Zelmanov

going by the naming conventions Emperor's new "X" always made whatever the "X" was invisible. So yes, expect a lot of RP bare knuckle fist fights now!

[2.0]The following item for concealing the appearance of a pugilist's arm is available for purchase from Tataroga in Mor Dhona at Revenant's Toll (X:22 Y:6). The Emperor's New Fist

Part 2! Though the Astrologians couldpredict the movements of the horde decades ahead of time, what they gained in foresight they lost in precision. In the grand scheme of a thousand years of battle, being a week or a month off was never truly unheard of but the window of opportunity for this attack, for the return of Sarkany to poison the fields of Coerthas, was coming to a close. Sarkany had been canonized into the enchiridion as one of Nidhogg’s commanders near nearly half a millennia ago, making the serpent at least an extra hundred years older than that. He had favored terrorizing further south than most, emboldened by relative youthfulness and fueled by the rage of his forbearers, his breath wilted the grass, choked the life out of man and crop alike and so Sarkany’s bitter bile would pour south of Skyfire Locks, cutting off the lowborne from the safety of the shelters and ruining the farmlands. Sarkany sought the blood of commoners, not of those who could fight him. The plan was set the day theassault was divined from the heavens. However, in what Orrin had begun to understand as prohibitively singleminded focus, no Astrologian could foretell that this particular assault would come after the calamity. Such an assault during the currently endless winter would be even more devastating than any that had come before and so the Holy See’s hand was forced to relay a larger, more spectacular force south: The dragonkillers at Camp Dragonhead would be calibrated southwards to prevent retreat once Sarkany overextended, the soldiers would emerge from the locks, already beneath their soft underbellies to drive their spears in and upwards. From there Sarkany and his brood would be forced further south or risk crashing against Camp Dragonhead, and men from house Durendaire would come from Whitebrim through St. Daniffen’s pass to properly close them in. Orrin’s role was to cut throughfrom the south, ignore all others and go for the monster himself. This was nearly standard procedure, Dragoons were best used strategically, bringing down the more troublesome and aged dragons so the footmen could stay and fight, nothing emboldened men than seeing several centuries old lives extinguished, struck down from the sky in righteous judgement. However this time, Orrin was to act alone, not with a squad or even bolstering an existing one, it was his responsibility alone to ensure Sarkany choked on its own poisoned breath. Given an opportunity for glory? Ordered to die? Neither made sense to him. No lord would give over the glory of slaying such a beast to the Mutt of Ishgard of all men. Nor had he knowledge of whom would see him to troublesome to be kept alive especially at his age, none others than those that saw Ser Aymeric as an obstacle and Orrin thought them all too craven to ever be able to act against the Lord Commander. Regardless, the rage that hadboiled within his blood from the result of the moons long campaign in the shroud could finally find chance to be quenched by the blood of a dragon he found truly reprehensible, one that razed villages just like the one he was found in. Orrin walked along the pathwestward of Fallgourd, into the dead and razed ground that even the elementals could not breath life back into again. Even so, he knew the Dragons avoided the shroud even now, either in fear, or accordance with the elemental’s whims. He figured that it would be another bell’s march before he would hear even a hint of the battle. His footsteps carried him northwards, the dead granite mixing with scattered patches of snow. Kshhhhht…Ser..Ha…” his linkshellpinged again, amongst the static came screams of death and carnage “Wou….