Mikh'a

I'mma be rolling in with some mad heals. /sagenods

Haven't had power to respond all day. D: But I could make it.

I still haven't managed to clear it. I've even taken to DFing it at this point. @_@

I wouldn't mind meeting at some point if you don't! ( Especially if you meet Eva since she's stuck with Mikh'a now. ) Mikh'a is a Garlean refugee who does a lot of work with Allagan and Garlean technology though recently ( partially because FINALLY YASSSS ) he's been delving pretty heavily in to Sharlayan tech. There could be plots and fun. And military secrets are always a good way to go, given the nature of the business.

I don't have any LS space so I was never able to get in on the LS part of this. ;_;

[align=center] HOLY MOLY LOOK AT ALL THE PEOPLE HERE.[/align]

[align=center] Sazi, Anzio, Jace, and Siha My little nerds all grown up and getting ready to kill some monsters for the Immortal Flames. ♥ [/align]

Hey, if you guys want to get something going I will gladly join up. I really only play healer classes, though I'm able to play both. ( I'm just better at WHM than SCH. )

I'm stuck. ;~; I've made it all the way to Divebombs but most PF groups that I get in can't make it past meteors for one reason or another. ( Normally because it's people that have never been in there before, which is okay, we all want to clear it. ) I've been beating my head against the wall for a couple of months trying to get this clear through PF and DF to no avail so I know your feel. ._.

Ooh! Me me me pick me! Can I come?

How does your character deal with killing? Mikh'a has never killed anyone, and to be completely honest I hope he never does. In regards to other people killing, however, it's purely based on the situation in which it has been presented to him. He, personally, is a pacifist in as close a sense to the word as he can get. He does not like, nor agree with violence and avoids performing it at all costs unless he absolutely needs to be directly involved. It's one thing to punch a monster in the face, it's another to punch a person. ( And we're talking legitimate monsters, not Beast Tribes. ) He took the route of healing to save lives, not end them. That said he understands that there is a certain necessity that comes with war. His friends, those people he spends time with both in and out of the Dauntless? Most all of them have killed, and despite his poking at them to try to find better solutions he does not, and will not hold it against them. How did your character feel after his/her first kill? He hasn't killed, but I can guarantee you if he ever does it will be devastating for him. I've imagined several scenarios where he HAS killed, and they all usually end with him brooding and depressed and for a short time non-functional. It usually requires someone to slap him back to reality though he'd never be the same again. Killing someone would destroy something inside of him. He begged to save the life of a murderer, after all, because he firmly believes no one deserves to die. Does your character mull over it later on? Mikh'a mulls over stuff like this frequently, and it usually further fuels his nagging after people like Ki or Osric. If he could just prevent one pointless death...

[align=center] "Rolanberry cheesecake?"[/align]

You're stuck with me until you tell me to gtfo. :: cackles maniacally ::

Yeaaaaaaaaaaaah ponies.

In this order... Sharlayan, Garlemald, Ala Mhigo, more Allagan ruins/lost Allagan city. But mostly Sharlayan and Garlemald. Just please. @_@

Yay! As long as I'm in town I will be there. 8D And if you still need guards even though it's in the city then I will smoosh the Dauntless there, but definitely try to be there just for the regular event. 8D

I just remember our characters wigging out like omg noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. It was sad.

What in the bloody hells was that? Heat. Smoke. Ringing ears. Blackened vision. Can't breathe. His hands had gone up reflexively as soon as he hit the ground but people were still going to die. No. The lattice had spread swiftly but debris had still fallen through. A man was crushed, reaching, calling for anyone and anything. Sanctuary. Mother. Rhalgr. Anyone. He couldn't even think of a quip about the Twelve, barely remembered Mortar's usual reminder that his blasphemy was getting him killed. It smelled like singed flesh, the shield couldn't save them from all the heat. The roof was on top of it, held aloft by the sheer pressure of aether alone and Mikh'a grunted in concentration. Shas and Crofte had hit the ground, some of Scythe's men had been spared the painful death but it was a double edged sword. They couldn't get around the shield and it was just a sickening reminder of something A'laric had said to him a long time ago. “Move!” Shas lifted her head first. They hadn't been spared injury, just a roof. “MOVE IT!” She looked confused and Mikh'a started to shift and try to get to his feet, kicking at a stray piece of beam that had fallen, splintered, and half landed on his leg. He was lucky it wasn't broken. The shield wavered the instant he got to his feet. Someone slammed in to the shield and he bit back the urge to cry out. “The Dreadnaught must have been rigged, it was a trap!” Eorzea's gods be damned, Nero had set them up. The thug's face was half burned off by ceruleum and it was eating through flesh and bone. He clawed at the shield and Mikh'a had to force himself to look away. Crofte was finally getting up, coughing and groaning and Shas hooked her arm under the redheaded woman's armpits to drag her away as the shield flickered and seconds later the debris it held aloft near crashed down on their heads. It was all the concentration he had to pick it strengthen it as Shas and Coatleque reflexively ducked in preparation for the coming blow. One of their hands shot out and snagged him by the scruff. “You can't save everyone.” someone said and yanked him back as the aether shield buckled. The instant his concentration was lost and he was pulled backwards Mikh'a's shield was gone and the front of the building, no longer held aloft, crashed down on bodies that had been trying to get to safety within. They weren't far enough out of the red zone not to get the backlash of debris as it hit the ground and Mikh'a rolled on to his side after being tossed rather unceremoniously to the side by Crofte to avoid more damage. The dust was only starting to thin and he coughed as he sat up. “What happened..?” he heard. “It looks like--” he coughed. “Like the Dreadnaught exploded. It-- it had to have been rigged that way. T-to explode.” More coughing and he pulled his tattered shirt sleeve over his mouth and nose. “Ceruleum. Toxic. Breathe as little as possible. Get moving, get out of here. We'll heal later, we have to keep moving.” The adrenaline would keep them moving. Someone grabbed his arm, Crofte again. She was dragging him to his feet and pulling him backwards, half dragging him, half guiding him to his feet. Shas was leading the way, past destroyed homes and flaming debris as the three of them staggered toward safe air and freedom. There were still people trapped inside but they were already dead. You can't save everyone.

