RPC has moved! These pages have been kept for historical purposes

McBeefâ„¢ · **03-07-2015, 02:02 PM**

(These posts happen after the most recent Scales in the Sand event)

Evangeline stretches in her desk chair, sipping her third coffee of the morning as she looks at the mess her guests has made of her already messy room.

Damp cloths dark with soot litter the room, as well as haphazard collections of bowls and glasses, more than one having being spit unto after a noisy gargle. Even her tunic did not escape unscathed. She plucks off a few strands of fluffy hair, dropping them onto the floor. Had they come from Vâ€™aleera, or Jana?.

She laughs at the irony of it all. Her, Evangeline Primrose, Adjucant of the 4th Coven of the 3rd Sect of the holy scale. Her, nursemaiding dragoons and soldiers who had listened too deeply to the Hordeâ€™s voice. Still, that life was behind her now, despite its perks.

Free haircuts for example.

The cool outfits.

And a complimentary lunch spread during meetings.

Oh, and the unending ruthless power to bend others under your will though she had always been a bigger fan of the lunch spreads.

Stillâ€¦ she glances at the jar of dragon bone shavings on the desk, she could always start anew. The display in the museum had been destroyed before it could cause any mischief, but here there had been two dragoons and a officer of the flames asleep at her feet. All it would have taken is a few flecks of bone in their water, and a wyrmtear close at hand. Things, she coincidentally had.

However, she had not. But why?

She pulls out the pale blue soulstone Gharen had given her, in the past it had always resisted her touch, now it simply sat, pale and smooth, much as any other rock. The path of the Paladin had seemed attractive to her, a way to curb her excesses, to help her help others.

But perhaps her excesses did not need curbing. Evangeline places it back into the small box she had received it in before sliding it across the desk. Gharen would be disappointed, she knew, as would Orrin, both seeing it as a step backwards for her. However when she left the Cults, she also left behind walking the path others had set for her.

No, she would follow her own path, impulses and all.

Taking pen and paper she begins to write,

â€œDear Master Cid Garlond,

I, Evangeline Primrose, do humbly request your guidance in several matters of the technical and mechanicalâ€¦

â€œ

cuideag · **03-09-2015, 10:14 PM**

Settling accounts. She did not like the sound of that at all. They were words which had hung over her head time and time again, however hard she tried to ignore them. Her days passed one by one and never did she live under the illusion that her affairs may very well come to a swift and abrupt end during any of them. She had relished the time away from Ul'dah and the insanity it seemed to inspire in its denizens but she had always known it would call back to her some day. Lieutenant Od'hilkas had been one of several loose ends and now that he had been given her message, she was free to turn her attention back to another.

Delial's stride was even, relaxed. The sun shifted onward, and the Highlander strode in its shadow with Vesper Bay at her back and Crescent Cove in her future. Nothing good had ever happened there, a thought which had not at all been lost upon her. So many great and bitter memories clung about the place. Though she had not set a single foot in the house beneath the cliff, she could still taste the stale rot the very thought of it brought to the back of her throat. She had come to loathe the sea and the pier and the way the water had seemed to take color so brilliantly one sun so many moons ago.

The paved road was one she had walked many a time and she took some small comfort in that familiarity at least for the others had done nothing but vex her. The returning theme of settling accounts did not sit well with her yet there it was. Nor did the thought of betrayal... yet there it was, once more proving to be one of the few things she could rely on. Wolfsong's 'proposal', if it could be called as such, perplexed her as much as it insulted her. She had made a career out of being disappointed by others but she had not expected to add Gharen Wolfsong to that list so soon, for he was an honest man even at his worst. The more she turned the situation over in her head the more nonsensical it became. Delial knew just how foolish it could be to expose a trap to the very prey he had meant to ensnare.

Her steps slowed as she came upon the fork in the road. It was still too early to make for Crescent Cove and that still left time for at least one thing that needed to be done. Delial gave a sigh as her feet departed from the stones and her favoured boots sloshed into the shallow water. If there had been any other travellers upon the road, they would have seen a robed woman stalking a single dark-feathered buzzard preening itself upon a stubborn remains of a broken archway. It ignored her while trudged closer, and it ignored her when she drew a blade in one hand and a tome in the other. Once before she had come this way leave what remained of Aylard Greyarm those very same birds. If there was anything Delial Grimsong truly believed it, it was that there was nothing that came without a price.

