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Jancis Jancis Find all posts by this user Awkward Conjurer Posts:1,114 Joined:May 2014 Character:Jancis Milburga Server:Balmung Reputation: 404 RE: Bulletin Board | #646 03-24-2017, 05:54 PM Jancis poured over another journal, one she had spent her last gil on in order to keep, stuffing papers of notes into it for the last of her preparations. The problem really wasn’t so much the operation itself, but what could be found within. She had to know every part of the shoulder without feeling it, because as far as feelings were concerned, something was just off. It fooled her before. Many times. “If you do not expect the unexpected you will not find it, for it is not to be reached by search or trail.” Jancis frowned thoughtfully as the quote passed her lips, coming up to mind immediately as she pondered. It was something that would not be thought of. The biggest thing she could not figure out was who to ask for help. Who would understand the need and also be able to provide assistance. Denz, surely, for presence sake alone. But for consolation and advice, she was struggling. Shaking her head, the quil met fresh paper, deciding to simply write her close kin just what she planned. Even without questions, someone would ask something she did not have a question for. And she needed questions to find answers. “Judge a man by his questions rather than by his answers.” Jancis Milburga

Askier Askier Find all posts by this user Smuggle Cat Posts:901 Joined:Feb 2014 Server:Balmung Reputation: 172 RE: Bulletin Board | #647 04-25-2017, 12:06 PM (The following is the contents of a letter scribed in flowing, artistic hand in the Garlean tongue.) To whom it concerns, The hand writing alone should reveal unto you the sender of this document. No further identification shall I place upon paper. While I am confident that your networks will see this parchment to your door, I am forced to entertain the rather real possibility that those Eorzean plebians might somehow conjure up a spark of intelligence and intercept it by accident. After all, those cattle do seem to be enforcing a large degree of influence over you and your intended objectives in the region. Based on the reports I have been handed, one might think you've gone soft even, infected by their stupidity. Relishing in their coin. Really, when I was approached about this matter, I could scarce believe that you had come so low and were now sporting such a abyssnal rate of operational success. Honestly, I've seen peasants conjure up more skills in sabotage then you, yourself, seem capable. Now, because of our joined past services, those whom consider themselves my better through rank alone have tasked upon my shoulders the efforts of assisting your labors. And, without choice given to me, I shall be joining you shortly. My skills are to be made available to you as they once were. Do see to it you begin gathering a collection of targets. I will not sit idle by, forced to inhale the scents of those primitives, because you were lax in preperation. So be with good cheer. Soon you shall have the honor and pleasure of beholding my talents once more. Relish in it. And know that your fortunes shall change upon my arrival; as well the fortunes of your networks. Until we meet in the stinking wastes of Eorzea, stay well and stay vigilant as you serve the Empire. Respectfully, -Redacted-

Berrod Armstrong Berrod Armstrong Find all posts by this user Visit this user's website Buff, Rough n' Scruff. Posts:1,885 Joined:Oct 2013 Character:Berrod Armstrong Linkshell:Astral Agents Server:Balmung Reputation: 457 RE: Bulletin Board | #648 04-27-2017, 03:06 PM They were stronger than he was. Berrod had always known it -- it was in fact, part of the reason he had invested himself in them. The ones who were weaker never lasted. Those were more numerous than he would have liked to admit.  The Highlander found himself suffering his own moment of weakness -- a moment when his own selfish pride had managed to eclipse the pride he'd felt for those who had entrusted their learning to him. It was not a feeling he wanted to fester. After all, he had devoted himself to making them stronger, and to help them become leaves on the wind to both preserve and better what had nearly been lost.  An obvious answer had come to him; if he was so stuck on being weaker than them -- at least relatively -- then he would just have to work harder to maintain his ground. No, not maintain, he'd reasoned, to climb higher, to always be able to teach and guide them.  He had stagnated, and it was time for that to end. True, he had accepted his fear, anger and jealousy, and had decided to be content with that...but that acceptance had not come in moderation, and he had let it all bring him to a standstill. Now, more than ever he needed to raise higher -- and also sink deeper. Playing at retirement and a so-called normal life was not going to fix anything.  Learning and growing was.  The Goldsmith's guild. Little Ala Mhigo. Mor Dhona. The destinations instantly etched themselves in his mind. There was work to do before the dam burst and plunged all into chaos and blood. Berrod Armstrong's Wiki

