direction, and the pair began to walk. If there was one thing that always struck Kasrjin about the gatherings, it was the smells. Cooked food freely intermingled with burning wood. Strong herbs of incense cloyed with the heat and odour of so many bodies in close proximity. A stench of decay would waft from where the Jungsai prepared the parts of animals, mingling with the oils used by the Erdegai in their crafts. Other Khadai stood vigilant at various points, occasionally stepping forward to quell a dispute or to herd individuals away from certain areas. "Have you located our korum?" Kasrjin rumbled. Kaizhan nodded, flashing a toothy smile. "Safe, and there has been little trouble. So far the most I have had to contend with is Erdeni complaining that I do not properly maintain my leathers. She worked through the night to restore our equipment while we were in the Communion. Can you guess what irritated her the most?" Kasrjin glanced at the handle of the sword upon his back, and Kaizhan laughed. "I would not worry about it over much. You know Erdeni works better when she has something to yell at us about." The youth patted the crossguard of Kasrjin's sword, as if reassuring the weapon of its status. Kaizhan's easy expression gave way to a wince when the youth noticed a stern female, blood red hair blending with the rust red hue of her skin, approaching them in a brisk and severe stride. Her face was creased in a mixture of annoyance and relief, which was soon to be replaced with indignant anger. "I'll let you handle Alaqu. I'm, ah, meant to visit the Yerenai for this rash I have..." And with that weak excuse, Kaizhan broke out into a run, swiftly losing himself within the row of tents. His mane of wild white hair shivered with laughter as he dodged people and obstacles with agile ease. "Khadai!" The female shouted indignantly, herself attempting to run but only making it a short distance past where Kasrjin was standing before giving up. Her heavy fabric robes were only lightly padded but the short distance she ran left her breathing somewhat strained. "You should have stopped him, Kasrjin," the female coughed as she paused to catch her breath. Kasrjin merely tilted his head. "I was not aware I was meant to." "Do not offer such trifling excuses." The red-haired female sniffed and brushed the snow off of her robes indignantly. Her blazing amber eyes peered at the furred warrior curiously. "You are oddly cheery considering the current state of things." "Things are not well, no, but nonetheless I do enjoy these gatherings while they last." the Khadai observed. Alaqu Aljai merely frowned and crossed her arms in a huff. Her crimson hair was cut in a short, practical bob, keeping her face mostly clear of errant strands. "Such things are simple for you to say, having been away from the korum for...two moons, now? You may enjoy these gatherings, but I will be grateful when we have retreated." Alaqu briefly paused in her tirade to examine him, as if looking for signs of illness. "The Tsenkhai who came to us said she would see you and verify the health of you and your brothers. What has she told you thus far?" Kasrjin scratched his head. "Troubles plague the Tsenkhai and interfere with the Communion. Too few had awoken by the time I did. She held some concerns for Tsuven, but I was not able to address them. Other than that, nothing." Alaqu's eyebrows shot up in consternation, and she tucked a slender hand beneath her chin in contemplation. She barely reached above the abdomen of the much taller male and thus had to crane her neck up to gaze at his face, but her expression was unambiguous. "Tsuven? What do you mean? What concerns did she raise?" "I had received a character of the Correspondence during my experience in Communion," Kasrjin admitted bluntly. "She wished to know if I possessed information as to how I remained connected to Tsuven's role as a Tsenkhai. I did not." The Khadai tilted his head in the other direction. "What do you worry about?" Alaqu sighed and pinched the bridge of her scaled nose with her fingers. "The Aljai are currently swamped in coordinating all of the korum together. This gathering is far too soon after our last, and we had accomplished too much at the last gathering, if you can believe that. We struggle to maintain optimal production while the korum are together." From within the sleeves of her robe she withdrew a small, palm-sized piece of rectangular black granite. Inscribed upon the tablet was a myriad of curved, flowering designs. Whenever the Aljai blinked at it, the designs seemed to shift rapidly in both shape and colour from fiery red to blinding violet. Alaqu shook her head, shooting a glare at a nearby tent that threatened to burn a whole within it. "If you see Kaizhan, drag him back to