An IC Thread ^^Follow

Okay why did it post this twice when I edited it? :(

Edited, Thu Dec 30 00:43:23 2004 by YukioOfBismarck

You fool! Pray to your Altana that it never happens thus. Your beloved Kingdom is a pit of decay. Decadence and corruption runs high among our so-called lords and the men of the cloth. Plots and counter-plots among the nobility distract them from all else that moves within their nation.

My father was a high-ranking nobel. He was also a rapist and a murder. And he was not of a rare breed.

Your precious kingdom is failing, and if there is any proof of your Altana in this ailing world, it's that.

It would have been better if the civil war started by Raigegue and Fellenant had ended in the destruction of our nation.

It would have been better if Ranperre had never found the Lightbringer.

If he hadn't, then my mother would... she...

/em makes a strangled cry and storms out the door.

Perhaps your banners will fly o'er the shifting sands of Valkurm, which have so recently become overrun with the stink of avarice and conquest, adventurer?

i have no taste for it, born of fisher folk in Selbina, and prefering the seas to the wastes beyond the walls. what 'nation' i claim will be but a flag of convenience - i seek no more from 'great' nations than from beastmen.

i have seen true power, as a stowaway child, upon the decks of those ships. it was in the form of a man in red velvet, whose speed blurred his form before my eyes as he drew the power of the very storms (and a nightmarish beast's death!) from a blade no larger than his forearm. it was that day that i knew where my path was to lead.

...I feel for the Taru. Hell, I'm half Taru myself sometimes, seems that way at least.
Imagine my mom and dad's reaction when they got the news that I'd completed my Red Mage exam. It wasn't pretty, let me tell you.

"Be a Dark Knight!" says Recenmille, my dad. Mom (her name is Rabinne) gives him a pointed, disapproving glance.
"You could have been such a strong, brave Dragoon," she mutters gently to me. "One day you'll put those scrolls away and learn to capitalize on your strengths."

"We aren't a race of magicians," she says, setting down my breakfast; and her smile is warm, but it hurts me a little anyway, somewhere deep down. I know in the end my mom's right.
I'd give all my strength and endurance to have a Taru's mastery of this art. If I'd been born one of you, I'd fit right in.
Course I suppose that'd get on my nerves eventually too...heh.

The Galka? Hell, once again, how can you be down on these guys. I think they've been through enough, don't you? They'll be cursing the Anticans and the Humes till the last sunset, and you can't hardly blame em for that; oppressed people, scuse the Windurstian, pi[b][/b]ss me off. These guys have more strength than two of me, and get treated like crap in the bargain; some heavy duty rising up is in order for the Galka.

Let's see, the Humes....well....the Humes. I don't trust em. They have a landlust that doesn't give a crap what it eats, and one look at their homeland shows that pretty clearly. Altana forbid they ever claim Ronfaure, it'll end up looking like the Shadowlord's sandpit.
Little too arrogant, not great at much of anything, little tosspot dictators is what they are. Not to mention how they treat the Galka; feed em with one hand and whip em with the other. It ain't right.

As for the Mithra, I tolerate them. They're like little toy pets; nice for catching a ball, nice for being cute, but...well, they don't command much respect from me. Give me a Taru over a Mithra any day. That ethnic accent makes me insane.

My own race, well. I'm ambivalent.
Everything to my people is pride. We live by the swordarm, and I have to admit that rubbed off on me; however much my heart belongs to Windhurst, I remain a daughter of San D'oria. Been known to slash up the odd gobbie just for the fun of it, no matter how many muscles the little bugger's got.
But I am a wayward sheep in the eyes of the Elvaan. My pride unfortunately was not destined to come from my people; all my pride has gotta come from me, and that's just fine by this girl. Where a Paladin or a Dark Knight will fall, I'm still standing, and in that way I think I made the best of what I have...even if we're not a race of magicians.

So there it is...not much more to say, I suppose.

I prop myself up on one elbow, my tattered robes of my religious order gathered loosely around my body. I look at my questioner with curiosity.

"What do you think of the various races?,” he poses to me.