Berrod Armstrong Berrod Armstrong Find all posts by this user Visit this user's website Buff, Rough n' Scruff. Posts:1,885 Joined:Oct 2013 Character:Berrod Armstrong Linkshell:Astral Agents Server:Balmung Reputation: 457 RE: Bulletin Board | #649 04-29-2017, 10:08 AM (This post was last modified: 04-29-2017, 10:11 AM by Berrod Armstrong.) Firelight danced off of polished wooden walls, adding orange lightning at the backdrop of the red-embered glow. The fireplace responsible hosted two large, soft and red  armchairs before it, both placed down upon dark red carpet. Between the armchairs a simple stand featured several bottles of expensive alcohol and an ashtray, all of which remained untouched for the time being.  A grey-haired Highlander man sat in the left chair -- rather comfortably, at that. He was a bit short for those of his kin, but his broad frame and hardened features made the mark of his clan unmistakable. Granted, he was dressed crisply in stylish Ul'dahn business attire. Loose, long-coated and adorned with gold trimmings and precious gems. An eye-patch concealed his left eye -- but not the horribly deep scar that cut through his forehead and cheek both above and below it. The other eye stared lazily into the fire, the reflective silver having adopted the red glow. Relaxed though he was, his body language spoke well enough of expectation.  There was a knock on the heavy oaken door to the room, which bid no movement from him save his mouth. His voice was gravelly, yet held no shortage of authoriative confidence. "Come." The portal was opened with not a sound, and an elegantly dressed Highlander woman entered. She was far younger than he -- yet still bore the presence of a person of ten and twenty. Her own colour choice was blue; a deep, evening shade of it that dominated the outfit, down to the earrings and the jeweled clasps that held her long black hair in one. The dress had left her arms bare; it was there, without the smoothing cover of blue material, that the harsh musculature and scars of battle showed -- at least, until halfway down her biceps, from where a long pair of gloves finished the outfit.  Ordinarily the old Highlander stood in the presence of a lady -- but for some reason he remained seated, still staring into the fire with barely any regard for her at all. Had it not been for the minimal beckoning gesture toward the adjacent armchair, it may have been easy to say that he'd missed her entrance entirely. Nevertheless, she swept toward the chair and sat without complaint.  "Help yourself to anything you like," He offered calmly.  The firelight clashed with her brown eyes as she turned to look at him a bit warily. He still hadn't looked in her direction. "No thank you, I don't partake in any of this." "That's fine. Do you know why I've called you here?" "I can't rightly say that I do, but I did attend the function you requested me to. It was...pointless, and stupid. Almost insulting, how those people live while others suffer." She seemed to catch herself then, "Though I understand why you do it." "Of course you do. Moving on, I called you here because I don't think Fyrhaerz will last long on the board. When he falls, I need you to take over. I trust you not to fall." The man's hands clasped on his abdomen, a fist cupped in a palm. "Will you do this for me, Oda?" Oda turned her gaze away from him and tipped her head back. "The resistance needs me, Gunnar. You've done much for me, but I don't know if I can turn my back on this. The time is getting close." Gunnar simply sat there in silence, his eye still on the fire.  "...but if you supply my group with weapons and armour -- even a few mercenaries..." "Consider it done." "They can't know that I'm consorting with an Ul'Dahn businessman."  "I'm not Ul'Dahn. I worked for this position so I could help in this way," He reasoned, "I'll muddle it as best as I can, but if people protest I need you to reason with them." Oda turned to look at him again -- she allowed the incredulity onto her features easily enough; after all, he wasn't looking at her. "You're putting an awful lot on me here." "It isn't without its reward." "Or risk." "That's how these things work, Oda. Do this for me, and you will get everything you need. Both for your group, and for your ambitions." The palm on his fist gestured subtly with fanned fingers. Whatever Oda's ambitions were, they were enough for her to lean back and consider in momentary silence. Gunnar was patient, though it wasn't long before she relented.  "How long do you think Fire Heart has?" She asked carefully. "Not long," He answered with confidence -- vague though as it was. Her pause was again drawn out. "Alright. I'll take that time to prepare. If his students survive, I want them. They can do so much better than him." "I'll arrange it," Gunnar promised.  "Then we have ourselves a deal," Oda declared. With that said, she got to her feet. Gunnar seemed to take issue with it, though he didn't move. "Where are you going? Sit with me a while. You must be tired after the gala, and I could use the company." Oda froze; even through the sweeping evening gown the tension in her body was obvious -- most prominent at her exposed shoulders and neck. Still, she managed to take a seat again...this time with her eyes firmly fixed upon the fire. "I don't need convincing any more, Gunnar, I said I'd do it. I won't turn back on that." In a complete departure from her self-assured tones, her voice wavered. The fire seemed to be the most interesting thing in the realm.  Next to her, Gunnar slowly began to turn his head in her direction. He was blurred in her peripheral vision, but she could already see the white of his awful grin, and sensed the terrible silver of his eyes. Her breath quickened, but she steadied herself and centered her spirit -- she was strong enough to endure his pressure, his presence. For a while. Yet, every reminder of it filled her with terror, and that terror fuelled her obedience. Oda was very aware of how much Gunnar revelled in that.  The glass bottles next to her began to crack, and even the fire seemed to struggle. The wood of the chairs they sat in creaked, and the air quickly gained the consistency of thick syrup.  "You're a monster," She whispered. "Never forget it." (( Tumblr post here!)) Berrod Armstrong's Wiki