us. We are short of Khadai, and he will be needed to keep the perimeter secure. As for you, Erdeni wished to see you when you had awoken, but when you had finished your discussion with her, you will see Albei to be reassigned." She gave Kasrjin a rueful, yet somewhat sadistic grin. "You are aware of her dim opinion of the assembling of the warband?" "If I did not know before, I am sure to know now," Kasrjin noted, rubbing the back of his neck before nodding. "I will do so." Alaqu gave him a shrug for his efforts, jabbing her finger in a direction. "Erdeni's dwelling possesses the ingots near the entrance. Albei has her violet flag atop hers." With those quick directions, the Xaela sauntering off, eyes still glancing at the tablet in her hand. The Khadai, too, quickened his stride in the direction indicated. After his conversation with Alaqu, Kasrjin's thoughts swirled in turmoil and austere apprehension. It was no longer his role to contemplate such things, but he could not keep himself from doing so. Somehow, Kaarad-El remembered his previous role as Tsuven Tsenkhai, but how? If something had been imparted to it during the forfeiture, then that meant that all of their collective knowledge was in jeopardy: it would be impossible to discern what had been forgotten and what remained a part of the recollections. And that was to say nothing of the exceptionally poor harvest of characters that the Tsenkhai had been suffering. In what way was all of this related? Such were the notions wisping idly through Kasrjin's head when they were suddenly interrupted by a sharp impact against the point of his boot that came from him absent-mindedly having kicked over a small pile of ingots in front of a yurt. The ingots clattered slightly as they tumbled over each other into the soft snow beneath. Immediately following was a familiar sound; the irritated thrashing of tools. "Whatever thrice-damned idiot that was better be picking those up!" Emerging from the yurt was another small female Xaela. Her smoky iron-coloured skin was stained with soot and splashes of grease and oil. Her left hand grasped a pair of heavy tongs, and her right held a sharp, pointed stitching awl. Her pointed oval face was swept with black hair that came just above the nape of the neck, fringed with bangs of forest green. A thin collar of silver links holding a pair of small metal trinkets shaped like a knife and an anvil. Flashing emerald eyes shot a sharp glare at the Khadai interloper, and a scowl creased her face. "I'd have thought you were less clumsy than that," the female spat, setting her tools aside and kneeling to pick up the ingots and pile them back together into the small pyramid they had been shaped in. Her heavy leather clothing looked unwieldy, but she manoeuvred easily to move the metal back into position. "It is good to see you are well," Kasrjin returned evenly, the corner of his lip curling in slight amusement. Erdeni Erdegai huffed and crossed her arms severely, an unimpressed glare flashing from the male Xaela's face to the sword on his back. She grunted disdainfully. "I have told you thrice previously. Refrain from being accompanied by that waste of metal. I find it offensive." "It would be more of a waste if I did not use it," Kasrjin observed dryly. The female snapped an indignant look at him for his efforts but said nothing in response. Erdeni simply snorted air out of her nose before picking up her tools and disappearing within the yurt, making an idle gesture with a free hand for him to follow. The inside of the dwelling was stuffed to the brim with racks, tables, and tools, but oddly did not seem unclean. Every piece of furniture could be disassembled or condensed into modular forms; the tools were all neatly organized within boxes or saddlebags, and the latticework racks were simply folded to carry. Erdeni walked to the end of the sizeable yurt to a workbench holding several lengths of toughened, boiled leather and sat crosslegged in front of the lowered bench. The stitching awl flashed itself into her hand and the artisan set about carefully puncturing the lengths of boiled leather. "I wish to know of your health," the female said, her back to the warrior as he glanced about her dwelling. "The Tsenkhai who came to our korum told us that too few had awoken from their experience. I was concerned that you were among them." "I am well, though the experience brought me many questions. Kaarad-El somehow remembers Tsuven Tsenkhai. The occurrence has caused concern." Kasrjin slipped the harness off of his back and lay it to the side, leaning against one of the latticework rackes, and sat as well. It would be considered an odd scene to most; Erdeni brushed locks fringed with green away from her face, emerald eyes critically examining the