Laike

20 For male should definitely win. I can't believe the Bartz isn't in the game already. It's classic.

Sometimes the best of us can break in a moment of weakness.

ENFP

Hey all. I mentioned in another post that I make costumes (As well as my SO). And I was thinking at work earlier and realized I do have a couple of relevant pieces! So I now present you with my art! This is my Setzer costume. Considering the jacket is in game, I figured it would interest you all. Unfortunately, my old computer kinda went kaput so I don't have access to many pictures of it being worn. I'll try to find some more. But there is one at least. I pulled it out of storage to get some detail shots! It needs an iron, and a bit of a dry cleaning... but should be able to see the work. The shoulders are all embroidered, custom digitized. It's raised with foam to give it more pop. The gold was pressed on, then hand stitched in place by tiny glass beads (The beading alone took about 40 hours if not more....) It was a work of love and I absolutely adore it. Really should wear it more. So here it is! http://imgur.com/a/cEkkz If you guys are interested in more, but slightly off topic... I have a Bartz Pauldron I recently completed, as well as the Red Mage outfit from Bravely Default.

I can understand certain styles of rp are easier than others for some people. I wouldn't consider dramatic rp universally low hanging fruit. For example: For me, the flighty, silly comedic character is the simplest for me to portray and sort of feels 'cheap'. I think in the end, sad stories can get a bad wrap because we've all met people who will throw out drama whenever they feel they're losing attention. But for many people, myself included, there is a cathartic sort of enjoyment in the bittersweet. It has nothing to do with how others react to it. It's purely just an undertone that enhances the past time.

Simple sketch, I'll expand on it later hopefully! The Magpie's Nest: Found in Western La Noscea 3 Boss fights: Gregor the Tainted: "Give up, I have already won." The first battle would take place in a moonlit garden. Gregor himself would be a simple tank and spank. However, during the fight, un-aggroable adds would spawn slowly making their way to the center of the garden where a fountain stood. Upon reaching the fountain, they would engulf it slowly corrupting it. Each time this happens, Gregor's strength is increased until he becomes impossible to kill. These adds are unkillable by normal means. Instead a party member must 'Sacrifice' themselves in place of the statue for each add. Doing so gives them a debuff that lowers their stats/speed. Basically, it becomes a fight of strategic self sacrifice until the boss is dead (Too much healer sacrifice would kill the tank. Too much DPS sacrifice would make the battle too long, etc.). Flight: "There is nothing left for you here." This would have a classic 'Demon wall' Mechanic. Basically, the battle would happen in a long hall (It would actually be a village street). Mobs would constantly spawn ahead of the party while a dark wall would creep towards them from behind. If they fall into the darkness, they lose. However, the further they progress forward, the more mobs spawn. It's basically a glorified DPS check while the party has to constantly be on the move. Kill enemies fast enough as not to be overwhelmed moving forward. Demon within: "Only corruption can fight corruption." This battle would have no definable boss. Instead, the floor would start half light and half dark. Standing in one color or the other too long will spawn a light or dark mirror of the party opposite of the color stood on. Upon killing the mirror, the opposite color will spread out on the ground (IE: If you stand in dark, light mirrors of the party will spawn, killing them will cause the floor to become more dark.) This continues until either the entire floor is light or the entire floor is dark. At which pieces of either Dark Knight armor or Paladin armor will drop, respectively. This fight is obviously inspired by FFIV.

This really is an important point. So many times I've seen people lose the spotlight and suddenly 'OMG look at this tragedy that happened to me, pay attention!' Tragedy is not a device to get people to pay attention to you. The world is a difficult place and everyone has personal tragedies. In fact, one of my favorite 'tropes' in a lot of my characters is them coming to the realization that their suffering is not special... isn't different. It's common. It's the shared experience of many. Another thing that was mentioned is the 'unfixable' That always bothered me. I don't want to throw out insults or make people believe they are 'doing it wrong' because I don't see things that way. But... when your character complains about being poor, having no food and you refuse someone willing to feed you? It makes no sense. I get you built your character to tell a story, but a large part of RP is being in a world you can't control. If my character is starving and is offered food he'd damned well take it. If my character is in trouble with a gang and is offered the coin out of it... he'll take it. He'd be weary, but he'd take it. I think instead of holding on to pre-defined notions of how a character would go, people should think about how the opportunities presented to them from others can shape the story and bring it in a new direction. Perhaps by taking coin to pay off debts, the character instead decides to use it to gamble, feeding their addiction and getting them in further trouble. This gives the player who tries to help an 'in' into their rp, but also allows the first character to continue the path they wanted to take. Things like that.