Berrod Armstrong Berrod Armstrong Find all posts by this user Visit this user's website Buff, Rough n' Scruff. Posts:1,885 Joined:Oct 2013 Character:Berrod Armstrong Linkshell:Astral Agents Server:Balmung Reputation: 457 RE: Bulletin Board | #650 05-02-2017, 02:07 PM (This post was last modified: 05-02-2017, 06:33 PM by Berrod Armstrong.) “You should think on what your master told you,” Ginny advised carefully. The dark haired Midlander woman had deigned to pay Berrod's home a visit with a basket of fresh vegetables in tow. She'd been surprised to see the man tending a garden of his own, though she knew better than to comment on it. Berrod's pride and sense of masculinity was a fragile, stupid thing. Instead, she had opted to deliver the vegetables and very casually ask for a mug of water. He'd brought out a pitcher and two mugs for them to share while they leaned on the bordering wall to talk. Eventually he'd managed to confide his latest adventures and misadventures in her, and as ever, she had counsel -- especially on what his master had said. “That I should stop buggerin’ men because if I do, I’ll get disease?” Her pretty face contorted into exasperated discombobulation, and her arm gripped her mug in a manner that spoke loudly of the urge to pelt it. “Wh-- no, you idiot, not that part! The part about opening your -- things. What were his words again?” “Ah, yeah," He murmured. In a more confident tone, he repeated the mantra that had been offered to him -- a reminder of a lesson taught years ago.  "Open the chakras to open the body, open the spirit to let it flow through, and open the mind to direct the stream.” “He didn’t say that lightly, I'm sure. That sounds like one of your obscure training clues.” “Yeah, it is. I learned that sort of teachin' from him, after all. Still...I’ve opened my body, an’ opened my spirit -- I’ve opened my mind, too, so I dunno what else I’m supposed to do.” “Hrm -- if you think you’re done there, then I don’t think you’ve opened your mind quite yet,” She hummed behind a sip of cool water.  It was then that it hit him. He blinked up at Ginny twice, dropped his mug, and grabbed the sides of her head. Her forehead endured the assault of a wet smooch atop it. "I love you," He groaned.  "We've been over this, I'm engaged now," She grunted as she raised the mug for use as a bludgeon. It was enough warning for him to let go of her -- Berrod wasn't much of a gentle man, and had been squeezing the sides of her head quite hard.  "Yeah, to that runty rich boy, I know -- but that's not what I mean. You're right. You're absolutely right. I still need to finish openin' my mind. Finish directin' the flow. I've been only directin' half of it so far -- the rest I've been dammin' up...lettin' it trickle because I'm afraid of it. That needs to change. Rhalgr's Levin, Gins, you're bloody brilliant." Slowly, she lowered the mug and set it onto the low wall. "I'll take your word for it, Berry. It sounds like you figured out what he wanted to tell you," She smiled at him in that warm agonizing way that reminded him of feelings he worked every day to forget. "So I should head home and leave you to it. Tell the boys I said hello, will you?" Berrod grunted and stopped to gather his own toppled mug, along with hers and the basket of vegetables. "I will. Tell your fiancee...bah. Don't tell him anythin'. I can't stand the bastard." "I'll send him your best!" "It'll be a lie!" "I don't care!" She had turned and whisked away down the street, trailing the scent of her perfume. The smell of it made him feel alive, good...and guilty all at once. Ginny hadn't been off the mark though. There was work to do, and the sooner he started, the better. ((Tumblr post here!)) Berrod Armstrong's Wiki

Askier Askier Find all posts by this user Smuggle Cat Posts:901 Joined:Feb 2014 Server:Balmung Reputation: 172 RE: Bulletin Board | #651 05-21-2017, 07:28 PM "The gods will never forgive this affront!" the priest bellowed defiantly moments before his guts were spilled onto the floor of the church with a wet, splattering noise.  Gasping in pain and shock, his hands clutched at his spilled insides.  His wide eyes gazed upon the ruined mess as if he was frantically divining sacred purpose from the entrails.  Engulfed in the horror before him, he never saw the second swing of the sadistic looking axe that parted his head from his shoulders.  His head bounced away, rolling down the rows of burning pews as his body fell into a heap and twitched. The butcher's eyes followed from beneath a hood that shadowed its face.  It beheld the remains of the congregation, now crimson ruins of muscle and organs, and their sacred site that was slowly being consumed by a hungry inferno of green fire which ate it's way through stone and wood alike with an unnatural appetite.  Hissing and popping filled the air, sounding as if a thousand vile serpents were filling the rafters. Hefting the dripping axe, the armored figure stomped forward, their red cloak billowing behind them. Reaching the door, the hood and the shadowed face that lurked somewhere beneath turned to gaze at the crest of the Twelve. A contemptuous snort filled the air.  The axe swung again, cracking the stone epitaph.  Over and over the axe fell, stone chips splintering away.  The last etching of earth to vanish was Nald'thal's, and this one was defiled with a noticeable enthusiasm in the figure's hacking.  Once the figure was satisfied that his blaspheming was complete, they turned and strolled out into the cold night.

Trigonxv Trigonxv Find all posts by this user The Crow Posts:173 Joined:Aug 2013 Server:Balmung NA Reputation: 11 RE: Bulletin Board | #652 06-08-2017, 10:02 PM Somwhere in the shroud With a bit of caution a man taps his linkpearl and speaks into it. "This is asset Crow, verification number 6613 utilizing emergency frequency. If there is anyone listening your honest working mercenary is well alive and severely lacking payment for all my hard work, I am unable to get into contact with empire soldiers on this side of the wall. Requesting a means to get beyond the wall and link up with command to get back to work and make good on my contract." He ends the transmission, he has sent multiple transmissions but to no avail, he is hoping something will work out soon for the air is filled with the charge of impending battle and he plans to make quite the amount of coin off of it. Andras Astora