-ushed..back!” The aether garbled the message, his movement quickened in hopes of getting a better signal “Fleeing south! Towards you!” Orrin’s attention is quicklycalled to the flap of leathery wings and a deafening roar. He draws his weapon and his eyes instantlydraw heavenward By the Fury, the creature is to seek shelter so far south? The heavy forked lance held at the ready, he breaks into a sprint. This would be troublesome, he had hopes to catch Sarkany amidst the chaos and strike from the flank or behind, but this meant he had duty to fight the commander head on. It drew into view now, the blackened silhouette against the azure skies taking more definite form. It was low to the ground, the flapping of its wings favoring one side over the other and protesting howls of anguish and rage would echo through the valley that linked the highlands to the Northern Shroud. The figure changed direction and dived at him. It was a near streak of light, the massive form of the dragon spiraling down at him like a loosed arrow, all the while unleashing a fluorescent, greenish ichor from its maw. Orrin plants his foot and pushes off to dive to the side but the sheer impact of Sarkany with the ground tossed Orrin onto his back a few feet further from where he intended to land. Orrin is left with his earsringing, head rattled within his helm. He had the empty sky in full view, how many must have witnessed that sight before they breathed their last. He gasps for air and his lungs and nose burned. The impact kicked up the snow and dirt of the borderland and clouded the battlefield. He rolls onto his belly, curling onto hands and knees, coughing into the mouth guard, the sound of blood or phlegm or something smattering against the inside. He heard rumbling footfalls and the batting of wings. Get up, Hells damn you, get up. His hands grip the haft of his weapon and he drives the back end into the blackened soil and pulls himself up with it. What little greenery, like lichens and mosses that dotted the ground were browning, wilting, submerged in the thin green blanket of poisonous gas that came up to Orrin’s ankles. His gaze turns to the impact crater made by the dragon’s dive bomb. The dirt and snow began to settleand so Orrin would get to witness the half-millennium old dragon for the first time. The unblinking red eyes of his visor hid his surprise. The Enchiridion described the Sarkany as an unholy terror, whose visage was as poisonous as his breath, claws wrought from steel, but even its flowery depiction failed in properly capturing what he saw approaching him. It stood upon two legs, like a wyvern, but its gait was more humanoid than that. Also, unlike a wyvern, the creature’s wings, one tattered and torn, were folded upon its back as opposed to being draped beneath its arms. The claws seemed to be elongated to lance-point, far too big to be walked upon. It stood tall, thrice as high as Orrin and many more times as thick, upon its shoulders writhed a myriad of heads that moved like the mane of tentacles upon a morbol’s maw. Each rise and fall of the dragon’s chest forced a puff of noxious gas from the mouths of all its heads, save one that was firmly planted at the center, glaring at the oddly garbed dragoon that fought to stand back on his two feet. It raised its two massive clawsto either side and tossed all its heads back in what could called a chortle. Orrin readied his weapon, body aching, strength draining. Aye, death here would be fitting for one such as him, he let out a cry and charged, each step kicking up the low hanging fog at his feet, cutting a swath through it towards the beast. He strikes. ((News of tainted ground near thenorth of the shroud could be heard among the chattering of hearers and wailers, the area dead and brown, blood soaked into the soil. I didn't want to bum this page of an entire, lengthy combat scene))

