Biscuit_Egi

Mikh'al is ENFP - “THE CAMPAIGNER” I feel like he's a little more withdrawn and shy than the personality type suggests, but that could be because he's still getting used to being around people again. >.< "People with the Campaigner personality type express these ideals sexually as well, exploring the physical with imagination and passion..." ... ladies. *waggles eyebrows*

Mikh'al's 'fighting' style is to... well, not really to fight at all. He prefers to avoid conflict if possible, however if a fight does break out he tries to keep as much distance between himself and whatever is trying kill him. A little bit of wind aether to hold them back while he looks for the nearest escape route, and if they get in close then he will duck, dodge and dive to freedom! Now if he's in a situation where he has no choice but to fight, then survival instincts take over. He will use every cheap trick he knows to get out of the encounter alive. Throw dirt in their eyes, using whatever is available around him to incapacitate them... he'll improvise. He's not even above using those Keeper fangs of his to break out of someone's hold if he has to. Honour in battle is for paladins, not squishy catboi healers. The one thing Mikh'al will never do however, is use conjury to intentionally cause harm. Incapacitate sure, but never to harm or take a life.

And lo' did Nymeia gaze down upon the newborn, and did declare 'you're gonna have a bad time'. AKA. Catboy rolls druid. Forgets to put points into wisdom.

A strange scent was in the air. Something that caused her feline ears to lie flat. Tail to swish. Leather, tree mould, rose water and the unmistakable musk of chocobo sweat. Gridanians. She clutches her kits close to her chest. The twins that Menphina had blessed her with. A boy and a girl, barely two summers old. Asleep on their mother’s lap, unaware of the danger drawing near. “That's close enough!” It was her sister’s voice. Tinged with barely restrained rage and a promise of violence. Fear that she refuses to show, even as she draws her bow taught. A cornered animal. The most dangerous kind. The three intruders, healer, archer, lancer, stop in their tracks. “Forgive me, it was not our intention to startle you. Pray, lower your weapons. We only wish to talk.” The voice was that of a child’s, though it carried a weight more suited to a wizened crone. A young girl with the poise of a woman grown. Twin horns curving upward from her silver hair. Robes of white. She seemed the leader of the three. “Talk? Ye ‘ear that, Sister? The ‘orned one wishes to talk!” A rustle in the bushes. Two more join the field. The youngest daughter: untested, soft-clawed, still a child in so many ways. Hands shaking as she draws the bow. The second eldest daughter: a seasoned huntress, red in tooth and claw. City-dwellers were simply a different kind of prey to her. “I ‘ear their mothers lay with stags. That’s ‘ow they get ‘em ‘orns.” “Aye? That true, knife elves? Ye women so unsatisfied, they let the beasts plough ‘em?” “Silence!” The lancer steps forward. Armour the colour of vines, ashen mask, and weapon of carved bone. Elegant pointed ears peeking out from under an unruly mop of chestnut hair. “You will watch your tongue, cur, least I remove it from your mouth!” The shouting causes her kits to stir. Her little huntress mewls, groping blindly until she finds her brother’s tail and snuggles into it. This was bad… she needed to sneak away. Back to the rest of the clan. To safety. “Aroth please. Please I have no wish to further the hostilities between our peoples. I am simply here to request that you disband your camp. This land is sacred ground, and to stay here may place your clan at terrible risk. The Elementals-“ “To ‘ells with yer Elementals!” The fury was unbridled now, as was the fear. The clan had heard stories. Tales of kin disappearing, hunted down and torn apart by the forest itself. “’ow many times ‘ave we been driven away from ar ‘omes? ‘ow many kin ‘ave we lost ‘cause of ye and yer ploughing wood spirits!?” “I would more than glad to add another body to the pile, cat!” The air was thick with tension. Too many loses on both sides. The hurt still raw. “Aroth please! Lower your-“ “Ye wish to dance, mouse?” The second eldest steps forward. Hips and tail swaying like the prowl of a tigress. Wicked daggers by her side. “I’ll be sure to send what’s left of ye back to yer mate.” “No! Enough blood has been shed already-“ The spear welding Elezen moves in front of horned one. Protective, loyal. He would die for her if it came to it. “Obviously that is not the case. I tried to warn you, my Lady. These *animals* are beyond reason.” Animals… that was how they saw them. Animals, vermin, pests to be put to the sword. The young mother peer from her hiding place. No… she couldn’t risk staying in here. Fight or flight takes hold. The mother darts forwards and the sudden movement tears the tail from the little huntress’s grasp. Small fists close around empty air. Her face scrunches up and she wails, startling her sleeping brother… and the youngest daughter who’s shaking bow was still aimed that the strangers. Panicked heart jumps. Trembling fingers slip, and her arrow flies loose. Spinning through the air… landing with a thud in the heart of the robed girl. Whited robes bloom crimson. She falls… The lancer catches her, but it’s too late. Her light has already left. “She… no… gods no…” The bow falls from the youngest’s hand. She had never killed before. This would be her first and last. “I… I’m sorry… I d-didn’t mean to…” “You murderer!” One of the strangers nocks their own bow. Righteous anger running through him, giving him strength. “You… you *dare* spill Padjali blood!?” “I didn’t-“ Whatever words she was about to speak. Whatever pleas or excuses she would make, are lost when the earth erupts around them. Thorn covered vines bursting from the ground. Twisting and thrashing around them. Something ancient and powerful that had been sleeping in the soil. Awoken by the taste of blood. “Matron’s breath…” The unfortunate murderer is the first to suffer the creature’s wrath. She is snared, vines wrapping around her lithe form, thorns carving chunks from her flesh. Dragging her down into the earth until her screams were smothered by soil. One by one they were all taken. Gridanian and Keeper alike. Indistinguishable through the entity’s alien eyes. All were guilty. All would suffer its wrath. The young mother attempted to flee with her kits, only for her path to be cut off by vines at every turn. Tasting her fear in air like a snake. Vines gathering around her, swarming for the kill. Her two kits, unable to understand the situation but sensing their mother’s fear, trembling in her arms. A thorny tendril lashes out swiping across her back, cutting deep as she shields her kits with her body. The blow sends her reeling. Tumbling across the ground and into the waters of the Hathoeva river. She would be found later by a Wood Wailer on patrol. Washed up on the river bank. A Miqo’te woman. Tangled wet hair, pale skin, body long since gone cold. In her arms, two children. Twins. A boy and a girl, barely two summers old. Cold, soaked, shivering… but alive.