Nero Nero Find all posts by this user Carbide Warrior Posts:910 Joined:Jul 2014 Server:Balmung Reputation: 286 RE: Bulletin Board | #653 06-09-2017, 12:47 PM The seats of the couch were soft. Too soft. It felt like sinking into a vat of bean paste, and the overpowering scent of incense permeating the room was nearly as foul. Every time Kagero attempted to adjust, the cushions would merely adapt to his movements and sink even further, and so he'd been restricted to keeping his body ramrod stiff so as to prevent further abduction of his body by the cushions and keeping his sheathed sword across his lap. The exterior of the Ruby Bazaar was a rather nondescript Ul'dahn style building, but the interior was as ostentatious as it came. Lavish rugs, exotic incenses, and impeccably polished woodwork dotted the trade office as if a treasure hoard had exploded within its confines. This is taking too long, Kagero thought to himself through slightly gritted teeth. It was supposed to be little more than a short jaunt; a brief meeting to clear up a discrepancy in the transactions. Trade with the foreigners had been profitable thus far, but the Kozakura clan's liaison with the East Aldenard Trading Company had been an infuriatingly tardy Lalafell. "Are you uncomfortable, my lord?" Seated next to the Midlander was a fair-haired female Raen, dressed in the style of the western merchants and poring over a business ledger. "If I find that any of the cushions in our estate are like this, I will be very upset, Sekka," Kagero muttered. "A cushion massacre may be in order." The Raen did little more than give an amused smile. "Is he always this late?" Kagero glanced at the chronometer ticking on the wall. "If Dadanzo appears in the next ten or so minutes, then I would say he is alarmingly early," Sekka sniffed rather disdainfully. And so did ten minutes pass, with Kagero desperately trying to keep himself afloat atop the cushion before the double doors on the other side of the lobby opened. A squat, bearded Lalafell raised his arms in what was a worryingly facetious display of welcoming. "I do offer my sincerest apologies for the wait! There had been certain issues from the home office I had to deal with." "Not at all, ser," Sekka said politely. The two of them rose and entered Dadanzo's office. The Lalafell took a seat in a leather chair behind a desk, motioning for the Raen and the Midlander to take a seat. Sekka did so politely, but Kagero was more than happy to remain standing after the ordeal with the couch. Dadanzo raised an eyebrow but cleared his throat and spoke. "To what do I owe the pleasure of the Kozakura's personal attention?" the Lalafell said cordially. It took a measured effort from Kagero to keep from frowning at the clearly disingenuous tone of the merchant. "A dispute. Our estate sold your company twenty cases of Eastern liquors. I understand that we have only received payment for eighteen." Sekka stood briefly to place the ledger on the Lalafell's desk, pointing a finger at the appropriate entry. "My lord Kagero saw fit to accompany me in case you were not satisfied with speaking merely to a representative." "I am only here to be window dressing, don't mind me." Kagero said, the corner of his mouth twisting somewhat. Trade disputes. Trade disputes were awfully boring, and the less time he had to waste with them, the better. "But an explanation would be appreciated." Dadanzo sighed, adjusting his spectacles. "We've only received eighteen cases thus far. I expected that the purpose of this meeting was for you to tell me where the other two cases went." Kagero raised a brow. "Truly? In that case, I suppose I have an inkling as to where they've gone." A gusty sighed escaped his lips, the Midlander scratching his head before turning to leave. "Sekka, send some dockhands to our warehouse in a bell or so." The Raen gave him a somewhat confused glance before nodding. -- To call it a "cove" would be a bit too polite. It was little more than a tiny inlet just outside of Kugane. As Kagero expected, there was a small rowboat present, with two sizeable crates that he presumed contained the missing liquor. A trio of ratty-looking Midlanders were just about to shove off when one of them noticed him. "Rasho," Kagero sighed again, rubbing his forehead. This was all such a pain. "Stealing liquor? Really? After going through the trouble of having gotten you legitimate work, too. Being a dock worker isn't all that bad." The scruffy Hyur called Rasho scowled, pulling out a small knife from within his vest. "It'll be all we need to start somewhere else." "You've sunk a bit low from robbing tea houses, haven't you? I don't mind that you've squandered your chance at...well, redemption is a bit too strong a word, but I do care that you're making trouble for me to the point where I was sent to the trade office." Kagero thumbed the circular guard of his sword. "Also, really? You tried to leave from here?" He jabbed a thumb at the clearly visible docks. "You know everyone can see you from there, don't you?" "We'll just be leaving now, my lord, and then--" Rasho's boast was cut off by a resounding thunderclap-like boom. The ruffian gurgled, blood filling his throat as a small hole made itself known in his vest, before the Hyur fell over. The smoking revolver in Kagero's hand made a small click as the cylinder cycled. "Yes, right, all of that," Kagero said with a remarkable amount of disinterest. He wagged the barrel of the revolver at the other two thieves, and then at the two crates they had loaded onto the row boat. "Bring those back to our warehouse, please. I don't like exerting myself."

Kage Kage Find all posts by this user Psy rockin' lala Posts:6,067 Joined:Jan 2014 Character:Kage Kiryuu Linkshell:Open RP Server:Balmung Reputation: 432 Timezone:UTC-8 RE: Bulletin Board | #654 06-09-2017, 01:59 PM (This post was last modified: 06-09-2017, 02:00 PM by Kage.) Another letter to Grimsong ((The package for @vanitysruin contains some Thanalan teas and a few… novels. The title of “Thirsty for Rhalgr” explained all that it needed to.)) Quote:To Ms Delial I hope you are faring well and staying out of too much trouble? I have not heard back from you and I must admit to being just a little worried. Are you up to something? Something dangerous without me to look after you? ? Roen received my gift and mentioned that she might gift Gharen her griffin. I think I have sent her too many friends? Do you think so? I remember your saying that you were with Gharen. Does he like the griffin? How are they doing, well I hope? You are not off doing something dangerous are you? I have visited the Shroud. I have heard the rumors. I know what people are saying. I know how deeply connected and how much this can mean to you. Please, please let me know if you need something. I am sure you are speaking with Roen more than ever too. Please. You are a good friend. Kage The Lalafell laid on his back, surrounded by fur, feathers, and various other animal hides of his friends. Some were asleep. Others were competing with each other over who would rest next to Kage while the others were taking up spaces along the larger companions' backs and sides. Baloo's ears flicked at a sigh that the Lalafell let out before tucking his head to rest alongside his paws. Kage's eyes were drawn to the east, that monstrosity in the sky. Just as he'd told Delial, he'd heard the whispers. The rumors. He had a pretty good idea that if Delial and even -Roen- was up to some danger, that was involved. It was really quite tempting to go make sure that they did not do something so wholly.... well, himself. But, he knew better now. He would wait. He would wait for them to call if they needed it. He would wait and be ready to welcome them for a good long night's rest with good food when they came... back? Where was 'home' for them now? For any of them?

