Naunet

[table] [tr] [td]Item Name[/td] [td]Drop Chance[/td] [/tr] [tr] [td]1-9 gil[/td] [td]90%[/td] [/tr] [tr] [td]Walking Stick of the ______[/td] [td]40%[/td] [/tr] [tr] [td]Dried Fish[/td] [td]60%[/td] [/tr] [tr] [td]Accountant's Robes[/td] [td]40%[/td] [/tr] [tr] [td]Mother's Guilt[/td] [td]10%[/td] [/tr] [/table] The body lay oddly strewn across the ground, limbs splayed in half-realized panic, spine bent over a small stone it had draped itself over in its fall. The bandit's arrow stuck from its back like a macabre flag pole, a mark of ownership. A mark of death. Heavy boots crunched through pebbly sand as he made his way over to his target, the grating sound echoing loudly in his ears through the silence of the desert witnessing another life lost. He was entertained briefly by the thought that she had likely spent more time worrying about dehydration or starvation than that twanging sound his arrow had provided in the moments before it had pierced cloth and flesh, punctured a lung, shattered ribs, and left her gasping wetly for several seconds before falling still. He'd given her an efficient death, at least. Kneeling in the hard-packed, parched earth, the man first retrieved his arrow. It came free with a shifting of bone and the wet pop of flesh, and he spent a moment wiping it free of pink lung bits and blood before returning it to its brothers and sisters in the quiver on his back. Next came inspection time, and as he looked over the body, taking in the greyed hair and tail, the subtle signs of age in her slack features, the simple but clean and well-made robes. Not rich, but definitely comfortable in life, which bade well for what he may find. Knobby hands wrapped in weathered leather took hold of one shoulder and rolled her over, off he rock, and then with the calm, detached manner of a businessman, began to pat her down, searching for pockets or hidden pouches. He briefly considered taking the glasses sitting crookedly on her now-silent face, but the fall had cracked the lenses and bent the wire frames. Their value was mostly slag metal now, and the man had no interest in that. His hands came away with five gil pieces and a piece of paper folded into a small square. The gil he pocketed quickly, but the paper he kept in his hand for a time, staring down at it, considering. He generally made it a policy not to go out of his way to uncover any personal details about his targets, but perhaps it was the long hours he'd had to wait before this aging miqo'te woman had crossed his sights, or perhaps the way she vaguely reminded him of his own mother (a mean, nasty woman who he'd killed as soon as he had the know-how to get away with it). Whatever it was, the frayed edges of the paper seemed to taunt him, and against his better judgment, he carefully unfolded it, flattening the creases against his thigh before holding it up to the light. It was a note, a letter, and he nearly tossed it away upon realizing that little detail. He didn't need to know what lovers this woman had had, or what problems, or affections, or anything about her personal life. But again, against his better judgment, he squinted through the overly bright Thanalan sun. The lettering was faded and smudged, hinting at the note's age, but still readable. The note wasn't signed, but he didn't need to know its author to understand the intent behind it - nor to understand why this woman, walking north through Thanalan all alone, had kept it. The bandit kept the letter from that day, folded it back up and tucked it safely inside one of his pockets in an absent-minded gesture. Perhaps he felt like he needed to take something more than just a few gil to make this kill worthwhile. Of course he told himself it definitely wasn't because he felt any kind of obligation to the swiftly stiffening body lying in the sands. It would fester and rot and feed the nearby vultures, and he would go on with his life just as he always had. Some day in the future, he may even kill another in this very same spot. When he did, he may be reminded of the letter, may dig it out from the depths of a pocket he'd nearly forgotten about, may unfold its battered creases, and may read its brief message a second time. It's possible that the next time he hunted, he held off letting lose his already notched arrow, hesitated when he saw grey hair, a weary hunch of shoulders, a face drawn with lines of care and age. And guilt. *** ((Disclaimer: None of the above is canon. Antimony did not die horribly at the hands of some wandering looter! That would be one of the shortest-lived characters of mine ever. The note may not even be real, who knows? Only me, but I'm not telling! x3 ))

If you ultimately choose K, I would be happy to work with you to help merge the "lore" of the tribe with those characters myself and several others have established for a K' group of our own. They could be the same group; or they could be two halves of a greater K' whole!