The knife ended what the aether did not. She rested the still-warm corpse upon the nearby face of a stone and cut clean and methodical, recreating the same lines she had been taught when she was still a girl full of promise. She spoke words of prayer and bowed her head to honor the gods to whom she spoke: Rhalgr, Halone, Nymeia, Thaliak. Her fingers dipped into the cavities she carved and with that blood she smeared the long, thin lines that she had long neglected over the curves of her cheekbones, dotted three, three, and three marks again over and under her eyes.

When all was done, she leaned over the carcass and summoned upon a spark of flame to consume it. It was madness that she had even considered returning to Thanalan but at the very least it gave her the excuse of settling a few things. Once before, Gharen had followed her to the house beneath the cliff despite surely suspecting it must have been a trap. She had thought him foolish then, just as she thought herself foolish now. Delial felt more solid bearing the marks she had worn much of her life, and when she stepped out of the water and back onto the stony road, she stepped taller. There was nothing in life that came without a price, this she believed, and she was not about to let herself become an exception.

Ligardian Dreamer · **03-11-2015, 01:27 AM**

Dammit! How could he have let this happened?....

At first, an outing with Avalyn, Khuj'a, and a new acquaintance that Avalyn met named Brandon, turned out in an unfortunate way that resulted in all involved parties to depart their separate ways. Frustrated, he ventured out for a walk to Aleport in hopes for the salty scent to distract him and calm him down. He stopped by at a bar at the town and, from there, made acquaintance with a Roegadyn scholar named Rhyllona. The conversation was mentally stimulating regarding about aether, its potential to be used without limits, and the possibility of it being used to help a void-touched individual that Alexander knew. However, the Hyur Paladin didn't have much update regarding that scenario even though the topic instill an interest into the scholar...

To celebrate their new acquaintanceship, they returned to the bar for a drink, then accompanied by a random midlander stranger named Kurt. A female Highlander than joined, who claimed to have been 'shortchanged' Alexander, under the influence of Rhy's personal (strong) drink by just one cup, made himself the highlander's focus, leading her to keep him company while the other two had departed by then...

Gust, the highlander, conversed with the slightly drunk midlander when she made a offer that had Alexander simply go along and accept it...

...leaving him outside of Aleport, in only his underwear with his sword and shield drawn towards the axe-wielder highlander, who seemed intent to strike him down...

Gust, however, claimed that she was not going to kill hi, but advised him not to trust people so easily. Alexander tried to keep her around, interrogating her with her reasons for picking him out. This was in futility as Alexander was merely acting in his frustration for having his life threatened... and obviously did not appreciate being played a fool... Even if he was aware of his foolishness despite his current state of drunken mind....

Even so.... How could he have let this happened? ....Will his trust in others ever be the same again?...

cuideag · **03-11-2015, 06:34 PM**

A chocobo fled through the night.

Earlier, a gunshot sounded the beginning of the collapse of Wolfsong's plan. The grunts he had hired were too eager, too cut-throat. If they had waited, they might have gotten somewhere. Yet if they had waited, Delial could have died.

Idiot.

Gharen Wolfsong was not meant for treachery. There were those who could navigate lies and utilize lives to turn the odds in their favor. Shaelen Stormchild knew Delial knew of the trap and yet she came, and when the trap was sprung not on Delial but on Shaelen, she did what any sane woman might have done. The Brass Blades did little enough to stop her from what she could hear of their conversation. Delial had been shot and Shaelen had been manacled but neither of them would end up with what it was they wanted in the first place.

You had her and you let her go. Let her run.

The chocobo was not so kind as to slow nor smooth its gait. One of the hired Blades had done her the service of bandaging up her wound and Wolfsong had spent entirely too much time trying to patch her up as well but still it ached and stung whenever her ride jostled uncomfortably (which was, incidentally, all the time). He had spoken as though Stormchild was his last, best hope at fitting a noose around Lazarov's throat yet he had held back to aid Delial instead.