diameter of the holes she punched into the leather with a practised, confident eye. Kasrjin glanced about the workshop, and when the sights ceased to stimulate, merely closed his eyes to rest. Neither faced one another, yet they continued the conversation. "I wanted to tell you that Albei has decided to accelerate the reproduction cycle. With the recent warband campaign, and with our Jungsai maintaining quality harvests along the coast, it is her hope that you and I, among others, may introduce new Khadai into the korum. The exact time frame has not been decided, but I expect it will be within the next few moons." Kasrjin glanced at the artisan quizzically. It was not necessarily unexpected; much of his own warband had come from his own korum, and only a handful had survived the battles against the black ones. Still, with everything that was going on, it was a curious decision for Albei to choose to accelerate reproduction. He and Erdeni had been arranged to mate near the time of Kasrjin's Forfeiture, but he was not expecting to have to engage in such things any time soon. "The decision is not mine to judge, but I believe it to be hasty," the male observed. "Albei is...singular minded towards output. And more Khadai is not necessarily better. Ulan died in our last conflict, though it is worth noting that apparently, he had never undergone the Forfeiture." Erdeni glanced at the seated warrior with a raised brow out of the corner of her eye before settling back into her work. "That is a curious mistake. Nonetheless, you are correct. It is not your place to judge." "Does Albei's acceleration concern you?" "Of course it does," the female Xaela snapped with irritation, switching one of the needles in the stitching awl for one of a different size. "I have been made aware of the complications. I do not wish to see my productivity impacted so drastically by an experience that sounds so very...obstructive." A wipe of her finger across her forehead. "Especially with times looking as ominous as they are now. Blast it." Her slender hands briefly struggled to fit a particularly obtuse needle into the awl. "If the last freezing had not claimed so many of our Yerenai, even with acceleration I would not have needed to worry about the reproduction cycle. I do not wish to be burdened." "Can Ersugen not assist?" Kasrjin asked. A considerable amount of air blew through the female Xaela's nose in response "It is not your place to know, so I will forgive the grave offence against me you have just committed by suggesting such a thing," Erdeni said, the wrath in her voice rising, though she remained focused and delicate on the task at hand. "Ersugen cannot even begin to touch what I do. His is a mind of metal. It is surprising to me that he has not slammed his head against that precious anvil of his. It would be akin to....to..." her hands paused as she stared at the wall. "It is akin to Kaizhan assuming the responsibilities of Alaqu. Utterly absurd." Kasrjin scratched his head. "I concede your point. Even considering such, howe--" His thought was interrupted with the entrance flap of the yurt practically blasting open. A male Xaela ducked into the dwelling, his face splashed with orange paint. Both Kasrjin and Erdeni paused to glance at the new intruder. "The Aljai will see Tsuven Tsenkhai." The new male gave a hard, long stare to Kasrjin. "Now."

Short answer: It'd be fine if you played it straight and managed to bounce with people who called your character out on it. If I encountered this, OOCly I would think it is amusing, but I would want to see more to the character than just a con-man gimmick. Long answer: The main reason why lore-breaking concepts tend to put people off is because the players of such usually attempt to directly or indirectly force people to take on a certain perception of their character. When I say that, I mean a player writes a character and says "I want people to acknowledge my character as powerful an absurdly powerful thaumaturge who should be feared, so he'll be one of the only and one of the most powerful Black Mages around," or "People should acknowledge my character as important to the world, so in his backstory he defeated a primal singlehandedly and is the half-dragon offspring of Tiamat", or other such things. It's the literary equivalent of someone buying a trophy of a tennis racket and claiming that they won Wimbledon: trying to crowbar in a kind of acknowledgement while lacking the substance needed to back up or encourage people to genuinely make that acknowledgement. So, as long as you don't do that--try directly or indirectly to force perceptions on others--then the concept is fine. Roll with the punches, have a plan for getting called out, and play the gimmick straight. Do that and it'll be fine.