I can also help people get their clears if you need a healer, Kage. Just pinch me in game or on here. c: I'm more than happy to help people clear so they can get to 3.0!

Looks like we need to get some clear parties going up in here. If people want I can help with those too, that way everyone can pony farm!

Memememememe. Take me. I can SCH/WHM heal, either or. c:

Hahaha. Mikh'a was the opposite. He left with "THAT WAS AWESOME CAN I DO MORE?!"

“There's a rumor I heard once, in Garlemald.” “You ain't never been to Garlemald, kitten.” Tiny and easily missed on the rooftops, Mikh'a was sitting on the ledge of a sloping roof with a leg dangling over the side. Of all the things he could not be afraid of? It was heights. He was afraid of the dark. Of cramped spaces. Of close contact with women. Of drowning. Of yarzon. Of chocobos. You get the point? But heights were nothing to him, he could fly all day if he wanted to. There was a hempen rucksack sitting next to him and his tail twitched as someone ran past. “You know natural Garleans can't use Aether, correct?” Mikh'a reached in to the rucksack and pulled out a box, opening it to reveal four different colored marble sized balls. “And that there's rumored to be all kinds of shady aether research going on. It might have just been a ghost story, who knows?” He looked toward the sour Lalafell man next to him. “But the rumor was there all the same, that the Garleans were trying to extract aether from their users in an attempt to give Magitek armor more versatility in skill use.” “...what'd ya do, Korofi?” “Nothing.” “...Korofi...” Dauntless, we’re in for a poor harvest, I repeat, we are in for a poor harvest. “Nothing!” Mikh'a stood up while grabbing the gray orb. “It's just a theory, I'd never use theories on important missions like this..! It's time for you to go though, Mortar. You know what to do.” Mortar watched him incredulously for the longest of nonces. “...Twelve forefend.” he relented finally. “Just glad Askier died before he could ever meet ya, Ul'dah wouldn't stand a chance otherwise.” To that he turned to make a hasty retreat from the rooftop as shots rang out in the distance. “If the Twelve were here you wouldn't need the Dauntless.” “Your blasphemy is going to get you killed!” Mortar's last call was near lost in the rapid fire gunshots in the distance. If it existed he'd consider this a throw back to the gunfight at the O.K. Corral and Mikh'a climbed down more swiftly. His left ear flicked. “Mind the refugees, Ki. Not everyone left.” He knew what he'd hear none the less. He was waiting for the jeering, Not my problem kid, should have got out when they were warned. Paying him extra to not kill the refugees had been put on the table, but even as a pacifist Mikh'a knew there were casualties in war. It was why he did what he did, why he worked for who he worked for, and went where he went. The boy's ears flexed back, he could hear the call of a child to her mother in the ramshackle little hut. A stray bullet zinged overhead and broke an abandoned clay pot – an infant woke from his nap and wailed. Fools, all of them. Why couldn't they have listened? “Time to go!” Mikh'a beat on the door as someone screamed in the distance. “Time to go right now!” The door didn't give. Fools! “Open u-- oh for the love of---” There was something foul on the air and it was wafting, dragged by the dry wind. Old and discarded papers dragged the dirt covered cobblestone behind him and he froze. He could hear them, their boots and sandals dragging along the ground, drawn to the flame like moths. His tiny frame shifted back in to the nook of the doorway, shadowed by the overhang. “...my name is Lieutenant Mikh'a Korofi of the Immortal Flames, and now would be the most opportune time to open up this door and let me in.” he urged in a breath. “There are thugs swarming the lane and if you don't leave right now you are going to lose more than your ho--- AH!” A dagger hit the wood just above his head and the little Miqo'te dove forward to avoid a second, glad the rat faced Midlander was a terrible aim. He smelled foul, like some kind of plant, maybe a mold, and like he hadn't bothered with a bath in several suns. It took the poor boy everything in his power not to retch at the potency, twisting just as a Miqo'te swung her axe out in to the door. Splintered wood went everywhere and a child screamed. ...hells. “Oh no you don't!” the Midlander threw a third dagger and while it once again missed it was distraction enough for him to dive and grab Mikh'a by the tail as he tried to scramble to his feet and take off after the axe wielding Seeker. With a sharp cry of pain he hit the ground face first and reflexively shot his foot out to slam it in to the Midlander's face and break his nose on impact before scrambling to his feet as fast as he could. The marauder swung her axe again as she stalked in to the house and a little girl with braided hair went running