((Just a place for me to post drabbles/journals for my catboi, Mikh'al))

I'm really interested in this if you guys are still accepting people, both as a healer and potential patient.

I had a tank once who kept trying to micromanage when I should go into cleric stance, which was weird because I was doing it anyway. It was on one of the low level dungeons. Copperbell, I think. I've also had instances where the tank continuously kept running into fights before my MP had regened (pre-Shroud of Saints), one where a Dragoon decided that he wanted to play tank (it didn't end well for him), one time where the two DPS sat on the floor and refused to do anything, like literally just sat there... Also would like it if people waited for Stoneskin II to finish casting before running off. K thanx

I'll keep an eye out!

Up until recently Mikh'al genuinely believe that these 'Au Ra' were in fact Miqo'te. Possibly seen at a distance or in armour, maybe even a lost clan of some kind. Then he met one up close for the first time... :surprise: Another thing he was told once is that Lalafells are not actually 'born' like the other races. They in fact grow out of the ground, like Gysahl Greens. Mikh'al has not yet worked up the courage to ask whether this is true or not, as he fears for his shins should it turn out to be false.

Hello, Foodgiver! I should probably add that to his hobbies. 'Scrounging food off other people.'

Hi. So I've been playing the game for a while now. Reached the end of the story content and now I'm looking to become more involved in the RP side of things. My character, Mikh'al, is a wandering conjurer. Clanless, jobless and homeless... though if you were to ask him he'd insist that the Shroud was his home. Still doesn't change the fact that he sleeps in a tree instead of a warm bed. He has some trouble in his past (who doesn't?) and a burning curiosity about the world beyond the Shroud. He's even taken to traveling in recent days, though these little excursions of his always land him in more trouble than it's worth. His hobbies include eating, sleeping, and Imperial bothering.

Seconded. Quicksand RP never really fit with my character, so I'm really glad I found this. What is this 'Quicksand'. I don't understand. A wretched hive of scum and villainy... and dancing girls.

Seconded. Quicksand RP never really fit with my character, so I'm really glad I found this.