Ah, you're showing a bias here. Love is not exclusive to monogamy. I mentioned this earlier, but one of the legitimate ways for a Tia to become a Nunh is to take a female or two and go start his own tribe. I highly doubt a Nunh would outright kill a Tia who tried to mate "under his nose", much less kill any children sired by that Tia. Back to the whole miqo'te are a sentiant, cultured, abstract-thought-and-morality-capable species.

Well, female Seekers still pick their mate. There are a couple Nunhs in a tribe, so either they pick one they like and have kids, or they don't have kids. OR they decide they like a Tia best and perhaps they set off to start their own tribe (which we know is an acceptable way for a Tia to become a Nunh).

I don't remember Antimony's specific height number, but I put her just on the short end of average - but not too far down (somewhere between 25 and 50). I wanted to give her a somewhat humble stature.

It sounds like there's a pretty satisfying amount of end game content set for release and beyond. Here's to hoping the mechanics and gameplay keep up with that.

Not to be presumptuous, but you may want to check out Unity RP-friendly, LGBT safespace guild with a strong focus on PvE endgame. As far as what I intend to do, I'll level up to 25 as quickly as possible so that I can help get our FC going, and then I'll probably slow down a hair. Find some RP. Do some instances. Take more screenshots (as if the 500+ I have from phase 3 weren't enough). Basically settle into my Eorzea adventure!

This is supported by the fact that gear comes with stat caps, which means there's only so many times you can slot a +MND materia into a materia socket. It's largely going to be used to supplement your secondary stats, as they are less likely to come already stat-capped on your gear. This makes the primary stat of you class/job more appealing for the attribute points and the secondary stats more appealing for materia distribution. On a side note, I find the attribute point system utterly useless and about as archaic in design as WoW's very first foray into talent trees. There's zero thought that goes into distributing your points; you just dump them all in your primary stat. I really wish ARR had gone with a more modern approach to point systems, where your options affect real change in your gameplay, rather than representing flat stat boosts.

I think that the fact that we are talking about tribal culture is exactly the reason why we should take this kind of analysis with a very heavy grain of salt. Biology can sometimes have a tendency - especially when discussing sentient peoples in the context of evolution and population genetics - to "dehumanize" groups in a sense, in the effort to seek rational explanations for why things are the way they are. There are biologists out there who do think that humans are very much beholden to their instincts, just that our culture has given us a way to excuse those instincts. I'm not of that camp, and I feel that ignoring a species' capacity for abstract thought - even if they are a "tribal" society (which is no less a society than any other - means you are ignoring an extremely important variable in analysis. And that means that every conclusion drawn is biased and potentially even inconsistent with reality. The miqo'te are a tribal people, yes, but they are also a sentient people with hundreds of years developing their own culture in addition to hundreds of years interacting with other cultures. Humans in real life have shown time and time again over the course of our own history that we are more than capable of acting for reasons that go well beyond instinct. The presence of religion in miqo'te culture would drive that even further.

While this is an interesting read and all, and as a masters-holding biologist myself I can appreciate the concepts, there's a lot of this that just... well, it takes the whole idea too far. I know you were just having fun, but 1) there's no lore to support a lot of what you said (which you did admit), 2) you disregard the additional layer of ethics and morality that a sentient species deals with (miqo'te are sentient just as real life humans; they are not lions or birds or any other organisms that operate on a largely instinctive level), and 3) you disregard the external cultural influences on miqo'te over the 500 or so years they've been on Eorzea alongside everyone else. In the end, it turns this into a nice thought exercise but ultimately largely useless. I doubt any nunh in a Seeker tribe would kill children that are not their own. There's no indication that miqo'te experience "heat" like real cats do (they aren't cats). Cross-breeding seems like it would be something more subject to the whims of an increasingly "globalized" culture rather than the species' biology. Basically, you've taken the perspective of the biologist too far to be able to draw very many useful conclusions. When considering sentient, social organisms that interact with different sentient, social organisms, it's absolutely vital to consider the significance of abstract thought, from which culture is born. You can't analyze a species like the miqo'te (or the elezen, or hyur, or lalafel, or roegadyn) as though they were completely removed from their culture and the cultures of every other species they've shared space and friends and family with for generations. It just doesn't work that way.