Following the altercation between the knights and the aevis, Kasrjin had made it to retreat to his quarters with haste. The Dravanians had been slaughtered with a furore that was pointedly unconducive to the Xaela maintaining his good health while in Coerthas, and so he'd resolved to spend the remainder of the dawn in his room if at all possible. The mind-numbing inactivity, however, eventually proved itself to provide its own brand of exhaustion, and after what seemed like years of no stimulation save for the occasional flicker from the design he'd carved onto the wall, the Au Ra had practically barrelled out of the inn with naught but his borrowed clothing and the sword in its harness, strapped to his back. A heavy fur coat that roughly matched his proportions had been conveniently left on a coat rack in the bottom floor. The sound of fighting had driven the inhabitants to seek refuge within their homes, and so the inn had stilled with silence. Kasrjin glanced at his surroundings briefly before snatching the coat with little hesitation. Though the cold did not bother him in the slightest, it was his hope that it would mask his silhouette somewhat such that at a distance he may be mistaken for one of the Elezen. The Au Ra's scaled tail caused the rear of the coat to jut out awkwardly somewhat, but a part of him hoped no one would notice. Kasrjin's particular need to avoid other individuals--he had neither the time, energy, or ability to sort out the misunderstandings when they inevitably arose--took him to the fortifications of the settlement. The muted gray brickwork of the walls contrasted with the landscape silvered with snow, dotted with boulders and evergreen trees. The battlements were gratefully yet confusingly empty; he could only assume that seeing as how the aevis had managed to infiltrate the settlement itself, the knights were attending to other points of entrance such that the walls no longer needed constant vigilance. He picked a particular direction and wandered the walls. Despite being somewhat ill-fitting, the sizeable fur coat did well from shielding him from snowflakes and wind, and were the Xaela not painfully aware of how far from home he was, he might have called this walk serene. Kasrjin's movement came to an abrupt halt, however, when he spotted another silhouette standing at the edge of the crenellations, perilously close to the periphery of the parapets. It took some time for his eyesight to fully focus and recognise the figure--her hair had changed, and he hadn't exactly been able to pin down other distinguishing features--as his erstwhile guide, staring into the distance. How exactly did one initiate conversation here? Kasrjin wished to ask Edda a great deal of questions, but something within him that may have been instinct told him that now was an inappropriate time to make such inquiries. Much of him twinged at frustration in the Western continent's circuitous and labyrinthine social practices; every person he had met here so far seemed to have the resilience of a snowflake or a drop of rain, and the boundaries and restrictions of their conversational conventions felt stifling indeed. Faced with a lack of options, he stepped closer so as to be heard above the frigid breeze and called out to her. "Edda." It was awkwardly voiced, halfway between a command and a question, with the uncertainty of his tone being matched only by the certainty that he had likely made another inappropriate assumption. She did not seem to be startled as a voice called out to her. Perhaps she had expected it, but from who exactly was anyone's guess. Edda turned to look over her shoulder at the sound, her brow creased in frustration. Her eyes were red and swollen, from the cold no doubt, her teeth chattering in the exposed cold of her current location. "Khadai," she managed to croak out. It had an inflection that also sounded like a question, and she did not say any more. He tilted his head. "...are you feeling sickness?" A part of Kasrjin knew that the query was a little superfluous, and another part genuinely thought that she might have become stricken with some manner of ailment. "No," Edda responded matter-of-factly. She turned to face him. Despite the precarious location of which she stood, with a drop of nearly a hundred fulms below her, she did not seem at all concerned. Her lips pursed, and she looked at the Xaela searchingly, as if expecting him to say more. Kasrjin returned her yearning expression with a puzzled one of his own. Ordinarily, he would have expected her to have turned away from him, or to ask him what he wanted. The fact that she didn't follow up with any prompt to which he might have responded made him uncomfortable. This was a...cue for him to speak? If it wasn't, he expected that he would be corrected rather testily. "You are...distressed?" It sounded more like a question to himself than to her, as if Kasrjin were guessing the state of tomorrow's weather. And in a way, he was. "I am perfectly fine," the Hyur replied. A sniffle. "Naturally." She looked to the battlements behind him, as if looking for someone to be with him, or putting him up to this. "What is it?" Her tone was terse, and though Kasrjin had expected it, the slight sharpness in her response disappointed him somewhat. He could only reasonably guess that he'd failed in responding to her cue appropriately. And her response was...not helpful. The Au Ra's confusion deepened. Her demeanor was not one of contentment, and yet she insisted that it was. He shifted uncomfortably, tacitly aware that it would be exceedingly difficult for him to judge what was and wasn't an appropriate act in this situation. "...I possess queries. But you do not appear..." a pause and a struggle with vocabulary. "...at ease." A stiff smile appeared almost reflexively on Edda's face. She reached up to wipe at her eyes with a sleeve, and took a deep breath. "What are your questions? At least she is being straightforward. Kasrjin shifted his weight from one foot to another, arms straight down at his sides. "Are you uncomfortable with the arrangements of our agreement?" he asked rather bluntly. "What exactly do you mean?" Grateful that the subject of their conversation was now underway in a relatively direct