Avatar of Lucky
  • Last Seen: 5 mos ago
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    1. Lucky 5 yrs ago


Recent Statuses

2 yrs ago
Current Nyeah-hey, there's the high roller.
2 yrs ago
D&D. Am I right, lads?
3 yrs ago
Victory for Agamaggan!
3 yrs ago
If we could measure and harness the level of stress everyone is feeling this week, we could probably power the country for a long time.
3 yrs ago
My new obsession: kobolds. Reason: buncha cuties.


I'll fix up this Bio later to make it real nice. For now, know I used to RP all the time but I had a few years hiatus. I'm back!

Preferred RP types: Fantasy (high or low), sometimes Slice of Life, sometimes Sci-Fi.

Most Recent Posts

Arbora Silasdottir

Location: Balmung Castle | Guest Dorm

Arbora has little time to explore the many halls and rooms the castle has to offer as they are shepherded into their designated rooms. Passing by paintings of royal and historical figures, a marble carving depiction of a last stand battle of some sort, and the clattering noises of the kitchen, there are many things that the young viera would like to document during her brief stay.

Last to enter the dormitory, she notes who she will be spending the night with. Not an undesirable lot, seemingly reliable in fact. She taps at her tablet as she strolls through the center of the room, ignoring the windows and their sightlines or the men checking their equipment. Making her way to the unclaimed bed, she slowly and softly sits on its edge, focused still on the screen for a moment longer before setting it down. She doesn't mean to keep her attention on one thing and makes a conscious effort to interact with her surroundings.

Bottles clink, Arbora's left ear twitches and she looks over to Arton. She spies his quiet dismay before he glances up at the doorway to Neve and herself before looking to Galahad for some sort of aid. She could only offer a blink in response, unsure what to make of it as the door clicks open once again. Shouting down the hall made clear as the portal to the hallway is opened, a disregarded element until the last moment. She scolds herself mentally for letting her guard down just because of the big walls and fancy environment. The presence of rifles and enemy soldiers tell Arbora that this place is no safer than her nomadic tribe with no walls. In fact, they were trapped in this room as the only entrance is blocked.

The sollan men jump into action first, weapons flash across the room as a long-shafted weapon is pressed into the group to halt their advance. Arbora hops up from the bed just as Neve is pushed away from the attackers, so she throws her hands forward to support the sollan girl from falling over. As she twists to face the bed behind her to grab her tablet, she hears the rushing of heavy boots and the quick sounds of a blade striking skin and drops of blood hitting the hardwood floor.

Summoning focus in hand, she spins back around and shoots her free hand toward her backpack, fingers splayed. "Neldibog!" The arcane force of her spell blast the contents of her belongings halfway across the room, a diamond coalescing at the tips of her fingers and a screech of fire ping off the thin metal shells that rolled out from her bag. Growing like the spread of a wildfire, a mass of animate fire takes a goblinoid form, heat radiating and masking the plates with waves of hot air. The metal parts of the goblinoid glow with the high temperature, but they don't melt or bend under the pressure.

Standing at half a person's height, the fiery conjuration strolls casually up to Arbora with an expectant look. Satisfied with her successful minor summon, she gives the creature a knowing smile. "Cotjael tol eu xispe ullas," she whispers, the goblinoid creation giving a faithful war cry (which mostly sounds like crackling coals in a metal container) and joining the fray. It runs up between the ally sollans and gives a combusting jab to the nearest enemy leg, knocking their balance over and setting them partially aflame in painful surprise as their gun clatters to the floor.
Arbora Silasdottir

Location: Balmung Castle | Banquet Hall

Processing the words spoken around Arbora aren't a big ask, but with so many people talking and a feast much more grand than she's ever seen, almost everything is going over her head unless her attention is brought to something specifically. Even the new arrival at the end of the table had little influence over her at first, her being so absorbed within the aromatic meal and flickering tablet.

"Red suits your cheeks well, pretty missy." That phrase didn't register to Arbora until after the woman across from her repeated the last few words in silence and disbelief. Mid-chew with a healthy serving of meat, she stops to glance down the table. Other sorts of adventurers and veterans are introducing themselves to the table, a proclamation of the ten million gil reward, even the first and next steps what they should all do together as a team.

Her eyes dart between everyone as they speak now, resuming her mouthful consumption to completion. Clearing her throat with another swig of mead, she returns her gaze to the one across from her and the man beside. Taking a moment as if to collect her bearings, Arbora finally speaks aloud, first at the sollan girl (and to whoever will listen).