for a swaddled bundle in a crate. “Not my brother, not my brother!” she screamed and Mikh'a, in a swell of panic, jumped and grabbed the Miqo'te woman by her ears with aether glowing hands. “What--” she started, and then sank to the ground shortly after that, eyes rolling up in the back of her head as she drifted off in to a deep sleep. “Where are your parents?!” Mikh'a snagged the little girl to the back of her shirt and yanked her toward the door after making sure she had a secure grip on the infant. “In the back!” the child was near as tall as she was and just shy of inconsolable. “His leg is broke, he can't walk! We didn't answer the door when the man came because we thought it was the money people!” The Midlander was at the door suddenly and the little girl screamed again. “Close your eyes!” Mikh'a reflexively covered her eyes with one hand before flinging the gray marble. The instant it impacted the man's chest Mikh'a swung the children back around and covered them as the marble exploded in a burst of aether and a little bit of ceruleum – the man wouldn't die, but he was burned and had slammed back in to a near empty stall across the way and had taken half the front of the hut with him. It worked! No time to be excited. He could smell death. Lots, and lots of death. His ears flexed back and he picked himself up off the sobbing children and helped them back to their feet. “What's happening!” She was dirty and there was a cut on her forehead. His hand lifted and he absently brushed his fingers over it to seal the wound before turning back around to pull her out. “My dad!” she wailed. “I'll come back and get him!” he promised, dragging her down the road. There was something else in the air, a putrid gas, it made his throat hurt. The little girl coughed and he pulled her faster. “Don't stop running, cover his face!” he hissed and yanked her in to an alley. “Keep running this way.” There were other refugees that had lingered on the move now, the sound of gunfire, the explosions, the gas, it had finally got the lingering bodies to move. There weren't many, Aya had done her job, but some people were just too damned stubborn. “Go, stay with them, they'll take care of you!” he ordered the sobbing child as she was dragged up in to the arms of a much larger Highlander refugee who seemed to know her. To that he spun around and took off back in the direction of the sick father. Too late. He could smell death. Who's death? An arrow flew past his head and slammed in to the back of an old man pulling his wife along. Mikh'a swung around as he hit the ground and someone screamed. They were trapped, cornered, a good ten people including him and not a damned thing he could do about it either. There were at least three – no four? He couldn't see so well and cursed his stubborn pride as another arrow flew past and thankfully flew wide in to a barrel. Why hadn't they left when they were told?! Why hadn't they listened?! Things were replaceable, lives weren't, there was nothing worth this! A third arrow flew and without giving it a second thought both hands came up in front of him and the air rippled outward. It was blue, and then it was white, and then it was blue again, hexagon shapes solidifying and fading within seconds of each appearance. The aether seemed to stitch itself together, and as soon as the arrowhead hit it rippled in to view, then faded again while bouncing harmlessly. Several more flew from the rooftops, each bouncing the same as before as the aether bubbled itself around the straggling refugees. Mikh'a breathed out more calmly than he felt and locked eyes with the man in front of him. “...don't kill them.” “Shut up kid, I know what I'm doing.” “Stop calling me kid.” “Your'e a kid, Korofi.” A yell rang out over the rooftops, and then a second, a third. The man in front of him lifted his head and knocked another arrow in rage though before he could even fire a shot something dropped behind him and jammed daggers in to his side. “It ain't vital!” Mortar defended as soon as the man hit the ground. “You can save their lives and put them on trial and hug it all out later, you got work to do! I'll get these people out, go!” Mikh'a grunted as something exploded in the distance. “..that's not mine.” he said and took off the way he'd come, ducking around a corner. His left ear flicked and he said, “Osric I have to-- ...oh.” He nearly lost his balance sliding in the dirt and grabbed a box to catch his weight.

[align=center] Mikh'a had not been secretly hoping R'elend got his butt handed to him at the Grindstone last night.[/align]

I'm still on an adrenaline high from how amazing the RP was this afternoon. @_@ Kudos to Dogberry, Alexander, Menelwen, Artemis, Kage, Chao, Zanther, Rhianna, and Cyneler for some seriously fantastic roleplay. I really hope to see another one soon because I will be first in line to go to it if I can be. Just ugh. You guys were top notch. @_@ More please?