I have faced this question before, from various souls looking for peace. I make a slight guesture with a flick of my hand towards a steaming cup of Windurstian Tea that was boiling on my earthen stove in the corner.

"Care for something to drink? This tea was boiled out of Holy Water. Garanteed to banished the evil spirits within. I have found it much better than performing an exorcism." I pause slightly, and press a finger into my face beside my chapped bottom lip. "Now if only performing an Abjuration or killing Rokusho's seven demons were that easy."

I laugh a bit at the referance of my old friend. It has been a while since Rokusho had died, and his son, Koji, had picked up his father's quest in his absence.

Ah...the memories...

My eyes suddenly focus back on my vistor.

"Ah yes, races, anyway...first of all, what religion are you?" I ask softly, gently.

I have known people to be very shy about proclaiming their spiritual leader to a member of the Church. I wait a couple minutes, and don't get a response out of the man.

"I understand." I take a deep breath and start. "I know that not everyone follows the route of Altana, and although I may disagree with your decision, I will not try to convince you otherwise."

I sit up, and grasp a small cup of tea in both hands, sipping from it gingerly.

"We all have the same mother, and were born from Her teardrops upon this land."

I put down the cup next to the well-creased picture of Kumori that I keep at my bedside.

"Races…heh…does it really make a difference?” I tilt my head a bit. “I myself have seen the best and the worst of all races. Some that I would be honored to call me friend, and others that I pray would never enter the gates of Paradise.”

I pause, and then give the stranger a half smile. “But I will say this. Female mithras have the most…kissable…lips in the world, so I have a certain weakness for them.”

“I hope that answers your question traveler.”

I get up, and show the stranger to the Church’s door.

“May the spirit of life lift your wings. And if the stars will it, we will meet again. But until that day…may She guide and protect you, as She truly does us all.”

With that, I turn around, and go back to bed.
***
((Sorry if it isn't very good; I was in a hurry))

Ah Nights my old friend. You are, as ever, incorrigible.

If there is any hope for San d'Oria, it is in men such as he.

Edited, Thu Dec 30 13:39:24 2004 by nataraja

<as Kestra> ((yes, I have to differentiate.))

What do I think, of the races?? I... I didn't realize that mattered. I guess it's because I'm young, you would prrrobably say.

*shrugs, and stops to think*

I've trrraveled in the company, of many adventurers, and never really found one race more or less interesting.

My Mithran sisters can be very catty, parrrdon the pun, heehee. Yes, I admit, we're very different, between the ones from Windurst, and Kazam. My sister was born, in Jeuno, and she has no conern, whatsoever, of either trrribe. Our sisters, in Kazam tend to try and keep the old ways, of the trrribes, and those, in Windurst, well... they're more like, well... babysitters, to be honest. Someone has to keep an eye, on all that the Tarutaru mischief.

They're very intriguing, the Tarutaru, but in my opinion, the most dangerous group, on the face, of this world. The Elvaan seem to try to forrrget, that they utterly destroyed thier domains, up in Sauromugne, once. I've found ancient stones, on my journeys, that point to this fact. I'll agree, they're prrranksters, for sure, but don't let that cuteness fool you. A fool, and his life, are soon parrrted!

Humes, seem to have some prrretty impressive skills, at making things. As a people, they really lack direction, though. Some of this, and some of that... too much confusion, no definition. Still, you can always count, on one, to be around, when there's trouble or mystery, about.

The Galka... I feel sadness, for them. They have had a hard history, and it always seems, no one cares. They're treated only a little better, than slaves, most of the time.
*seems lost in deep thought*
Such a fire, in their souls! They are such passionate Warriors, and yet, the Galka I know, have the most gentle hearts.
*sighs*
They'll have their day, I'm surrre of it.