As someone who has had to face numerous times the dilemma of roleplay guild vs. end-game guild, I can totally get behind something like this - and I have! :3 *waves*

I'm not sure if this is the right place to put this, but... here we go! Been working on this for a while. Name: Antimony (formerly K’piru)Jhanhi Race: Miqo’te, Seeker of the Sun Tribe: Hipparion (no longer associated with) Gender: Female Age: Mid-50s (or whatever the miqo’te equivalent is) Hair: Mostly greyed over, a few lingering strands of ruddy brown Skin: Light olive Eyes: Blue-green Build: Heavy in some places, speaking to past child-bearing, but thinner now than in the past, likely from stress or work or a combination of the two Biographical Place of Residence: Limsa Lominsa Place of Birth: Southern Thanalan, to a nomadic tribe that roamed the Sagoli Desert Profession: Accountant specializing in the auditing and restructuring of assets; she currently works for a firm that advertises as a “discrete” accounting business. There are rumors that the higher ups use their work as a cover for darker dealings. Antimony may or may not be aware of this. ((OOC note: As of writing this bio, Anti is not ICly part of the Linkshell that I intend to place her in, so her occupation will change upon ARR's release.)) Hobbies: Theoretical mathematics, particularly as it relates to the arcane; occasionally dabbles conjury Relationships Mother: K’deiki Nhyt (no longer in contact) Father: K’jhanhi Nunh (no longer in contact) Sister: Mate: K’thalen Nunh (deceased) Children: K’airi Thalen (believed deceased), K’airos Thalen(believed deceased), K’aijeen Thalen (estranged) Patron God: Nymeia the Spinner (no longer observant) Appearance Thin lines along the seams of expression on her face – her mouth, her eyes, her cheeks – the less than perfect skin elsewhere, her nearly completely greyed hair, and the way her weight has settled at her hips and thighs all speak to the age of this Sun Seeker miqo’te. She perhaps looks older than she is, though she’s by no means young. At the same time, her not infrequent business trips outside Limsa Lominsa have kept her otherwise healthy and given her some amount of muscle definition in her limbs – not that one would generally be able to tell unless doing rather improper things. Antimony dresses modestly, plainly, and functionally:thickly woven robes or cowls, sturdy boots (usually polished, but if she’s been on the road, they’re likely dust-covered), hair neat and clean and done up but not in any elaborate style. When on the road, she carries a simple, wooden staff slung across her back, though she rarely uses it for anything more than a walking stick. A pair of wire-framed glasses is ever present on her face, speaking to vision marred by her age and years of pouring through reams of cramped numbers. Sometimes the humid coastal air of La Noscea leaves her with achy joints. Personality Having lived alone for the past five years, and never verymuch of a social butterfly to begin with, Antimony has grown rather used to solitude. She doesn’t decline company, but she doesn’t entirely know how to act around others in a casual setting, which has in the past led to her making comments that are easily misconstrued or otherwise inappropriate. If she realizes what she’s done, she’ll generally try to laugh it off and excuse it as a sign of her age. This, combined with a general unwillingness to speak about her personal feelings or thoughts, can result in conversations that remain shallow, like two acquaintances exchanging pleasantries. She can be dragged into deeper debates, but only with great reluctance. This tendency may change if she begins to develop stronger connections with other people, but it will take time. She has a very strong protective streak in her that can often force her into actions that would normally go against her otherwise conflict-avoiding persona. She was once a mother, and that instinct has never left her, even when her children did. Overall, Antimony is a kind-hearted soul, albeit stubborn, and generally gives everyone the benefit of the doubt – sometimes to a degree that can and has gotten her in trouble. Her intellectual aptitude is largely self-taught and something she can be rather self-conscious about, or even downright resentful towards others who have had educational opportunities she didn’t. Her skill with manipulating numbers is a source of pride while simultaneously a source of anxiety, as she constantly worries she’s missed something or made an obvious mistake without realizing it. It’s largely for this reason that she’s procrastinated for so long in submitting some of her hobby’s work to the arcanist guild in Limsa. The loss of her family affected her deeply, but she has spent the last five years working past it, with variable degrees of success. The demands of her work have certainly helped. History Rhalgr’s fury rumbled menacingly in the sky above, dark clouds swarming above them with eerie speed and flickering with pale, green light. The first drops of rain struck K’piru’s small, round face in icy, fat blobs, smacking against her skin in an increasingly rapid staccato. Minutes later, a huntress returned with warnings of a flash flood, and the entire tribe was set into chaotic, hurried motion. Her tiny feet slapped and sloshed against wet sand, sinking in and pulling out with thick slurping sounds as she ran, ushered forward with the other children. The sky flashed and the world around her flashed with it, flickering dark and then light and then dark again in a way that made those around her seem to move in stop-motion. She stumbled and saw the moving bodies flickering past her, called out, felt the mouth of the desert engulfing her foot like a ravenous monster, and then she was free and she could feel