"I told ye ye'd nae be dyin' this sun an' I meant te keep my word," he said. Shaelen was right: he and his sister both were bleeding hearts of the worst sort. Far too soft, and far too naive, and not at all the sort to try to scheme. That did not, however, deter Delial. Her chocobo trotted its way towards Horizon indifferent to its bleeding rider. She would have to move quickly, set out word and reward. Her clothes were stained and ruined from where the bullet had passed straight through her belly but at least she was still alive. The same could not be said for one of the Blades. His death would be easy enough to pin in Shaelen, she was sure, and rousing local interest in finding Stormchild would make Thanalan all the more treacherous for the smuggler. There were plenty who were out to find Lazarov as well and once she had Shaelen Stormchild...

Delial grinned. Once she had Stormchild, it would only be a matter of time. She had wanted Delial's head as payment for what she had done to Aylard Greyarm, but she was not so stupid a woman as to risk her life for Nero Lazarov. Shaelen had not survived so long by being as soft as her former colleagues.

Gharen might have resigned to accept this blunder as a loss, but Delial Grimsong knew better. "You may be the forgiving sort," she told him, "But I am not. What use is influence when you can have blood?"

Jancis · **03-12-2015, 02:55 PM**

Jancis sunk down in the cavern, looking up at the statue of Nald in the flickering candlelight.

It had hurt and she was stunned at the cruel careless things he had said. The growing hope, the feeling of progress, had been dismissed as much as she had been again.

She had made a childish call out to find Jin'li herself, that monster, and she made the slow way back across the way to Limsa trying to follow up on a promise she had no idea how to even start, let alone fulfill. The city had so many subcultures, the shadow of the seaport, that did not honor free knowledge. Secrets were their commerce, not something Jancis could barter for.

Sitting down and pausing to collect her thoughts at the side of the walkway, Jancis pondered all the recollections she could.Â

The time they met when he rescued Lady Leanne from the pudding... the time he fought in the Shroud to rescue Lady Edda... the time he rescued the elezen from the avalanche... the time watching him working at the Grindstone tending to wounds...

... the time he had fought with Lady Edda. That memory finally surfaced along with his quick words "Don't tell Edda" from the other day.

That was it. She had to tell Lady Edda and share what was known. Despite his request, Jancis was already chided and pushed. If it helped Franz then it would be worth the rebuttal later.

Other names coursed through her mind, ones that knew Jin'li and horrors he could cause. But first, the blonde lady would hear of what Jancis had found out. Quick for parchment for a moogle courier she wrote, hoping to catch the lady before departure.

"Dear Lady Edda,"

Melodia · **03-17-2015, 07:59 AM**

Present-

The waters made a repetitive sound on the side of the ship as it sailed through the ocean waters. The clouds overhead were dark, but none moreso than Ruru's heart as he gazed at the fading coastline. His mouth held in adeep scowl and his lone eye narrowed in a seething gaze. Clad in black he sighed and tried to forget.

The faces. The names. All of his pain and loneliness. All of his loss.

He'd become the monster his brother had wanted, and Nono would have been proud of this. They were all gone....Zhi, Mimiko, Kage, Alulu, Suri, Natalie....he was as alone as he'd ever been and his heart had hardened.

He turned his back to the fading coatline, now nearly invisible, the dark clouds gathering above and the first hint of thunder in the air as he headed below deck, leaving Eorzea and all of the pain it'd brought him behind.

Star Lin · **03-22-2015, 05:14 PM**

John pull himself back onto the bed, panting from the last dry heaves that wreck his body.Â The Miq'to just made out the sound of the bucket being moved and a wash cloth was place on his head.Â "dad..."

"Shss," Thomas said, making sure that the blankets were pull back over him.Â "The fever shouldn't last much longer."Â He readjusted the cloth and reach for the cup of water.Â "Just a little sip."

John took a small sip, waiting to see if it would come back up, and those his stomach protested a little, the water stay down.Â "the old man..."

"Is being seen to by your mother," his dad said.Â They were lucky that they had caught this stomach aliment this early.Â Still, they wish they had knew about it before letting John tend to the old man.Â "We'll try some broth in an hour."

John swallow hard but nod knowing that he needed to keep fluids in his body.Â He cracked his eyes open, taking in the low light, and remembering what day this was.Â "I have to go..." he said, trying to crawl out of bed.Â

Thomas push John back into bed.Â "You will not be going anywhere."

"but sir warren....the grindstone..."