No harm done, I'll go for fences, I'll log on to get some RP on

Orrin is fill for Sylph destructive, otherwise, I think Liadan would enlist Orrin's help for for Fahn and games, am I wrong?

Orrin from greek origins means "Man of the Mountains" which is fitting since he was picked up from the wreckage of a razed town in Coerthas and adopted, essentially a child born of the mountain, akin to Moses being "drawn from the river" Halgren comes from gibberish I put together, meant to mimic old elezen names akin to Thordan or Haldrath. I only found out LATER that it is a name in scandinavian countries (Hallgren, Halgren, Halgrin) and has no real meaning

So, Hunt logs, things you don't really think about...things you don't really do these days either due to better means of gearing up. But you guys ever really pay attention to the hunt marks? Yes we got the dhamels and sky worms and catoblepas, we have things such as Vanu Vanu, Gnath, very sentient, though hostile beings . And yet we are given a carte blanche to slaughter them quite indiscriminately. Even in the 50 hunts, we can be tasked with murderizing many a beastman.. What do you think of this? Just gameplay / lore seperation situation? Or is this truly indicative of how deeply terrible the eorzean people are to anyone that doesn't truly fit the "sons of man" description?

The oddly garbed Dragoon hadbecome too common a sight in the Carline Canopy. Each passing day felt like he was overstaying his welcome in the Elemental-plagued shroud. Rumors of a man like him being present in the light of grand disasters that were plaguing the forests was finally catching up and it seemed that people made purposeful effort to skirt around his table, adventurers and the staff alike. Even the one Keeper of the Moon bar wench who he had been angling for now always looked at him as though she was being held hostage whenever they conversed. Thoughtonight he managed to wrangle the company of an Elezen woman to his table, was always easier to do so when in more civilized clothing. "Alwayswanted t'head back t'Ishgard myself" She said with a small titter "Heard its beautiful even in the winter, Ma always talked about how she loved the high courts; going on about the high life she used to have --before she took me away to Gridania when I was just a babe for my safety of course-- funny how she speaks like the rest of them Gridanians do though.." Orrinlistened politely, her words passing through one ear and out the other, eyes beginning to wander about for something, anything more engaging. His eyes caught a retainer of some sort adhering a new poster to the wall, eyes narrowed in hope that the quiet weeks of inaction had finally come to an end and a new leve had surfaced. This was not the case, his eyes widening as he say a wash of flesh-colored tones of yellowed paper, he recognized too many faces in an instant, Anstarra, Nihka…Leanne? He had to blink a few times and it clearlybetrayed his disinterest to the woman in front of him. “You even listening? I’m beginningto doubt you are a true blooded Ishgardian like myself!” she said with her forest-borne drawl. “Excuse me…” he said, gettingup with a bow that would have been instantly recognized as polite, but dismissive, cessation of dialogue customary to the Pillars, which was clearly lost on her. Her protests fade into thebackground of the canopy as he looks over the poster. “This grease business again” he thought, recalling V’aleera’s poster. Curious it took so long to resurface since the last…even more curious that Leanne of all sorts was pulled into it. Perhaps a visit was in order, remembering something about horse oil causing issues in the market naught but less than a moon back.

Things have been quiet, anything been going on??

http://na.finalfantasyxiv.com/lodestone/topics/detail/c69591e9ce2890b3cf6519afcefa468662d44b7b The male winner doesn't look so bad, and it will be the closest I can get to Aymeric, so its mine!

Oh dear, if that screenshot is right....well...I know the entire Ishgard LS will be in tears.

All these "runes on gloves" is giving me a Full Metal Alchemist vibe...

I should fix that... well if your trip to azys lla happens to snag you a smn soulstone and you try to use that new found power to try and squish that pesky dragoon, I won't call foul.

This is just a general curiosity question. Twists are a spice of the narrative, they can be anywhere from long time coming to spur of the moment. However, how do you guys go about making a "twist" that isn't seen as an "ass pull" that is to say, how do you make it that when you are seemingly disarmed and you then pull a dagger out of your boot to retaliate and stay in the game, that it doesn't seem "cheap" or "god modding" or "unfair" or say, your character has been plotting to betray your group of friends, every action calculated to gain trust and then POW! I'd love to hear of positive experiences of perpetrating or being the victim of a twist of these sort. How do you (or did they) drop hints that something is up without giving away what is about to happen?

I tend to ignore them, I'll never have a plotline involving a stolen or pick-pocketed soulstone robbing Orrin of his powers or anything of the like. However I am lore-flexible (as always) so if anything Orrin has one, and has infused a great deal of his knowledge into it as well.