the sand sinking between now bare toes as she ran. She tasted salt in the water that poured down her face. *** A steady arm, smooth, straight posture, gaze unblinking in the early morning sun. The twine of the huntress’s bow creaked faintly as it drew tight, and K’piru watched, along with half a dozen other children, as their teacher’s body seemed to suddenly relax into its motions. The sandworm squirming lazily in the valley below bellowed as the first arrow struck its pillowy flesh, screeched at the second that followed soon after, and a third sent it crashing to the sand where it spasmed and groaned out its death throws. K’piru couldn’t tear her eyes away from the scene, even as her vision wavered and she realized that the echoing cries in her skull were her own screams. Someone laid heavy hands on her shoulders and forcibly turned her away, but she saw the frowns of the other children, their tanned skin clad in hunting leathers, young, lithe bodies ready to make their own first kills. K’piru did not return to the hunt after that day. *** She could hear laughter outside, mixed with fake roars and self-made sound effects of battle. Silhouettes wove back and forth across the thin hide of one of the tent she’d helped her father and another Nunh erect several days ago, lithe bodies accentuated with the sharp curve of a bow on their backs, a dagger at their hips, their tails flapping like ribbons behind them. K’piru huddled lower behind a rack of food stores, parchment and charcoal in hand and ears pulled flat against her skull. All signs pointed to the huntresses having decided to gather the children and take them out, to teach them the skills they would need to better contribute to the tribe. Glancing down at her papers and the carefully scratched out multiplication tables, interspersed with sketched out diagrams of the sun’s travels across the horizon, K’piru held her breath and waited. Sunlight knifed through the dim tent suddenly, and she flinched, scooting further backwards, holding her papers in front of her as though they could hide her from what she knew must be K’jhul or K’takka, or even her mother, esteemed huntress K’deiki. Instead of the stern lecture and firm hand on her wrist that she expected, however, a low giggle followed by the shuffling of feet reached her ears. Curiosity piqued, she lowered the parchment enough to squint through the light towards the silhouette before her. A darkly tanned boy, red hair catching the sun behind him so that it looked like his head had caught fire, stood grinning at her from behind the flap of the tent. His ears flicked one way and then the other, and then with deliberate slowness, he brought one finger to his mouth. They stood that way in silence for several moments, ice blue eyes meeting her own green ones, and then he lowered his finger and backed away slowly. She could still hear the laughter and play fighting outside as the hide slipped back into place, but K’piru smiled. Not today, for her. Thanks to him, at least. *** With the cool, shifting sand at her back and the endless blue-black of night stretched out above her, flecked with thousands of tiny pin-pricks of light, K’piru could for a moment pretend she was flying, soaring between each bright point. She could measure each distance in finger lengths, time her travel from star to star, carve shapes in the sky that her mind knew meant something, was significant. A sharp call behind her pulled her down from the sky, and she returned to the slow, evening activities of the tribe with reluctance. *** He had managed to prove himself as one of the tribe’s new Nunh’s only weeks ago and was riding high on the confidence that came with such an accomplishment. K’piru watched silently as he swaggered from one end of their current camp to the next, broad mouth grinning, tail swooshing gaily in his wake. He looked obnoxious to K’piru, even though he did seem to try and catch her eye every time his little parade passed her by. She divided her attention that afternoon between the charts scratched out in charcoal on her lap and the testing grin of a friend who had come into his own. *** The first child, contrary to common wisdom, had actually come the easiest. K’thalen had stayed with her, sweating and staring wide-eyed at her belly as she slowly crushed the bones of his hand and brought a new member into the folds of the tribe. K’airi. He wasn’t with her for the second, or ten years later, the third, but K’piru didn’t mind. She was happier for the presence of the midwives as the second daughter came backwards and the third simply refused to come at all until significant prodding. K’thalen would have been nothing more than a useless distraction in those moments. Not to mention she had threatened him with evisceration if he had set one foot in that tent, sweating buckets and looking like he was going to be sick. It wasn’t like he was the one giving birth. *** The day her eldest returned with her first kill, skin shining with sweat under the mid-day sun and practically glowing with pride, K’piru found herself struck with a sudden desperation, an unrelenting need to impress upon the younger two – K’airos and K’aijeen – the importance of expanding their minds. It wasn’t that she saw the hunters of their tribe as dull, but it was only natural to want to transfer one’s values into your children. Her own parents had attempted to do so to her. When she sat them both down for the first time, parchment and charcoal in hand, she had prepared herself to be firm, prepared herself for the likelihood that there would be resistance. The wary expressions on both of their faces suggested things would go exactly as she expected. K’airos grudgingly accepted the lessons, even if she didn’t put much time into studying; at least that acceptance