"Sir Warren will understand," he said.Â "I will send a letter to him explaining why you can't make it."Â He pick up his staff,Â "I'm sure you do not want any of the others to catch what you have."Â He cast sleep on him, the Miq'to sub-coming to the spell faster then normal.

Thomas then went back to the living area.Â Pulling out the quill and parchment, he pen the letter.

Sir Warren Castille,

I am Thomas Waterstrike, John Waterstrike's father.Â I wish to inform you that John will not be attending the Grindstone tonight.Â While help out at the clinic with my wife, he came into contact with a hyur that had a contagious stomach aliment.Â He sends his regrets that he can not help out but if is best not to spread it farther.Â We hope that he will recover from this soon and that he well be able to help out farther when he is well.

Thomas Waterstrike

Berrod Armstrong · **03-25-2015, 11:39 AM**

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The First Chakra
The Second Chakra
The Third Chakra
The Fourth Chakra
The Fifth Chakra
The Sixth Chakra

Ha'uruh Nunh · **03-29-2015, 10:15 AM**

((A piece of Gogonji Gegenji's story, however small.))

Annunu stood stock-still in the Castrum where she was mostly concealed by the weapons crate, the distinctive pink of her hair hidden by the imperial cap she'd obtained, and two poisoned blades drawn and held in front of her.Â Guard schedules, materiel stockpile lists, procurement orders, and resupply convoy requests rested in a neat stack, original copies all, in her pouch.Â She had fulfilled every request Master Oan had made of her, and yet, here she was still in the Castrum, the chance of discovery increased with every passing heartbeat, watching the sealed room buried in the heart of the compound and the men passing forth agitatedly in front of it, aware that an assassin had penetrated their fortress and killed several high-ranking officers for the information she had already acquired.

Why?Â Why was she still here?

An did not move, not even permitting the rise and fall of her chest as she breathed.Â She did not blink or falter.Â Wounds - some old, some new - peppered her body.Â She could not expect healing, nor praise, nor comfort, nor even payment, at the end of this mission.Â Why risk life, spill more blood, to go above and beyond for this person who hated her so?

It was at times like this, moments of absolute stillness, moments that preceded violence, that she remembered her father - or rather, the man that had taken her in after her parents had died.Â The death of her parents was the faintest memory, one of warm blood and tears, and the Hyur's hand closing on her arm to take her away.Â Even as a child, she had modeled herself on his behavior.Â Rational thought, cold assessment, the abjuration of remorse and regret.Â All with the knowledge that, one day, the ultimate price for mission after mission would be paid, and the duty would fall to the next in line.

Chuta had taught her how to smile and laugh with feeling behind it.Â Her memories of listening to his stories as a child when he would make his way through her village were her first of laughter, her first of the pain that followed loss.Â Why she hadn't felt that when her birth parents had died, she still didn't understand - but, a few steps later in her life, he had been the one to drive the lesson home and give her something other than the mission to live for, something other than the path her father laid out for her to walk.Â From the way her father had smiled, just faintly, the first such smile she remembered from him the day she drove her dagger into his ribs, he understood she walked a different path now, too.

Or maybe he'd smiled because despite Chuta's influence, An had still elected to kill him.Â And that path had brought her here, to the Castrum, her underclothes soaked in her blood and those of others, after all.Â An interesting problem.

She had read documents among those she had procured indicating that some sort of experimental barrier magitek had been researched and constructed in this facility.Â The Imperials were all-too-aware of their inefficiencies with regards to aether use, and the advantage it gave Eorzeans.Â One remedy that was being researched was a nullifying shield - originally designed to block incoming destructive magics, but if the notes were to be believed, instead functioned more as a nullifying zone.Â Two prototypes existed.Â One was within the sealed room before her; the other had been shipped off to Garlemald some time hence for further research.Â She could do nothing for the one across the seas, but some force compelled her to bring this one to Oan.

It was suicidal, really.Â She had been here long enough obtaining the information he'd actually requested that the Castrum was on alert, and the guard by the room tripled.Â Not to mention, even if she pierced those defenses, she had to break into the room, locate the prototype, and spirit herself and the bulky equipment away before being caught.Â Loaded down with the equipment, she might not be able to get away and in secrecy enough to survive.Â It was likely Oan might not even care about the technology.Â It was certain he would hate her the more for its retrieval.Â And yet...