Now, the Elvaan... I don't really know what to make of them. The ones you find in San d'Oria Proper, have their heads stuck, so far up their backsides, that their ears tickle the back, of their throats. Yet, all the while, they struggle with each other, for powerrr, as Orrrcs begin to overrun their very homeland! It seems, to me, that the only Elvaan that I can consider truly noble, are the ones, who are non-conformists, or outcasts.
*looks at Fionchadd and grins*
Like him.
*points at Fionchadd*
They seem to have a better grasp, of the real world, because they are shutting themselves out, from the rest of what their people consider normality.

*pauses, and nods, seeming satisfied*

Hmm, yes... that's about it. I could prob...
<the sound of an airship starting up>
*looks startled*
Oh no! My boat's leaving!!! Sorrry, gotta go!
*runs for the airship dock*

Edited, Thu Dec 30 14:42:23 2004 by TheWanderingShadow

Edited, Thu Dec 30 14:43:52 2004 by TheWanderingShadow

Lying on a table in a tavern next to a half empty glass of bitter dark beer is a worn leatherbound book. It is open to a page...

I was born to my noble father and young peasant mother. My father's family, having disowned him upon the eve of the marriage, have been lost in the pages of San d'Orian noble geneaology (curse them). My mother was an orphan taken in by the Church of Altana and trained in the ways of the healing lights of the White Mage.
I was brought up in San d'Oria and used all of the Ronfaure region as my stomping grounds, as it were. If in trouble or just wanting to get away from everyone and everything I was often found hiding near Knightwell. It really is just so peaceful and beautiful there...during all my travels I have not seen anyplace more beautiful...yet. That however was before the war.
When the beastmen rose up and united against the peoples of Vana'diel, my parents were called to battle. My mother was sent with the same elite unit as my father (who had since made a name for himself in the wilds as a renowned Ranger). I was left with one of my "uncles" of mine who just happened to be a retired Red Mage. Ah Uncle Rinji, not an uncle per say, really, but the closest thing I had to one at the time...and a very close friend of my parents and myself.
The war consumed the land, death swept the world and lives were lost to its rampage. My parents It looks like a different ink was used at a later time to continue this writing were killed enroute to a battlefront by an Orcish ambush (blasted things I will destroy them all one day, they have taken too much from me). I fled my uncle's home when mother's and father's effects were brought to me. I was gone for a week, disappearing into the Ronfaure woods.
A week later I returned to his Uncle Rinji's house carrying with me the spoils of my grief, some Orcish effects (It is a blur as to what happen that week, I remember being found by the gates by the Royal Knights covered in gore and dirt, I've never been sure how much of the blood was mine...). My happy demeanor was gone and had been replaced with a stern, dower attitude (the kind that can only come from killing, I have nightmares that give me glimpses sometimes of that week, I shudder thinking of them).
I immediately delved deep into my uncle's books swearing quietly to learn the means to avenge my parents. My studies into the art of Red Magic consumed me (I forsaked my religious duties and my health), so much in fact that Rinji contacted the church and had a preist friend of his visit me. The preist helped me calm himself and focus more on study for the good of all Vana'diel instead of study for the sake of revenge. However this triggered my almost uncontrolable thirst for knowledge and perfection within.
As the years carried on I studied; swordplay, white magic, black magic, red magic, archery, defense, theivery, music, the beasts, the stars and things much too numerous to list here. I was striving to master all possible adventuring aspects.
Finally settling on the flexibility of Red Mage, I took my uncle's rapier in hand, donned my father's old gear, and wore the rings of my mother, setting off into Vana'diel to avenge the land of the attrocities that the war had left behind.
And that is my past, I have rewritten and compiled this here for myself and my children, if I ever have any... I have made numerous friends and some enemies of the people throughout this land and I have many more friends and enemies to make. The path continues to stretch onwards to the neverending horizons... It will be hard, but I will succeed, I must...

At this moment a tall white haired Elvaan strides from out the back area of the tavern. Seeing that the book is open, he snatches it up and gives a stern, angry stare at you which fades slowly into a soft sad smile. Picking up what is left of his beer, he finishes it and dons his hat. Nodding his head slightly in your direction he pushes through the tavern and out the door, glancing back and smiling as the sun hits his face. The door closes and you feel that so does this chapter...for now.