To be fair. It really is their fault for being born from our twisted minds.

I think this is a really interesting point. There is a fine line between having a sad story, and a character who is just constantly 'woe is me'. Laike is in a bad circumstance, but the struggle I tried to make with him is whether or not his innocence and sunshine will degrade in the face of trouble. So while the story around him might be extremely sad, it doesn't mean that every scene with him is him being sad. I think that if you have a character that is only ever sad, and there is no evolution or change.. it might not be the best rp for those around them. I guess it's a balance in that respect.

Good to know so many people share my attraction to the OMG DRAMAS! (The good dramas, the ic dramas at least.) This is good... This is very good.....

That is me. You just described me in comic form. I really am a terrible person, don't rp with me

Bored at work and thought I'd bring up one of my favorite rp related questions for people to think on. What do you think of sad rp? Personally I love drama, I love a good bittersweet story. However, not everyone does. A lot of people I know always have an out for their character. They may go through bad paths but there seems to be a light at the end of the tunnel. But sometimes, rarely, I run into people who embrace the melancholy side of things and really leave stories on sad notes. A few examples: - A person bases their entire backstory on trying to protect someone they love. In the end, they fail and the person they loved is killed. - A man, separated from his family returns to find his wife happily remarried with no intent to see him back. - A soldier falls into depression after his village is destroyed while under his protection. He meets many people who try to turn his life around, who genuinely care. However, no amount of support stops him from taking his own life out of guilt. The last one is very similar to a story I played once. I actually really upset a good rp friend of mine because they felt helpless to change the story. In a way, they felt like their time investment in the story was just thrown away. I'm not saying I agree with this, but I also don't believe it's without merit. People become attached, and many people rp to get away from sadness and depression. So what do you believe the proper way to approach a sad story is? Is it polite to warn someone it might not be happy in the end? Is it best just to tell the story and what happens happens? I'd like to hear some thoughts on this subject if anyone has any! Thanks!

Laike has an oral fixation . As a result, he usually has hard candies on him, unless he's low low on money. He is very proud of his penmanship. Because he grew up a farmer, he usually comes off a bit rural. Because he can't speak 'smartly' he makes up for it by writing in beautiful script. He is absolutely fascinated by history. Be it worldwide, or just a person's story. He can get completely lost in the most mundane of recollections and is often late to hid duties because some elder in the park wanted to tell Lake his life story.