Berrod Armstrong Berrod Armstrong Find all posts by this user Visit this user's website Buff, Rough n' Scruff. Posts:1,885 Joined:Oct 2013 Character:Berrod Armstrong Linkshell:Astral Agents Server:Balmung Reputation: 457 RE: Bulletin Board | #655 06-24-2017, 09:19 PM (This post was last modified: 06-24-2017, 09:21 PM by Berrod Armstrong.) Berrod felt as if his face was going to explode. It was true that he had quite a temper, but recently he had learned to still himself in the face of the many aggravating circumstances and provocations he faced on a daily basis. The not-so-simple ritual of breathing, thinking ahead, and remembering his place had served him well many a time. In that moment, that ritual was experiencing a critical failure. The source of his ire was no less than his master, Ronsen Armstrong. Together they had traveled the dust-blasted landscape of the Fringes and entered the temple carved into the very mountainside by the first monk. The first Fist of Rhalgr. Schism was its name. Berrod had been told tales about it by Master Armstrong himself, but this was the first time he had ever laid eyes upon it – much less stepped inside. It was a dark, cold place, replete with the architectural stylings associated with the old order, including a statue of the Destroyer himself. The two Highlanders did not buy their entry easily; they were made to combat frigid spectres of spirits without rest, given corporeal form in one of the most horrifying fashions – bhoots. Nevertheless, the pair had persevered and their obstacles laid low. Berrod had felt a fresh exhilaration in the victory…until Master Armstrong chose then and there to have words with him on the very topic that would ever return. “I am glad to be back here again, though my nostalgia is tainted with a sense of disappointment and sadness a tits state.” The man’s cold, pale blue eyes seemed to glimmer in the limited stream of light, “In many senses this temple reminds me of you. Strong; a call for nostalgia, a place of hope…now ruined…rife with potential yet bereft of the will to realise it properly.” Berrod was glad that it was too dark for the absolute crimson at his neck, ears and nose to be visible, though he still imagined that Armstrong felt the heat that radiated from his fury. He stiffened in that awfully telling way that he usually did – and his master saw prey fit for the taking. The fuming Highlander wanted nothing more than to shatter the other man’s jaw with a good swing…but he knew better. Ronsen Armstrong was already an imposing man by his own right – Berrod was tall among his kin, but Armstrong had the advantage of three ilms over him. While three ilms did not seem like much, combined with thick, corded musculature and damn near unbreakable bones, Ronsen was less of an old man than a golem made flesh. It was true that age had lined him slightly, and faded the red of his hair into a wild, coppery mane…but it had not brought weakness. Not a whit of it. The master knew as much, and so continued on his train of thought. “You did one thing right, I suppose. You carried things on as I had asked, just in case…though your choice of pupils leaves something to be desired. I’ll admit that there are a few who showed great promise. That there was even one is a boon that a beggar cannot afford to be particular about. I’ll do what I can with them. You can rest and return to your pirate and wood-bloods.” Berrod must have given something away in his expression; Ronsen’s own face perked with intrigue that tilted his head just slightly. The younger man was only barely able to perceive it through the haze of his fury. “Ah,” The master hummed, “I’ve struck a nerve. I’ll not apologise for speaking truths, these circumstances are of your own making. We should continue – I want to keep this promise to you at least, before we part ways. You should be honoured that I’m still bothering.” “Shut up.” The words had left Berrod’s mouth without thought, and without even a moment for him to consider restraining them. The moment that followed was a deathly silence; Ronsen stopped talking and his entire face froze mid-word, while Berrod himself felt the chill of the cavern nigh snatch the soul from his body. Never before had he spoken thus to his master, and with good reason. Master Armstrong was a relaxed man because he was a powerful man, and that power was shamelessly brought to bear when applying consequences to ill thought-out actions. Very carefully, the master gave the estranged pupil a chance to retract. “What was that?” The tone feigned a hardness of hearing while still threatening dire retribution in turn.  Berrod, however, had already decided to commit. If he was going to die there he’d die satisfied. “I said shut up. I’m not afailure because I didn’t turn out the way you wanted me to. I’m not weak because I’m not strong as you. I’m not a bad teacher because my students are odd.” He jabbed a finger in Armstrong’s direction, “What I’m worth ain’t for you to measure. Never has been.” Ronsen stood and listened with a stony calm that usually settled before a mighty storm. His eyes never left Berrod’s – even as the younger man continued to rant. “You humiliated me in front of them, so much so that I don’t know if they like you very much. That’s not what I care about though. I don’t care about what you say or do to me. The way you’re goin’ now though – they’re gonna be miserable with you and I hate that idea. I hate that you moved from a man who just wanted to make sure that the art lived on to an arrogant old bastard who doesn’t know when to  mind his damn business and let people do what they need to do to grow.” That finger struck out again, “Stop talking about my family, they got nothin’ to do with you. If this is how it’s going to be, then you can choke on your swivin’ promise.” Berrod was not given a chance to breathe for the next section of his tirade. Ronsen stood before him one moment, still and disdainful. The next, the older monk’s instep was but an ilm from the side of Berrod’s neck, moving with a speed and force quite capable of messy decapitation. He was fast. The younger man had only a fraction of a tick to process all of that and move accordingly. Ronsen’s leg connected with a hastily presented left forearm, braced with Berrod’s right hand. The student’s feet shifted apart on the stone walkway as the impact sounded as cannon fire in the cavern. Pain exploded through his flesh and bone – which did not snap, for a mercy. Armstrong peered at him without expression, his leg still extended. Berrod suffered only a moment of conflict, but it was a moment that cost him dearly. Several rapid snapping kicks lashed at his guard from that very leg. They assailed him with such intensity that it was all he could do to stay standing and weather the onslaught. His arm felt like it was about to shatter, and his hearing was assaulted by the whipping crack of it – the cavern only served to echo and intensify the din tenfold. There was no choice left for him to retreat and retaliate. Berrod could at least match Ronsen’s speed, though his left arm was useless for the time being. He blasted back in with a straight thrust toward the older man’s solar plexus, hoping to catch him in the follow through of the kicks. The old man was not so unwise as to leave himself open, however, and managed to turn the charge into a throw. Wrapped hands clutched Berrod at the wrist and belt; Ronsen used his standing leg as a pivot and took his student’s momentum to task. One spin sent Berrod flying toward the foot of the Destroyer’s statue. He rolled roughly along the dusty floor and collided with the pedestal. Spread-eagled and dazed on the floor, there was no hope for him to defend. Ronsen was over him in an instant, and pressed one of his gaiters firmly onto the younger man’s throat. The master glared down at him with unmistakable killing intent. “Do you believe those words so fiercely that you’re willing to fight me to defend them?” He asked calmly. The older monk even had the grace to lift his foot a little and allow Berrod a reply. Berrod was not deterred, for the first time he felt a clear sense of purpose – even if it meant that his throat would be crushed for simply declaring it. He believed in himself, he believed in his pupils, and he believed in his path – and so he spoke. “I believe in ‘em enough to fight and kill you to protect ‘em. I believe in my students, and I’ll protect ‘em with every breath I’ve got left.” The words came out as a bit of a breathless snarl, but they held weight nonetheless. He stared into his master’s eyes with conviction – no anger, no hatred…just purpose. Ronsen nodded. “I see.” His foot applied pressure once more; Berrod was prepared to struggle to the last. Then…he removed it, and exhaled with an exasperated inflection that made him look twice his age, “It’s about bloody time.” Poor Berrod was all but sure that he was about to die. While the reprieve was a relief, it did leave him quite flummoxed – too much for proper words, at first. “Buh…?” The master simply deadpanned at him, then beckoned, “Get up, you look so stupid like that. You finally regrew your damn stones. I’ve been waiting for that since you came the first time. We’re going back outside to climb the rocks and visit the Circles of Answering. Rhalgr knows you need the practice.” That was all he said; Berrod was only granted the sight of Ronsen’s broad figure traversing the walkway once more toward the cavern’s exit. “Are you gonna train me?” he asked somewhat hoarsely, “I thought I wasn’t your student anymore?” “You’re not, fool,” Armstrong chided. His back was still to the younger man – though he stopped. “You’re my peer. I’m not going to train you. I’m going to train with you. Hurry up. The sooner we get this started, the sooner I can keep my promise.” Berrod Armstrong's Wiki