ignore this post, I'm still in for screaming never stops

“You came all the way here for that?” Those words clawed at him,digging into the flesh of his thoughts. It had been two moons away from home and he had naught else to show for it but that infuriating taunt. He could still feel the heat, remember the sight of the southern shroud ablaze as the ground opened up underneath their feet as if to swallow them. He heard that moment of silence before the explosion. He also heard the high-pitched, shimmering whine of the greenwrath taking one Wood Wailer after another. Even just thinking about it nowforced his lips to contort and his nose to wrinkle, never had he seen such an affront to life and honor, even in all his time against the horde. Those men were robbed of their lives by the very ones they wished to appease. There was no fight, no struggle. They were just deconstructed, deleted without a second thought with no corpse left to bury not even the mask that was supposed to protect them. Syros North was the cause and they paid for it. It was injustice. He felt a roiling rumble in thepit of him he had not felt since that day 7 years ago and it took all he could muster to suppress it, his breathing had to deepen, his muscles forced to relax. Yet, he was so blinded by that feeling that he could not recognize it for what it was until he and those he could call to arms had scraped their way into the heart of Amdapor. “You came all the way here for that?” the voidsent asked in annoyance. Thoughit was asked in reference to lifting a curse set upon a trio of adventurers they had found in the city, it cut it into him as well. Came all the way here, for what? To kill Syros himself in the name of the Wailers that died? To kill Syros because Orrin could not fight an elemental even if his whole being screamed at him to? Or was it so that he would not let another get away, like X’kirra? Why had he come all the way here, to Gridania? Ishgard was still at war. One thousand years of faith, a campaign of honor was just laid false before the eyes of truth; the nation was turbulent and perhaps ready to collapse upon itself. It was a country ever in need of its defenders. For even if blood and treachery were the start of the war, they could not simply lie down and die to the dragons. Yet, he came all the way here, all the way here for what? To help Anstarra? Anstarra was merely a piece to getting X’kirra and that final wyrm tear that had escaped him before. Was that it then? Came all the way here for revenge? Perhaps it was, but no longer. He could feel the anger of theprisoners that have been attacking the shroud, or so he thought, and if he could drive the elementals out, he would if only on principle of their inability or indifference when it came from discerning one life of a human being from another. But were it to be done, it’d not be this way. For solely the sake of the people of Gridania he’d preserve that damnable pact and make those responsible pay, even the ones that so comfortably sat in the Fane if need be. Orrin’s eyes shot open at thesound of his linkpearl going off in his ear. He had been sitting in an inn room in the bobbing cork, fully suited in his gear and the call made him rise to his feet. Taking his lance in hand he sets out from Fallgourd Float towards the northern border near Coerthas. ((part 2 coming eventually))

Changed mind, going for Screaming Never Stops first.

Monk: Something about believing in the power of your chakras and how you totally won't break your hand on the boulder punching it as hard as you can.

I hope what I predicted of Ishgard's development comes true so then I don't need to massively retcon Orrin >_>

http://na.finalfantasyxiv.com/lodestone/topics/detail/67bb968813a6b96cb65327f01b1641b04279d564

Orrin wants to kill things! blood harvest! Can go for Screaming never stops if underpopulated or a ton of people want blood harvest.

There is no coincidence that Orrin is a Dragoon, and much like his job, he'd fit the stereotype to a T when it comes to Dragoons of the past, fitting in along side Cid, Fang and Kain, or Kimarhi. That means that he'll be a party member, you acquire him naturally, how quickly depends on the story being told. He would have his own backstory and motivated for his own reasons more so than because the typical "Friendship and love" espoused by the main character. He would have an elongated optional back story sidequest akin to Yuffie. He would end up being part of the final party composition in older games like FFVII and FFIV At the end of the game and most likely he'd be useful enough that if you are playing a game like FFX or FFXIII that you wouldn't have him disappear and feel obligated to keep him (Like Auron or Yuna). However, he may leave or be separated at times for personal goals. I feel this position fits the best due to what I call "Jack Sparrow Syndrome" essentially, Orrin is good in small doses, he's a character that works well when the plot doesn't exactly focus on him moving things forward, so he gets to do whatever awesome thing he wants. Chaining him with "main character" responsibilities slows him down and makes him less engaging because he doesn't have much room for growth for your typical FF game, he's 30 and skilled and currently possesses a mindset that I think will be the one he will carry to his grave. Need a damn young whippersnapper to do things. Some "out of FF" flavor would come from aspects akin to Wrex in Mass Effect, where player action/inaction may force a conflict or fight to kill/keep him in the party

I want to say William Riker AKA Jonathan Frakes and so it shall stay until I can find a better voice that can more properly represent an Ishgardian nobleman's accent without being foppish and fay

yes please. let's rerail this thread, I care more about how each player goes about showing off their experience/resume in RP.