((Just doing these to flesh out a bit of a backstory of Laike. Feel free to read, comment or ignore. Or even hop in if it seems right.)) Potatoes: I… didn’t realize how expensive a trip to Limsa Lominsa could be. I thought it was kind of me to refuse Mother’s money… It turns out it was just foolish. As I had began to learn, good deeds rarely are rewarded outside of story books and the lies of authority. Luckily, and I use that term loosely, I was able to take an odd job on the oddest of ships set sail. It was there I met Bertold. He was a large hyur, bald, with a slight underbite. One of his eyes didn’t open completely due to a bit of scar tissue visible on the eyelid, left over from a particularly nasty cut. His jaw was covered in a greying stubble, patchy from various knicks across his skin. He worked in the galley, rather, what this ship passed off as the galley. It was a small, acrid smelling room with thick, moist air and barrels full of food quite possibly past their prime. There were two other workers. A small, quiet hyur woman named Callista, and a dusky-eyed lalafell named Tumi. “So yer the soul they sent to us, eh?” Bertold spoke in a deep, slightly monotonous voice. He clicked his tongue, picking up a knife. In his hand, there was a pathetic excuse for a potato. He began slicing away at the skin, humming a small tune to himself as he worked. It too was slightly monotonous, “Well then, pick up a knife an’ a potato will ye?” I remember… feeling offended. Why in the hells would I ever be able to do something as menial and pointless as peeling a… damned potato when I had just fled from the home I ever had? It was so foolish, “If you don’t mind… I’ve had a rough go of it…” I tried my best to be polite, “And not exactly in the mind to…” “A rough go of it?” Bertold raised his eyes, glancing over at me, “A rough go, ye say? Ah….” His fingers continued to work the skin off his potato as he fell silent for a pregnant moment. Eventually that monotonous voice began again, “Care to share, I wonder?” “No.” I spoke bluntly, look up to meet his eyes, “I really, really doubt you’d understand. Just please…” He laughed. Anger creeped up my spine, a slight prickling in the back of my neck as I tensed my jaw, “Look… I just want to…” “Tumi…” Bertold looked over to the dusky-eye lalafell, “Remember tha’ wine stall ye owned in Ul’dah?” Tumi glanced up. A slight smirk crossed his face before he spat to the side, not caring if it fell near or on the pile of peeled potatoes from their earlier efforts. “If I be rememberin’ , ye accidentally spilled a glass on tha par-ticly well-dressed woman.” Bertold brought his knife to his cheek, giving one of the patchy spots a small itch, “She be so offended tha’ she ordered her guards destroy the rest of ye reserves, couldn’t afford te keep afloat could ye? Closed down. Home gone. Named ruined, eh?” He paused, “And Callista…” The woman didn’t look up. Her lips tightened and she moved faster, peeling the potato with the grace of a marauder attempting magic. “You ‘ad a thing for tha noble, didn’t ye? One with the dimples.” The knife left his face and fell to the table, tip pressed to the warped wood, “Had a thing for you too. His prick, righ?” Bertold huffed a small laugh, “But tha’ kid he left inside ye? Wasn’t good for appearances, now was it?” He looked down at the table, and slowly dragged the knife, leaving a wound, “Cut it right out of ye… Said it was a mercy te let ye live.” Callista looked away. She didn’t want anyone to see her face. Her hand gripped tightly to the knife, shaking slightly. But, strangely... She did nod. Bertold looked back to me, “Now, someday soon, ye gonna speak up. An we? We will be commisseratin’ with your woes. Because we aren’ soulless. But…” He lifted the knife, bringing it back to the potato, “If ye be thinkin yerself a martyr? You better damn well stop now. `Cause their be more martyrs on the streets of Limsa Lominsa than stars up in those skies.” “I…” A slight shame passed over me. I looked towards Callista, trying to find words. “Don’ feel bad, son. Truth is, you ‘ave had a rough go. See it in your eyes. Jus’ don’ make tha mistake of believin yer the only one. Don’ make the mistake of believin’ that the world will bend to find you an answer to ye worries. Because for you, for all of us? There’s only one answer…” I looked toward Bertold… And in that moment he seemed the wisest sage… A man I would journey countless nights to find... to seek counsel from. And so I asked, “What… is the answer?” “Survive.” He said plainly, “An’ right now. This very moment, you know how ye be survivin?” “How…” “By peeling… These motherfucking… Potatoes.”

Hey. You can call me Laike. I'm a Veteran rper, and honestly for the most part avoided MMO RP because it didn't seem deep enough. But then I decided to pull my head out of my ass and give it a try, because elitism doesn't getcha anywhere ya know?! --MMORPG background EQ, Wow, others. Honestly MMOs are hit or miss with me. The grind can get to me. --RP experience Vast. LARPing, Mushes, Forums, Table Top. You name it. Absolutely love to rp. --Character ideas/info Laike will be my first character. Oldest son of a deceased Farmer. Raised mostly by his mother. Ran from his community after murdering a merchant's son who tried to molest his sister. No justice for the poor and all that. Washed up in Limsa Lominsa, currently trying some way to clear his name while dealing with his anger at the 'unfair' world. Still has flashes of the innocent farm boy he used to be. --How did you learn about the coalition? Google I think? --What kind of a role-player are you aiming to be? Light, medium, or heavy? Heavy, but not adverse to going ooc if friends want to just get stuff done. --Anything from real life you're comfortable with sharing? (Work, school, hobbies, etc) Aside from RPing, I'm a pretty well known costumer. Build armor sets, outfits, props. Kind of a neat past time really. Sadly, that mostly pays for itself so to survive I'm also a programmer. Side note - The one thing I've learned in my time rping is that the lion's share of my enjoyment comes not from realizing my own story, but by helping others realize theirs. I don't care who you are, what your background is. Gender, disposition whatever. If you can find a logical place to fit in Laike, I will build off of it. If he has to cowtow to your noble? Fine. If you need to kidnap him and threaten to slit his throat? Yay! If you want to promise him justice and rob him blind. Sounds fun! If you love him, hate him... It doesn't matter. As long as he's making your day more enjoyable and helping you understand something you might not have realized about your own character? I am perfectly satisfied! I posted a small intro story on the IC forum, so feel free to check it out! Thanks!