manner, he crossed his arms, more to wrap the heavy sleeves of the borrowed coat around him than as a social gesture. "You do not appear interested in utilizing my abilities. Are my terms of our transaction unnecessary?" "I am interested," Edda responded coolly. "I have been. I see no reason to rush, however." A pause. She looked hard at the man, studying his reaction closely. "And what of you? Are you dissatisfied?" The Xaela shook his head, sending the ragged green fringes and ponytail to disturb the gentle snowfall that had begun. "No. I wished for you to bring me to this region known as Coerthas. You have done so. You are no longer obligated to me." He straightened his posture. "I would know if you intend to travel to...Ishgard, now that the requirements of your duties to me have been fulfilled. I am still pledged to your service. I would know of your destination." Edda looked away and smirked, but it was one of clear discontent. "What a web you two have spun." She took one step forward and held it, before dropping off the ledge of the battlement. There was a carelessness in her step, and she stared up at the sky as she walked forward. "I had intended to accompany you as far as need be, to see whether or not you were worthy of my trust, and the job I had in mind. Naturally, I am not the best of guides, but the kind of protection I can afford is not one easily found." She looked to him now from a distance, her expression cold and distant. "You - however. And Roen. This does not suit either of you, and it is now known to me that you would have me leave, that you two may continue on in peace." A frown split Kasrjin's face. "I do not possess such intention. Do not ascribe it to me. It is true that the stern woman wished that I part company with you. That is, and was not, an appropriate request. I am compelled to fight for you. I cannot do so away from your side." The Hyur frowned. "And were I to release you from such obligation?" "You are not fit to do so. I refuse your generosity." It was a flat, almost immediate response. "Our agreement was established as a transaction. Until the agreed upon services have been exchange, it is not done, nor shall it be." "And who are you to determine whether or not I am fit to do so?" Edda's voice rose in volume, and she turned to face the Au Ra fully, as if in an attempt to make herself appear bigger. "Why would you refuse me now? Roen had made it sound as if you were more than receptive to the idea." Kasrjin's frown twisted with bewilderment. "It was the stern woman's suggestion that I refuse your generosity. I agree with the idea. To accept your services and fail to give my own is..." he pursed his lips. "...erroneous. I do not know what has been told to you through, but I was not represented accurately. You attempt to break off our agreement out of...charity. I do not accept. Nor shall I. Under the terms of our agreement, you are my charge, and I am bidden to fight for you. Do not confuse the circumstances further." His own tone rose somewhat in austerity. "If anything, you seem to be the one who is confused." She shook her head. Discontent was clear on her face, though not necessarily directed at Kasrjin. "Roen admitted her thoughts to me, and she is not wrong - beyond this point, I am useless to you as a guide. You consider my offer to be one of charity. Do not misunderstand. I offer for your sake, that you might continue your quest unburdened." He shook his head again. "You speak contradiction. You claim your offer is not of charity, yet you offer for my sake alone without desiring compensation. This cannot be so." His stern frown deepened with uncertainty. "For what reason do you continue to refuse the terms of our agreement, if my function is not inadequate? If my capabilities do not meet your standards, then I have erred, and mistakenly offered what I believed to be equitable terms where there were none." The Xaela straightened his posture again. "I am bidden to fight for you. If you believe me to be incapable of fulfilling that duty, then provide your reasoning so that I may disagree with it." The careful listener might have noted the barest hint of pride in his challenge. Edda took a step forward. "Your function is more than adequate," she said quickly. "I am not here, however, to stand in your way. I am no warrior - do you not agree? These were the terms to our agreement yes, but is it truly your wish to lug me around as dead weight?" Kasrjin's silence was long and pronounced, and it was clear that he was deep in thought. Even with the wind picking up in speed somewhat, the occasional errant flake burying itself in his mane of hair or upon the obsidian scales, his eyes shimmered a viridian sheen. The more he thought about his explanation, the less coherent it seemed, but it also seemed to be the best option when it came to justifying his mentality. The seconds of blank air stretched into uncomfortable minutes which felt like hours. "Very few among those with whom I am from are warriors." He spoke slowly, deliberately, as if every single word were handpicked and cleaned from the arbitrary slurry that was his vocabulary. "Yet they too possess relevant function." "People cannot survive with soldiers alone. There must be...artisans. Healers. Leaders. Educators. Traders." He gestured towards her. "Your body cannot survive with only muscle and bone. It must have mind, heart, blood, eyes, mouth, and lungs. On their own, these things possess no value. Only when they are placed within that system are they able to function efficiently." "You speak the truth. You are not a warrior. That does not mean that you are unneeded. It only means that you are needed. You are more necessary than I, who can only perform that with which I possess capacity for." Another pause. "You are not as I. Therefore, I am to rely on you, for without those of differing functions, I cannot adequately perform my own." Kasrjin shifted uncomfortably. He almost felt physically ill from speaking so many words in the foreign language in such a short amount of time. It was a veritable speech on its own, but to the Xaela it was if he'd spent a straight fortnight doing naught but reciting litanies. He only hoped that he managed to convey his idea without ambiguity.