Hope was not a quality An had ever embraced.Â Hope was an emotion that skewed the rational consideration of strengths and weaknesses, that clouded judgment.Â When had she begun to dare hope for the future?Â Was that Chuta's fault, too?Â She broke her stillness, just momentarily, to smile.

Then she began her work.Â This, at least, was familiar.Â This, at least, was what she knew.

Melodia · **03-30-2015, 11:13 AM**

Melodia walked away from the bulletin board with a nervous smile. She was without a job again, and had only taken up shelter in a friend's home for the time being until she got things sorted out.It had been a rough couple of days but she felt better....free again. And she looked at the notice she'd posted with a hopeful smirk. "Well...see how this'n plays out."

The ad was simple. It read:

"Out of work bodyguard for hire. Please contact Melodia D'janz if interested."

cuideag · **03-30-2015, 11:54 AM**

Her first love was red-headed and, unsurprisingly, of a fiery disposition. She was a goddess in her own right, haughty and dignified and a miracle to behold. Delial spent suns following the freckles on her body, spent nights trying to divine their meaning. They spelled out how unworthy she was of such a creature. Her pedestal stood far, far too high.

Her second love spoke of passion: passion in life, passion in love, passion in purpose. Delial always thought him an odd fit in a soldier's uniform. Later, she decided he did not even fit his own shape: too grand were his dreams that they saturated his words and made him larger, older, than the young man he was. She did not know how he died and she never forgave him for it.

Her third love was steel. His counsel and advice was not always kind but he said what needed to be said to pull her away from the bottles she so desired. She never paid attention to his lessons. She was good enough. She was drinking again. He would not bend.

Her fourth love was misguided but so was she. Weren't they all? The moon was coming. It did not matter.

Her fifth love spoke in truths. He took her scars and her cracks, all the crooked shapes that made her real, and he embraced them. It must have been maddening. It must have been. All it took was a flick of the wrist.

Her sixth love...

"Who ye were then is nae who ye are now."

There was a package tucked into her shirt, its contents wrapped in bloodied linen. He did not know this. He could not know. But he will.

"Mayhaps I see things differently than others do. Would nae be th' first time though."

"No," she said quietly. He knew from the start she was poison. He knew. "No, I suppose it would not be the first time."

Her sixth love was sabotage.

McBeefâ„¢ · **04-01-2015, 01:35 PM**

A short tale of the Brass Blades after the events of Patch 2.55, spoilers.

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Aya · **04-01-2015, 02:14 PM**

Aya rose from the warm water of the bath with a long sigh.Â It had been just the thing she neededâ€”as it so often was.Â She took in the soothing fragrance of bathing oils, sweet-scented candles, and moisturizing skin treatments.Â As the water began to drain she slowly unwrapped the towel from around her hair, letting the long, slightly wetted, blonde locks fall free behind he shoulders. Â She let the water drip from her bodyâ€”the warm air of her room suddenly felt of a slight chill.

There was another deep breath; another sigh of relief as the scent of chamomile joined the chorus.Â She soaked her hair in the tea, helping further lighten the blonde in those long months spent without the full bleaching brilliance of summer sunlight.Â The room's southern exposure meant it bore the full brunt of the sun's morning heat, the exterior stonework would become hot enough to bake upon by mid-day.Â It even penetrated the fogged, clouded-glass of the small bathing room, banishing the drying-chill upon the half of her body exposed to the window.Â She smiled as she turned around, feeling the sun's warmth upon the other side as her fingers began to comb through her hair, working out little tangles along their way.

A few moments later she stepped out of the drained bath, wrapping a rich, velvet towel around her body.Â It was one of those simple luxuries she had been able to afford.Â An indulgence of just the variety she once longed for in the Towered City of her adolescence - a little slice of teenage dream come true.Â The smile upon her lips grew more satisfied. Â She stepped out into the main area of the Hourglass room that had been her home for a year, brush in hand.Â She took a seat upon her window sill, glancing outside through the glare of the sun as she straightened the strands of her hair with one hand, drawing the brush along with the other, until the long strands recoiled ever-so-slightly with their natural waviness.