Was doing a lower level dungeon today. And someone said I should overpower more. Which I didn't really agree with but wasn't technically wrong either. So I just responded, "Righto Guvnah!" He didn't talk again and I'm pretty sure he commended me at the end of the instance. I think people might be worried about offending a British guy. Just a tip for all you tanks out there.

I remember the heat. I remember the sound of cicadas buzzing in the back of my head. A relentless, percussive step that slowly tore away at the calm I tried to sustain. I remember my knuckles ached… White and strained. The grip, a vice around the woodcutting axe I held. I remember the blood. Gods, that blood. It just wouldn’t stop. It covered everything. It stained everything. It changed… Everything. Most of all… I remember my sister, Ari’s eyes. So blue…So endlessly deep that the oceans themselves would be driven to jealousy. They were wide, a mixture of fear and confusion, as she lifted a hand to try to repair her torn blouse. It too was marked in that crimson moment. *** “You have a choice. Laike. One that will bring burden to you one way or another…” Mother motioned Ari to the back room, lifting the blood-soaked clothes from her diminutive form as she spoke. There was a sadness to her voice I had never heard before. She had been angry at me when I was younger… When I dared steal from our neighbor’s orchard. Or… Let loose one of our prize hogs in Ari’s room. She had even been disappointed in me when I had lied to her about my whereabouts on that quiet night with Rose. However, today was different. She was… empty? “You killed the son of a very important man…” “He tried to….” I began with a rage I never knew I possessed, but she cut me off. “It does not matter what he tried to do, Laike.” The cicadas ate away at the back of my mind as I tried to process those words. How could it not matter? How could it not matter that he tried to… Ari… “We can go. As a family. We can run.” She lifted a sponge, letting the bulk of the water fall from it before slowly pressing it to Ari’s back. My sister was sobbing, her shoulders huddled in, arms wrapped around her bare chest. It looked as if she was trying to take up as little space as possible… As if she thought… if she just held on tighter, pulled a bit harder she could disappear all together. “However…” Mother continued, “You know Ari is not well. Perhaps in time she could grow stronger but… It would be hard on her. Or…” The way she transitioned to the second choice. She didn’t want to dwell, she didn’t want to make a choice any more than I did. “Or?” I asked hesitantly. The inside of my mouth was bleeding, a metallic undertone seeping from where I bit my inner cheek. “Or you leave.” Ari gasped. Mother put a hand on her shoulder as she turned her eyes from view, “Ari and I claim no knowledge of why you did what you did. We… have enough friends that we should be okay. However…” There was a long pause, “You couldn’t return. Nor could you tell us where…” “He tried to rape her!” I screamed, “He… It wasn’t even the first terrible thing he’s done, nor the first woman he...” My cheek seared as the muscles clenched, “Is there no justice for…” “There is justice!” Mother responded. For the first time she turned towards me. There were no tears. A testament to the strength that had built up after my father had died, after she had already lost my younger brother at birth, “First.. for those who can afford it, and perhaps second... for those who deserve it.” She uttered plainly. Ari was sobbing as Mother placed a thin blanket over her shoulders. She lifted a tiny hand to wipe her eyes before tugging the blanket tighter to her form. The heat was maddening, and doubly so the relative silence that followed, “I… need to go, don’t I?” I don’t remember saying those words. But… I’m sure I must have. They were the only ones to say. Pride. In all the sadness that befell the room, that subtle hint of pride in Mother’s eyes was a beacon lit in a time of suffering, “It’s hard to believe sometimes how quickly you’ve grown.” Is all she was able to get out before that calm broke. A hitch in the voice. A bite of her lip and she turned away, “Here…” She turned towards a small pot above the pantry I knew well from more devious days of my youth. She kept her extra coin there, “Take it all… It’s not much but…” “Mother.” The cicadas still buzzed… but I pushed them away, “Give me enough for a ride into the city. The rest…” I watched Ari. How… she must feel. Does she blame herself? Does she… “Buy some new fabric for Ari… Blues… And greens. She was so proud of that dress, but I’m sure another attempt and it will be even better…” I picked up the axe… both blessed and accursed, “And some red.” “You know she doesn’t wear red….” Mother responded, the seemingly insignificant conversation something to hold on to in this time of sadness. “But I do…” I turned towards the door, a slight smile on my lips. “And I want a new shirt for when I return.”