I fluctuate between ISTP and ISTJ depending on the test and its parameters. I like to think my personality brings me one step closer to my dream of being a robot.

"Welcome what may emerge from her love for austerity." -- The pitch black granite that marred the walls occasionally morphed into a gradient of golden brown. The strata that slashed through the polished stone, too, would metamorphose from the honey yellow that was embedded in the sable rock to a cool white, emitting soft lambencies that matched their hues. The elaborate designs and whorls had straightened into a more practical pattern, arranged in a sequence of corners and lines that were not unlike a labyrinth to provide optimal illumination. And again, just as it was on her arrival, the corridor was empty. The soft steps of Tsanai's moccasins resonated far too loudly than one would expect as she stepped down the passage, which seemed to stretch and contort to a length that contradicted the form of the structure that contained it. It was impossible to tell when the change along the hall took place, but the streaked walls had begun to melt away as she stepped closer to the chamber where the Communion continued to take place. All senses gradually slipped from her perception, to be replaced with a familiar warm hum that gently padded the insides of her mind like a quilt being sewn to the underside of her consciousness. The Xaela felt her rounded features grow numb until naught could be felt, as if it were vaporized into dust and drifted away. It was not an uncomfortable sensation, but the exact feeling of the experience differed with every single iteration. If she had to describe it, every bit of her from the entirety of her body to the smallest strand of unkempt black hair was being replaced by a grain of perfectly round sand that was far too smooth to be natural. The granite walls and hard floor had completely melted away, and though she could not see or even feel her feet, she knew she was stepping forward. Every footfall that she perceived caused a white, circular ripple to flash out from the point of impact. Her surroundings were supposed to be bursting with the indescribable, unreachable colours that highlighted the presence of the Correspondence. However, where this space should have been awash with a rainbow of ideas, what colours swirled within range of Tsanai's senses were far too few, and far too bright in their solemn vigil. What should have been a tapestry composed of a thousand brilliant stars was instead a nearly blank canvas plastered in dull, muted greys, silently screaming in the horizon. Disturbingly enough, whenever she focused on a patch of grey it would suddenly stretch forward with amoebic appendages that could not decide between taking the form of grasping hands or gnashing mouths, mere ilms from her face and body, yearning to partake of her and feed its ravenous hunger. She would merely frown at it distastefully, and with the next blink the section would be calm and far away. Her steps ceased, the ripples abruptly vanishing, as she sensed she was where she needed to be. Wisps of a smoke-like substance flashed across the awareness she could only barely call her vision, within this space that defied all reason. What have you observed? No voice came from the query and no breath rasped from a throat, for the bowels of the chamber held nothing but formless thought. It was as if she were receiving the bare concept of the question's idea--a question that desired a description from what she had perceived in a certain location. A brief flutter of her attention recalled the first time she'd been exposed to the sensation; however, those feelings of terror had long since vanished. The edges of her mind held onto a smattering of her concept of physical form, and so though she could not feel limbs or organs her, voice--though its current state extraordinarily weak compared to how it was in normal contexts--still managed to serve as a vehicle of conveyance. It was the bare minimum required to keep her own sense of self from being drawn into the Communion. Even now, clawing at the edges of her consciousness, she could feel the ghostly white limbs reach out. They could sense her affinity for the Correspondence, and the mass desired it as a wolf desired tender flesh. "All appears to be normal, but Tsuven has received a character of the Correspondence," Tsanai responded. If an intangible haze made up of naught but ideas and scattered scraps of self-identity could have imitated a startled but slightly muted gasp, Tsanai expected that this was the moment she would have witnessed it. Then our information is either incomplete, misinterpreted, or we have been deceived. It was impossible to tell who inside