She thought about her makeup for the day: carmined lips, an Ul'dahn mascara that added such a fullness to her long lashes.Â A touch of a light, slightly peach dusting for eye shadow, to accent her fair hair and skin.Â She thought of what she should wear: a trip to the market, to the tea houses, and about town for the afternoon.Â A shift later that evening, just the second in a week, Madame was convinced the mob was becoming quieter.

She let out a happy, relieved sigh.Â The stress of that day in the Sagoli had finally been washed away.Â It had taken days of comfortable baths, quiet nights, and the easy succoring bliss of pleasantness.Â The tension of those days leading up to the hectic expedition, and the whirlwind of violence that culminated in the rescue of hear dear friend, Verad, had melted away in the face of simple creature comfort.Â She could, at last, relax.

Happily, she listened to the sound of the outside world going by.Â In that moment, wonderfully apart from it all, as if the troubles of the world were an abandoned relic of yesterday.Â She smiled again, closed her eyes, and brushed her hair.Â

She wanted nothing more than a little peace, and the chance of a good time.Â She had no idea what trouble was then awaiting the city.Â The change, upheaval, and near-chaos already afoot.Â She had no idea the ill-wind blowing it the distant north, and the uncertainty it would carry for the Jewel's smiling, Ishgardian barmaid.

Jancis · **04-04-2015, 04:58 AM**

Jancis walked across the boardwalk of the Mist to the stairs that dipped into the tide. The close time of equinox bringing a swell of water up that danced around her knees.

Lord Bravaden had a good point. Lady Syl was not the only victim of odd mischief. And mischief it truly was! While the others either stood around misunderstanding the show of affection, Memeli was fully aware. The risk of giving Syl the antidote after Memeli's reaction was too great, particularly because Syl had downed the entire bottle.

The only recourse was to deal with it and let it play out.

Let it play out. It was all she could do to not be overwhelmed by the amorous nature of the woman. The cold water was comforting as Jancis blushed over recounting. The warm arm, the look in her eyes as if no one else in the world existed. Shining with their green hazel hue, the conjurer had a glimpse that wasn't meant for her.

Her hand came up to her lips, sinking down into the sand to let the tide come over her shoulders in a cold hug, and lingered there for a moment. How furious was Syl going to be in the morn? She couldn't think of anything to comfort the woman on what clearly a ruse... a warm tender ruse...

Jancis simply had to write her a letter. Be swift and explain her decision to leave Syl in such a state and apologize for the actions therein and thereafter caused by it. Explain that in her best intentions things did not go completely as hoped and that Syl was the victim.

By cruel fate... a glimpse of Menphina was stolen... and Jancis now completely understood why Sir Ironblood always had such a brilliant smile upon his face.

In the morn at Syl's door was a letter sealed, explaining all. And she left.

And she left to wander. Leaving word with others she headed out to walk on foot back towards the Shroud, hopefully finding counsel with other friends for the feelings that were upturned by one simple brush of lips.

Ciel · **04-04-2015, 10:48 AM**

**100% spoiler free**

Recent stirrings had come to the forefront of the minds of so many.Â Rumors, many of them conflicting, had given the wandering songstress pause and a reason to indulge in a few moments of silence.Â She had once again closed her door between herself and the rest of the world, which allowed for her thoughts to surface for more direct consideration.Â But there was one out of the many which demanded a decision.

Ciel sifted through sacks and parcels in her wardrobe.Â Some of the items they contained had not seen daylight in five or six summers by this point, but there was one thing she was looking for and her fingertips searched blindly for it in the dim light of the room.Â She felt the texture of tightly woven threads, the raised pattern she sought, and wrapped her hand around the object.

In the palm of her hand sat a single patch bearing the emblem of a howling wolf upon a field of desert sunrise crimson, the mark of the Wulfegard.Â She closed her eyes and pressed the emblem to her lips fondly.Â Sadly.

"Ser Wulfegard."Â She murmured the name of the paladin for whom the unit had gained its name.Â "In your memory and that of our comrades, long have I held a part of your name as mine own.Â It has served its purpose and now, methinkst, its time is past.Â I know you would understand, but 'tis past time for Ciel Sauveterre to return to the Immortal Flames."

She placed her other hand over the emblem and returned it to the sack in which it was found, and folded it amongst the memories held within.

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