OOC: Two things. 1) For some odd reason I find a double post in an RP thread kind of funny. Is that in character for Yukio? Does he say things twice?

2) Writing this while I've got Holiday by Green Day in my head was... interesting.



Leaning back by the firepit in the tavern, Nataraja sees the man whose journal he espied the day before. Hailing him, the young Paladin pulls up another chair by the fire and bids the Red Mage to sit. He offers apologies to the man for invading his privacy and buys him a mug of bitter, and talk turns to other matters; the beastmen's recent retaking of areas thought secure, the weather, and the general sort of tavern talk you expect between two adventures on a day like today.

Eventually all talk dies, and both men sit at their ease, gazing into the fire.

Nataraja, rolling his glass of wine between his palms, is the first to speak again, almost to himself.

Threads and patterns and cascades of fate that echo like movements in a place both hallowed and sinister...

Slowly Nataraja realizes that his new friend, Yukio, is looking at him strangely, and he offers a sad smile.

Your journal, if you'll forgive me, made me think of something I haven't thought on for a score of years and two.

Finishing his wine, he motions to a serving girl to refill his glass and, staring into the fire once more, begins his tale.

When I was 5 my father beat me for telling a lie. The lesson was well learned, but at the time I was hurt and confused and fled our estates into the forests of Ronfaure. It was not long at all before an Orc happened upon me as I squatted behind a tree fighting with my sobs. He charged forward with a horrible howl that still haunts my nightmares in many forms, raising his weapon for a blow that would have ended my young life in an explosion of flesh and blood and my drying tears. But I was spared by an act of compassion.

A Red Mage of San d'Oria had been stalking that Orc, and as he saw that the orc had set upon me he called down a bolt of blinding lightning and felled the beast. After making certain I was unhurt and comforting me till my fearful crying ceased he told me his name and carried me back to my father's estate.

He received his reward, and looking back I think he expected it, making his heroism all that more remarkable.

Nataraja is quiet for a while, and then with a deep breath continues, though quieter.

He was beaten for having the gall to dare to touch a nobleman's firstborn. They brought a cat-o-nine-tails down against his bare back twenty times in the Parade Square of Northern San d'Oria the very next day, and imprisoned him for a month.

His name was Rinji. I should very much like to meet him again after all these years. Does he still live?

Nataraja leans back and brings his glass of strong red wine to his mouth, then halts.

Oh, and I should mention: I know of the noble family which pretends that your father never existed.

You see, to that same family I am also dead. We have my father, Lord Fier Perdu'la-bas to thank for both disownments.

Would you like another glass of bitter... cousin?

OOc as well, I would contribute more but I have never been very good at message-board style RP. If we did this in realtime, as it were, in game, I'll be much better.

This is such a tasteless necropost, but it would be neat if this got revived. I feel like I killed it off with my addition.

Being an Elvaan, and raised in the great city of San D'oria I already know the superiority of my race. But, be that as it may, my nature became more extreme at a young age as I snuffed the life out of my parent's for their insolence. As such, my psychotic vision of Vanna'diel was crafted from the blood of those that should've been held dear to me. I view the Tarutaru as a stain, one that must be wiped clean from the surface of the planet. My grand dream is to drown the city of Windurst in a river of the blood of the Taru. The humes are a plague, a vicious and despicable virus that constantly grows from their hovel in Bastok. As such they should be burned, their corpses used as tinder and all their creations wiped from the planet. Mithra's are nothing more than primative beasts, they should be hunted down as such, in the jungles where they were born, used purely as a sporting game. Galka's are merely to be used as tools, things that should be worked until they pass on, then worked until that point again when they are reborn. Most other Elvaans are nothing more than peasants, there are a select few, chosen, to rule over the greater many. Only, these strong select few should dictate the future of our wonderous race, the others should lead their pathetic lives in the shadow of the powerful elite.


OOC : I play my Elvaan as an evil character, so you know, don't take offense...

I am not like the other galkas I was adopted my the mithra to protect the Star Sybil Windurst. They are training me in a secretive err. omg >.>
<.< ya so what was I talking about?