the fog was transmitting a particular idea, unless that specific Tsenkhai put forth effort into distinguishing their ego from the amorphous cloud while engaged in the Communion. More thoughts emerged from the mist like myriad limbs grasping for an understanding of the circumstances where very little could be found. This limitation extends to all Tsenkhai. Even those who have supposedly been erased. None have collected more than a handful of characters." It is not certain. Tsuven may yet be an exception. There are none currently living among us who share his circumstances. The archives are untouched by this anomaly. Will we consult the Tsenkheriin? We must. The conversation--and it was difficult to classify the previous exchange of ideas as such, as they seemed to communicate more to themselves than to any other individual or group of individuals-ceased abruptly in consensus. One ephemeral tuft of the haze poured forth into the shape of a humanoid, as if it were molten metal filling a mold, and in its place, Tsanai could begin to perceive the reflection of an individual's ego; wrinkled features that were aged by what seemed to be centuries, gnarled horns that curled behind the head and looked brittle enough to snap with one's finger, a bald head devoid of hair. It seemed an overtly difficult task to determine if the entity identified as male or female, but by the gesture alone she knew who it was anyway. She might have snorted; there was no need to go to such trouble just because Tsanai was not currently joined with the nebula of personalities that was the other Tsenkhai. Tsanai felt her field of perception descend in height; had she a body within this space, it would have been kneeling. Not out of respect, but because the ghostly form of the elderly Xaela would not be able to perceive her presence otherwise. "Tsenkheriin." The invisible head of the figure tilted itself downwards. "What do you know of this anomaly?" Precedence. The concept flowed from the spectral silhouette towards the swarm of Tsenkhai, shrouded in fog, curling within itself before letting out an earth-shattering boom. The white ripples from before appeared again in torrents, threatening to wash away the haze of personalities. Almost immediately, they began jabbering with one another. That is good. This has happened before. That means there exists a solution. And an explanation." Clarity, and thus prevention, may be achieved. "Explain," Tsanai spoke, focusing her voice. It was unnecessary for her speech to be any louder--within this space, volume was uniform and therefore did not exist--but distinguishing it was a blatant gesture that would not go unnoticed. She would have answers, and she would have them now. "And do not interrupt," the Xaela added offhandedly to the swirling mist beside her. Insufficient. Impermanent. Reformation. The sound of what seemed to be a gong reverberated in her mind. Incomplete. Immature. Rebuild. The strange gong-like sound echoed again. Immortal. Interminable. Infinite. And with nothing more, the wraith evaporated. A flash of light blazed in the horizon, indicating that another single of the Correspondence had been collected. And as soon as the ember of the Correspondence had been lit, the incessant chatter erupted again, heedless of Tsanai's earlier command. The mass of personalities swirled and bubbled. We will work towards restoration. Our stasis must be achieved. The eternal march reveals itself to our generation. We will be gathered. A reformation is necessary. All at once, the flurry of thoughts paused. Tsanai felt them focus on her. She struggled to withhold her thoughts of anger and horror at the idea the thick fog of personalities presented to her. She felt her form step back...retreat. She had no body, and it screamed at her to retreat. To flee. What they wanted to do...words failed her, yet somehow the Tsenkhai had reached a consensus on its implementation, and Tsanai alone would be unable to dissuade them. Collect Tsuven. She found herself being carried away--or rather, storming out--of the centre chamber. The frayed edges of her mind could still hear the howling. At least one of the personalities within the blob could sense her, would try to stop her. An errant dreamer, one that--if Tsanai's brief assessment was true--would never truly awake again. But she would not be stopped. As the hallway dimly filtered itself into her vision and her senses returned, even as she could feel parts of herself crumbling away, she was defiant. Her hand shook as it grasped the hem of her robe. Their last command pounded away at her mind. Collect. Collect. Collect.. Collect. Collect. collect. collect. collect collect collect collect collect collect They would not have their way.