Berrod Armstrong Berrod Armstrong Find all posts by this user Visit this user's website Buff, Rough n' Scruff. Posts:1,885 Joined:Oct 2013 Character:Berrod Armstrong Linkshell:Astral Agents Server:Balmung Reputation: 457 RE: Bulletin Board | #656 06-26-2017, 09:34 PM Everything hurt. That in itself was not unexpected, nor was it any sort of hindrance. It had been a few days since Berrod's outburst in Schism; days that had been occupied with intensive training and assisting the Resistance when needed. Atop the Circles of Answering Master Armstrong had pushed him again and again. The younger monk had been convinced that the training would be his end -- but Ronsen only showed Berrod that he was too strong for that.  Strong as he was, Berrod was not invincible. His left arm was still quite sore from the kicks it had been forced to endure -- not to count all the other blows that it had sustained during their training. Ronsen had done his best to provide some sort of healing...though time would have to do the rest. It wasn't a problem; Berrod was no stranger to soreness.  He was very grateful for the moment's respite on the third day's sunset; the skies darkened as the sun sank beneath the wall in the west and gave way to the sweeping cool of evening. The monks had taken a short trip from Schism to the Velodyna to bathe. Berrod was grateful -- the day's grime was heavy upon him and he stank terribly. His clothes were soaked with stale sweat that had become far too sour to ignore, and his body had gone a stage beyond musky to the unbearable. Master Armstrong fared no better, and grumbled about smelling like 'a minotaur's armpit'. Their clothing would need to be washed the following day and left in the sun to dry; fortunately they carried interim outfits in their packs.  The younger monk wasted no time in stripping down; he was still letting his hair down as he sloshed into the water. It was yet warm; the land below still afforded its heat -- night would come to claim it swiftly. The water was only waist-deep where he waded, but it did not stop him from submerging himself completely for just a moment. Refreshment coursed through him; every muscle sighed in relief. The outermost layer of filth was shorn from him as he emerged, and so began the active effort to wash it all off. Ronsen made his way a few yalms past, and set to bathing both his body and his gargantuan red mane.  For the life of him Berrod had no idea why his master kept it that long, it seemed like such a hassle. He'd never asked, either -- something like that was none of his business. In the end, he didn't care about it for more than a momentary wonder. His cause for concern, however, laid in the myriad scars that mapped Ronsen's body. Cuts from blades, claws, and even a few puncture marks were all painted onto the broad muscles of the older monk's back -- many of which Berrod did not remember being there previously. A frown pulled on his lips as the other man dipped below the water to get himself properly wet. It couldn't hurt to ask, really. The pair hadn't had much in the way of small talk, and the topic of scars was as good a starting point as any. He took a deep breath and steeled himself for the awkwardness to come. Ronsen emerged from the water like a wild beast; his hair flung water in an arc that splashed quite a line in the river. Fortunately Berrod was not hit by it -- that would have been an irritating circumstance. The older monk had resumed washing himself off, when he caught Berrod staring. Granted, it was not an unsavory stare; Berrod had just been waiting to start the conversation and had simply forgotten that gaping at another person was rude. Still, Ronsen's face crumpled into irritated displeasure. "You're staring," He grunted, "Stop that, that's disgusting. You're disgusting." It was Berrod's turn for a facial contortion. First, a moment of confusion, then a move to outrage as the other man's words registered. "What? No -- get over yourself, I'm not starin'." A moment's pause. "Well -- I am, but I was waitin' for you to come back up so I could ask you something about your body." His hand made a general gesture in the other man's direction.  The horrified look on his master's face both angered and entertained Berrod immensely -- though he hastily sought to clarify before things could escalate further. "I mean your scars. You've got a lot more than when we parted ways last. How'd you get them?" That was enough to defuse the affronted and potentially accusatory air about the master, whose presence simmered as he simply continued bathing. "When we parted, I went to see to some unfinished business," He offered vaguely, "I'd say that you have too few scars." It was his turn to squint and stare -- which was evidently not at all a crime, "And they're all so light-coloured and faint. I have to strain my eyes to see them. I had so many more at your age." "Yeah, well, maybe I'm just better at deflectin' harm than you were." "Our training in the Circles would say otherwise." Berrod had to chuckle at that. "Fair. You trained with the Fist, your trials were harder than mine, by far. I was just a refugee -- that and I had you and...and Gem to protect me." It was strange to see how much Ronsen's face lit up at the mention of Berrod's mother's name. It was a painful-looking mix of fondness and sadness that made Berrod feel like a fist was closing around his heart. For just a moment, he wanted to smile...to remember her, to laugh with him about her. The woman he always had in his heart, mind and soul, even if he never mentioned her to another -- no she was too precious to share like that. Far too precious... ...which is why he sent a lashing splash of river-water in his master's direction. "Oi, oi! What's that look about, ah?! Don't be makin' that kinda face when I'm talkin' about her! Pervert!" For a reply, Berrod received a well-aimed dousing, courtesy his master's sweeping palm. "Pervert?! Calling me that while you're staring at another man while he bathes! Gem was a dear friend and I wouldn't betray your father like that, even if he was dead!"  Berrod was going to kick even more water at Ronsen, but curiousity stilled his hand -- or leg, in that case. "...what was he like? My father. Gem always talked about him, but she was biased, you know? I only see his face in dreams, and I don't remember what it looks like when I wake up."  The older monk scowed and grunted. "He was annoying, just like you. He was a proper Ala Mhigan, though -- dark skin, bleached hair. Strong. Everyone was surprised when you took after your mother." That fist around Berrod's heart closed tighter. How he hated to yearn after what was lost. "...did you get on well?" "No, we didn't. People thought we were always fighting over your mother, but it wasn't like that. They were short sighted and foolish. We just clashed on a lot of things. I respected him greatly, regardless." Berrod had opened his mouth to ask more, but Ronsen lifted a forbidding hand. "Finish your bath, and let me finish mine. I'm not going to talk about these things while standing naked here with you on an empty stomach. I'll cook us something and you can ask all you like. It's about time you did, too -- you were a damned constipated young buck."  While the younger monk suffered the urge to clam up out of spite, he was truly desperate for Ronsen's accounts of his father, and of their life before. It was something to make him feel even more attached to the cause, something to fuel his fists as the worked toward liberation. It was something that would make it easier to join in on conversations with the twins about family. "You got yourself a deal." Berrod Armstrong's Wiki