was something K’piru could find it in herself to be grateful for, even if she did silently blame herself for waiting so long to try and reach them. Her youngest daughter, however, seemed to find every excuse under the sun whenever K’piru deemed it time for practice. It wasn’t until years later that she recognized the similarities between herself and K'aijeen. By then, however, it was too late. *** At times, K’aijeen worried her. The girl seemed fascinated with healing, but in a way that left K’piru uncomfortable. She tried to capitalize on her daughter’s interest, but their relationship grew more and more strained by the day. It was more than worry. The truth was that K’aijeen scared her. *** The sand beneath her feet seemed to shake with the unrealized weight of Dalamud hovering so terrifyingly near above them. Looking away from the roiling maelstrom in the sky – the moon’s mass tearing through clouds and stirring up violent winds – was not enough to escape it as its foreboding glow reflected off every available surface and seemed to cast the entire world in an otherworldly, orange light. K’airi and K’airos had left several weeks ago, along with many other women in the tribe. Eorzea was embroiled in war against an empire K’piru had only a passing understanding of but had grown to fear, and even their simple tribe had sent out who it could spare to help in the war effort. It had meant saying goodbye to two of her children. It had meant recognizing that they were grown and perfectly capable of making their own decisions. It had meant accepting the likelihood that she would never see them again. She could only manage two of those things. When a number of the men in the tribe left a day later, unwilling to stand idle while their world was threatened on all sides, K’thalen was with them. She found she couldn’t weep, but not for a lack of wanting, or trying. *** Wind buffeted their desperate race over dunes, tossing up sand into near-panicked faces and churning the clouds above. They had seen the fall of Dalamud even at this great a distance, had watched the storm of smoke and cloud blot out the moon and stars until they could barely see the sand beneath their feet. They fled west, towards the thin line on the horizon that marked the cliffs bordering the Sagolii desert, a scattered, ruined tribe of children and elderly and those otherwise incapable of fighting. In the midst of them K'piru kept her eyes wide, watching the bobbing heads of children, counting frequently, praying. A great roar shook the air and the ground beneath them, sent several of their chocobos tumbling down one side of a dune, and then the desert was bathed in yellow-orange light. The air grew searing hot, almost painful to breathe. Their bodies cast long shadows as though light by an afternoon sun, but the black forms twisted into silent horrors under the light of fire filling the sky. Their screams lost in the roar of great blasts of heat and light cutting with explosive power through the night, the fleeing tribe cowered and stumbled towards the cliffs, hoping for safety but expecting death. *** Those that returned to the tribe in the days following the Calamity were far fewer in number than those who left. They came somber and shaken, steps sinking heavily into the sand with the weight of a burden unspeakable. There was no sound of laughter from the children, no happy greetings, not even a sweet breath of relief that they had been spared. Everything was grey - from the mood and from the ash that still rained down from the sky - and everything was completely, utterly silent. K'piru stood amongst the members who had remained in the desert, watching the slow, small procession approach them. She saw the lingering fear and despair in the eyes of the walking, and saw long shapes wrapped in white cloth slung across the backs of weary chocobos. They laid the shapes out in a line along a sloping dune. The Elders came, pulled back the cloth from faces battered, burned, and broken, and then finally there was sound. It choked from the tribe in a chorus of grief, terrifying wails flung skyward with desperation. Within it all, K'piru stood silent, frozen, watching the lifeless face of the young boy who had kept her hidden from the huntresses, of the freshly made nunh who had listened to her theories and even tried to understand her equations, and of the friend she had shared love with. Sand gave way beneath her knees and thin fingers sunk deep into its rough grains. All around her there was mourning, and this time K'piru found she could cry. *** K’piru noticed the change in the air long before the ship she’d found passage on reached the docks of Limsa Lominsa. Gone was the dry heat, the musky scent of sand, the vaguely sweet aroma of sweaty bodies plodding over dunes and through valleys in search of their next temporary home. She’d been nearly overwhelmed with claustrophobia for the first day on the ship, and that feeling didn’t leave even as she stepped off the boarding plank and onto the wooden path that would take her into her new home. Limsa Lominsa’s winding, white stone walls towered above her like great, lurching giants, their tops spinning to even wilder heights with cylindrical towers topped with banners flicking madly in the wind. She smelled salt and rot and an undertone of something dirty that left her tail twitching anxiously and her skin itchy. Another passenger jostled her shoulder, and K’piru spun dizzily, feeling like one of those brightly colored pennants dangling so impossibly high above the city. Only luck kept her from tumbling into the bay. Drawing in a deep breath of resolve, she straightened, turned once again towards Limsa Lominsa, and took the first steps toward leaving behind the desert, her family, her memories, and her name.