The arguments being put forth in this thread, particularly the ones attempting to quantify wit and intellect, are more or less completely meaningless because what the question is essentially asking is: "Can people force you to perceive their character a certain way?" And the answer is no. I think everyone would agree that the answer is no. Unless it's a D&D campaign where the attributes of a character are tracked and informed (e.g. Roll a lore check, score a natural 20, "With staggering speed, your character deciphers the runes effortlessly. This language seems similar to what you know of Ancient Whatsit, and the structure is odd, but you feel that you obtain the complete accurate meaning of the ancient tablet nonetheless"), then no one can force others to perceive their character a certain way. Regardless of whether or not the player is intelligent, the player cannot force other characters to perceive their character as intelligent. An intelligent character may be viewed by other characters as dumb. A dumb character may be viewed by other characters as the flowering genius of the era. If other characters don't perceive your character as the way you want your character to be perceived, then the problem is not the other characters but the portayal--again, one cannot force others to perceive their characters or writing a certain way. One example being put forth is the idea of conveyance; the difference between " does with incredible comfort and skill" and " performs . One is telling. The other is showing. In this situation, the question changes. The question becomes "Does telling someone about a character's attributes substitute for showing them?" And you'll get varying answers, but really what it comes down to is whether or not the audience is willing to tolerate lazy writing. I can of course simply "tell" you that my character is Picasso, Mozart, and Ice JJ Fish rolled into one amazing artistic package, and your character may respond to it by reacting as if they'd met an incredible visionary, but how the player behind the other character responds is up to them. If they're willing to roll with it, then they proceed as normal. If they're not really okay with being told rather than shown, then their character can react accordingly. Attempting to force perceptions on other is, as a general rule, a bad time. Perceptions of characters or situations are made by their portayals, and if you can't convince the audience of a certain trait or attribute, or if they're not willing to roll with being told but not shown, then you're pretty much out of luck.

Pre-emptive mod warning because threads about White Mages tend to get out of hand. Keep it relevant and keep it civil. Sincerely, the moderators who don't want to wake up to nineteen reported posts tomorrow morning

Whether or not its offensive is pretty much irrelevant, because the function of correcting someone's technical mistakes in RP--whether it's spelling, grammar, malapropisms, or what have you--is superfluous, at least to me. My own thought process on it goes like this: Is the meaning of their sentence or sentences clear? If yes, then don't bother, even if it's incorrect. If no, then ask for clarification, proceed as normal. If the meaning is misinterpreted, then that is an opportune time to bring up spelling, grammar, malapropisms etc. without it being needlessly critical.

Kasrjin is the transfer student who speaks in the thick Eastern European accent and is unexplainably stricken with a slight foreign odour every day. Popular on campus for literally no reason other than being a somewhat exotic presence and pronouncing words in amusing ways. Easygoing and generally willing to go along with anything that doesn't seem fatal, and he once got carried away from a school basketball game in a stretcher because he somehow managed to tase himself in the neck with two potatoes and a pair of crocodile clips. When asked to teach people how to swear in his native language, he inexplicably teaches other students the phrase "car horse stapler field" and variations of it. Straight C+ student. Likes sleeping during power point presentations.

The short answer is that the value of gil is vague and therefore completely arbitrary depending on the context. It's worth noting that attempting to link in-game value to fluff value is pretty much fruitless. For example, battlecraft leves and the individual marks for Clan Centurio hunting bills give around 1,500 gil upon completion, not counting bonuses. Ishgard sells Beef Stew for 415 gil. Factoring in some limited realism--travel time, collecting trophies, etc.--you'd be lucky to buy two or three whole meals even though you travelled to Coerthas Western Highlands and fought three yetis to the death. So the in-game value really cannot be translated to any sort of real world value without running into a huge plethora of inconsistencies and contradictions. So unless every player used the same in-game vendor from which to draw their conversions, it's more or less futile. If for some reason the narrative demands specific numbers, then I use a simple "10 gil = 1 USD" conversion. A few gil is a paltry sum, a thousand gil is a decent tip, a hundred thousand gil is a respectable sum, and several hundreds of thousands of gil is still relatively wealthy. I'd rather not speculate on the theory of gil inflation and whether or not it's a currency that uses a metallic standard, but what it comes down to is: avoid using numbers to describe gil. Besides, as long as we're trying to apply realism then gil should be using denominations anyway like platinum coins to denote one thousand gil or something. Unless adventurers really are hauling around sacks of millions of individual coins.

Playing with depth of field effects and colour saturation.