Kisha Taluun Kisha Taluun Find all posts by this user Busy-Body Posts:16 Joined:Oct 2016 Character:Kisha Taluun Linkshell:Scales of Balance Server:Omega Reputation: 1 Timezone:UTC+2 RE: Bulletin Board | #657 07-02-2017, 06:31 AM Chaos in Bucket Street! This article would be posted in Ul'dah's local newspaper. From our reporter, N’haran Tia.    Eyewitnesses say that it rained splinters last eve in Bucket Street, one of the infamous alleyways of lower Ul'dah. Although precise details of the events are scarce, one bystander was willing to indulge some information about the event to yours truly.   From what we can currently tell it appears the chaos in Bucket Street was the culmination of an argument between a small group of travels and "The Ward of Bucket Street', a gang of Brigands who have taken over protection of certain parts of lower Ul'dah in favour of the Brass Blades. Although this humble reporter can nay say if the intentions of 'The Ward' are benevolent or not, The Brass Blades strongly disapproves The Ward's business practices of asking travellers in the district for a toll.   The eyewitness we've spoken mention that the group of travellers was intercepted by a group of Ward toll collectors. After an argument ensued, it became clear that the travellers were not intent on paying the toll with disastrous results…for the toll-collectors. During the brawl that ensued, the Ward suffered at least five casualties in what can only be described as an expert flurry of axes, arrows and formidable exotic weapon-handling. Although the members of the Ward are expected to recover from their wounds following treatment, it will take a while longer for some of the structures in Bucket Street. One eyewitness reports that one of the group of mysterious travellers was seen bringing down parts of the balcony connected to the Brass Blades guard complex from several tens of feet down onto the group of toll-collectors. Although The Brass Blades have turned a blind-eye to the happenings in lower Ul'dah before, one spokesman of the city watch has mentioned that 'damaging Ul'dah's defensive works' is a crime several steps up compared to the brigand behaviour show by The Ward. The Brass Blades were at the scene relatively quickly, but the group of mysterious travellers had already made themselves scarce. The same could not be said for the members of the Ward, which were screaming in pain or were unconscious as soon as The Brass Blades arrived.   Although the members of The Ward will now all be called to answer for their crimes in court, the band of mysterious travellers still remains at large. The Brass Blades are said to start an investigation into their whereabouts.