So are we in an Umbral era or an Astral era? Is it year 5? Of something? Did I remember to put my pants on when I woke up? Did someone leave the toilet seat up?!

It's really fun to see what folk are taking inspiration from. Tranu, I really like the character concept you're working with (and not just because I think it's good to play with gender identity in literature). Regarding Antimony... I'm honestly not sure. Her base is a character I came up with a long time ago for a Forsaken in WoW. I wanted her to be just... a person, an average woman who, in the case of the WoW universe, did some terrible things to her family when she turned from the plague but was otherwise normal. A bit prudish, extremely stubborn, intellectual but never actually trained to be so. She's a woman who leans towards traditional "female" ideas and roles, while simultaneously defying them in her intellectual ambition. Sometimes in her incarnations, she is a full-blown scientist (as she is in TERA); sometimes she's just a simple accountant with more high-minded hobbies than one would presume of someone of her nature. But in all my years roleplaying her, I don't think I've ever thought "Anti reminds me of ____." I guess I'll just leave that up to other people to decide. Because hell, I'm lazy!

The heck is the difference? @.@

Alright, took me a while, but here goes! This is for Antimony Jhanhi. Part 1: The Basics

Oh god, the disturbingly stereotypical Russian aman... they were a horror to watch.

Yea, and for those of us not playing a character with the Echo, we can have some interesting moments where they don't understand someone if they happen to slip into their native tongue hehe.

I just wanted to say that while I have no intention of changing the prefix for my character and her family, as all of us have already created names and relations, I would be perfectly happy roleplaying that someone with the K' prefix is part of Antimony's former tribe. So far we have: K'piru Jhanhi (myself, Antimony, who left the tribe) K'thalen Nunh (her mate, deceased) K'aijeen Thalen (daughter played by Twinflame, changed her name in an act of rebellion so it's now D'aijeen) K'airos Thalen (daughter played by Ildur) K'airi Thalen (daughter played by Aeriyn) K'deiki Nhyt (Anti's mother, currently played by myself, though she probably won't really come up in RP) K'jhanhi Nunh (Anti's dad, also currently played by myself but may not come up in RP) I did want Anti to have a sibling (either sister or brother) still involved with the tribe back in the Sagoli Desert. I'm also perfectly happy to have other people play whatever character they want with a K' prefix and pretend they're from the same tribe. There's no need to interact regularly, but it could be fun to just have an existing network!