Gegenji Gegenji Find all posts by this user Visit this user's website Built Like a Brick Smithhouse Posts:3,940 Joined:Nov 2014 Character:Chachanji Gegenji Linkshell:Friends of Ours Server:Balmung Reputation: 636 RE: Bulletin Board | #658 07-07-2017, 10:10 AM Dearest Annunu, I write to you from the less than illustrious Castrum Oriens, just beyond - yet still falling under the shadow of - Baelsar's Wall in the Fringes of Gyr Abania. Given the speed at which the Alliance is seeking to finally press their advantage against the Garlean menace that holds such sway in the area, there hasn't been much time to improve the quality of life around the facility as of yet, but I seek to make do. I have managed to acquire one of the officers' chambers through no small efforts of my own, and while a bit spartan for my tastes, I believe I can manage for the interim. I have even heard tell that the Warrior of Light himself has deigned to make an appearance in this grand operation, which is certainly going to be a great boon for our forces. While I have not seen him myself, I figure that is because the Grand Companies are likely keeping him busy with various odds and ends until we have determined the best way to utilize both his physical prowess and the general influence someone of his stature brings to the fore. They certainly seem quite complacent in assigning him menial chores and guard duties given his position. As for me, I have been tasked to provide my tactical expertise to aid in Vice Marshal Pipin Tarupin's plans for assaulting one of the key Garlean facilities in the area - Castellum Velodyna. Given the ample time allowed to the enemy forces to build up and entrench themselves in this land, the campaign will be troublesome enough even without this tactically important location effectively corralling our forces through the Striped Hills and thus into the lowlands of the Peaks. A location which is overlooked by not one but two Garlean facilities - one of which is less Castrum and more giant weapon platform. It will likely be crucial for our forces to disable that facility and, as such, securing a more direct route for our forces is of utmost importance in my mind. The issue remains, of course, how to assault such a well-positioned and well-defended location. Sabotaging the supports is out of the question, of course, otherwise we effectively cut off our own advance... and simply throwing numbers at the entrenched enemy will just deplete our forces with negligible effect on our enemy's. As such, my mind turns to something a little more subtle - some manner of misdirection to disorient the enemy and striking in the confusion with a spearhead force to seize control of the facility, preferably with the Warrior of Light at the forefront for maximum disruption. I cannot speak overmuch of my ideas here, lest this letter get intercepted by the enemy, and as such will simply have to speak with the Vice Marshal on the matter later. For now, though, know that I greatly miss your steady presence at my side and do hope to swiftly return to yours once this whole mess has been properly sorted. Perhaps then we can finish our journey - so rudely interrupted by this war effort - to visit all the holy stones of the Twelve, and finally be joined in holy matrimony. You remain at the forefront of my thoughts as I aid in directing our Alliance's forces, seeking to secure a brighter future for both us and our descendants. And, Twelve willing, it shall be so. Forever yours, Tmesis Oan Tactical Advisor to the Maelstrom Castrum Oriens, the Fringes of Gyr Abania Chachanji Gegenji | Gogonji Gegenji | Judge Jredthys ~~ Balmung Directory

Ha'uruh Nunh Ha'uruh Nunh Find all posts by this user Flame Howler Posts:252 Joined:Jul 2014 Character:Howl Linkshell:NB-XI Server:Balmung Reputation: 21 RE: Bulletin Board | #659 07-15-2017, 08:01 AM Oh, Chuta. Did he truly think she didn't know about the hole he kept digging and refilling? She didn't even bother to dig it up herself.  She wasn't the only one watching.  Was he too drunk to feel eyes on him?  Or maybe he wanted others to see, to know.  Those who keep secrets often want someone else to find out, after all.  An, whose life was nothing but secrets, knew that particularly well. She just wished the tears that kept threatening to spill from his eyes as he stared into the hole would finally escape.  But a secret lost all of its power once revealed. People have forgotten this truth. But you mustn't forget it. You become responsible forever for what you have tamed. Howl's Wiki

Askier Askier Find all posts by this user Smuggle Cat Posts:901 Joined:Feb 2014 Server:Balmung Reputation: 172 RE: Bulletin Board | #660 07-27-2017, 02:06 PM "Got a moment?"  Ki Grimsong paused to suck in deeply on the cancer stick that was smoldering fiercely from his lips.  Like a pensive dragon of the north, the miqo'te tensed as he slowly turned his head and shot jets of smoke from his nostrils.  He peered out from behind his round, shaded glasses at the face of the person that had been naive enough to waist his time.  Ki pulled his hands from his red jacket's pockets and rolled his fingers.  He sniffed and flicked his ears, the bomb earring he wore from his left ear shaking as he did so. "Got coin?"  Ki replied in a gravely pitch, his tail twitching.  He was already late and this man was just increasing his tardiness.  Out here, in the Golden Bazaar, all there was to do was drink and make things. And he was on his way to do the first. "I have an offer for you to make some." replied the figure.  The person, whom Ki was tempted to call male but couldn't be sure since they wore flowing robes and had their face wrapped up in a shoal, was annoying him.  "Listen, pal, ain't really interested."  Ki spun and began his march toward the bar and blissful inebriation.  "Is that a fact 'architectus veteranus'?" Ki immediately went for the pistol at his side as he heard the rank,throwing his coat open as he spun.  The figure was already aiming a magitek pistol at him and Ki went deathly still as he looked from the weapon to the masked face. "Who are you?"  Ki snarled, pointed fangs flashing as his lip curled. "Mercenaries like you kill for coin, yes?  I want to offer you lots of coin to build us things to kill lots of people."  The figure drew back the hammer of his firearm.  "And, I don't think you are foolish enough to say no." "You clearly don't know me." Ki replied.

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