I really, really try to shy away from using a real world language as the native language for a race in an MMO. It's just way too much anachronism for me, especially when we already know that the Roegadyn have their own (ancient) language but it's certainly not any language from Earth. The miqo'te, too, are implied to have a native language, but I don't think it's a copy of a language from Earth either. Basically, the idea in the OP just makes me really uncomfortable.

Heh, I actually recruited three other RPers to play the children of my character. It's a lot more fun when you can interact with other people, rather than just roleplaying everyone yourself. I definitely encourage it.

Pretty sure with the full $15 per month, you get 8 characters per server, which is still too few IMO but what can one do. Some day a game will get rid of silly server limitations...

Wow, what an emotionally evocative piece. It must have been incredible to hear that everywhere. Just listening to it now gave me a sense of dread, even despair.

The lack of elderly Miqo'te is probably an aesthetic choice made by Squeenix. I think this is likely. 99% of Squeenix's character models in any Final Fantasy game are youthfully perfect, with lustrous skin and silky hair. The player models and the NPCs are no exception. It's annoying, but what can one do?

The dull thud of a wooden door shutting behind her echoed briefly in the stone hall that, if followed to its end, would take her all the way to the revered arcanist's guild and their unparalleled banking business. Just two steps outside the small auditing office she worked at, Antimony could already smell the quick-drying ink and parchment, hear the clink of coins counted and changing hands, see the reams of ledgers with their numbers and calculations refined to an unbelievably beautiful art. In lower rooms, hidden from public view, there were stone walls littered with mathematical graffiti, the quiet shuffling of feet and the scratching of chalk, the muttering of intellectuals studying the curvature of a new spell. Above her there came the blaring of a horn, a shout, and a waft of the vaguely rotten scent of saltwater, and Antimony wrinkled her nose, her ears twitching back against her head briefly, before turning away from the scene she could picture so perfectly going on below. Her own interest in theoretical mathematics was only a hobby; the arcanist's guild would likely scoff at her private efforts at worst, and at best look at them as one would a small child's drawing. Her feet carried her up the ramp, and the sharp, rotten air of Limsa Lominsa grew stronger until she was standing under the glare of an early morning sun and the cool, abrasive spray from the waters below, kicked up by surging winds, misted across her face. She took a moment to breathe, noting an ache in her bones that made her feel older than her greyed hair and the fine lines of wrinkles in the creases of her body would imply. What did a simple miqo'te do when her employers, usually so demanding as to request overtime most weeks, greeted her with a gruff "We don't need you today"? Would she still be paid for her time? Would they expect her to make it up later? Shaking her head, Antimony set herself to walking again, boots slapping crisply against the rough, alabaster stone from which the entire city was carved. The sound was harsh in her ears, distinctly different from the shifting-sliding of sand she had grown so used to over the decades. Her stomach rumbled and pulled Antimony mercifully from a spiral of memories; she was better off not thinking of the desert, or anyone associated with it. As if on cue, her mind threw up a lengthy, mentally annotated list - restock her pantry, wash and hang out clothes (a quick glance at the sky told her there likely wouldn't be a storm today, but then one never knew with Limsa), clean out the trash that had accumulated since she'd last recalled to do such a thing, pick up a pair of boots she'd likely left at the cobblers for long enough that they old man had sold them. Chores. The fine lines along her brow creased deeper, and Antimony took a sharp turn along the winding paths of Limsa Lominsa. None of those seemed appealing when one was living off gifted time today. Her face crinkled again, but this time with a small smile, and as Antimony's body worked her way back home, her mind was already on the stacks of papers covered in notes and the early starts of equations. She would figure out this corrupt aether system, and then the arcanist's guild would have no choice but to allow her in. Even if it was just a hobby.