"Well, the girl in question is pretty, but I take it that missy is an unacceptable turn of phrase in this environ? If so, the gentleman should acknowledge the misgiving and apologize at once, in order to rebuild the perceived loss of respect, especially if we are to team up together. A foundation of trust will go a long way in keeping everyone together, which in turn will provide us with ends that we, as individuals, would not be able to meet otherwise." the young viera speaks matter-of-factly, as if the red-haired woman requested a whole report. For the first moment since she sat down, the tablet is dark and quiet.

She continues, this time eyeing Ibrahim yet speaking loud enough for all to hear, "My name is Arbora Silasdottir. I come from Clan Snowshoe, a nomadic tribe of Edren who, like many, have experienced hardships thanks to the Blight and concerns over the coming oppression of Valheim. My role in this company, should you all accept me, is to serve as your summoner, engineer, and field researcher. I am not physically able like many of you seem to be, so I entrust the labor to you all while I promise informed decision-making, logistically speaking."

Shifting in her seat, Arbora turns all the way around and looks at Galahad and Izayoi with nary a suspicion or fear, or reverence. "I would not have recognized you without your introductions, although I know your names by records and tales. I'm not intimately familiar with your exploits, though your reputations are more robust than most. I suspect your histories alone will open and close doors for us as a collective, and it's best to accept that now." She sniffs, bringing up a gloved hand to rub her nose before removing the glove.

"While Galahad makes an excellent point, I will retain that, until otherwise proven, the circumstances of invasion and the appearance of the Blight are separate matters entirely. A woman who is stabbed the same day she shows symptoms of a cold is not indicative of the same source, but rather an underlying issue that occurred at the same time as another isolated event. I am open to pursuing clues, wherever they may take me, but this could be a dangerous assumption to begin with. All that being said," she gives a gentle shrug as she looks at Izayoi directly. "Heading North is as good of a plan as any unless presented otherwise."

Seemingly content with her side of discussion, she picks up her tablet and sinks into her chair more comfortably, tapping away.

RP: Final Fantasy Lightseekers
Arbora Silasdottir

Location: Balmung Castle | Bailey | Mentions: N/A

Tick tick tack tick tap!
A young Viera strolls through the quiet courtyard, stragglers and other late arrivals preferring their haste to warmth over such leisurely walking. Arbora's attention is rapt within her device, simultaneously recording and ignoring the world going on around her. Dozens of people, from all walks of life, passed her in the last half hour as she slowed to a halt several times. Most were courteous and gave her a wide berth, while others threatened to shoulder check her; however they made their way, it was of no consequence to her. People do as they see fit as aligns with their customs.
Tap tap tap. . . tip!
The cold is of no matter to her, even if she didn't wear her heavy coat. The Snowshoe tribe are nomadic, sure, but they spend the cold seasons closer to Midgar, careful to take advantage of the hibernating predators' absence. Dragons have their patterns and hunting territory, which can be rather expansive, leaving the tribe with plenty of breathing space as they moved about and made their temporary homes. Dragon sightings have occurred, however rare, though their attention to Viera was virtually nil, likely prioritizing the mines and surrounding towns to terrorize instead. Greater reward and all that.
Swipe tap!
Arbora's eyes finally scroll offscreen, her feet taking her to the first step of the large structure. However well-traveled she may be, in a sense, she is still not accustomed to the greater structures of civilization. She recognizes architectural strong points that largely serve some function in its defense, but the intricate carvings tell of some afforded opulence and grandstanding. She takes a moment to absorb the imagery, a presentation to the masses that the royalty are of every importance to their needs and wants. There's some truth to that, she considers, though it may be best shown through tangible contributions as relief to their chronic plight rather than symbolism; but what would a nomad such as herself know, who doesn't have to care for thousands, nay, tens or even hundreds of thousands?
Taking in a deep, quiet breath, she ascends the steps. Some amount of dirt from others left behind crunch between her boots and the sturdy cut stone. The din of performances, jovial conversations, and the occasional shouting meets her halfway up the stiga, accompanied shortly after by subtle scents of roasted meats until she makes it to the massive entrance. Guards await her, like they have with all the others, and request of her weapons. With a polite smile, she unshoulders her satchel and offers it to them.
"I can keep this, right? I would like to record this whole affair for posterity." Gesturing with her tablet in hand, she watches as the guard bearing a rifle looks to their partner and, with a few words and acceptable expressions, give her permission to hold onto the device. They warn her of not wielding it with any hostile intent, to which she gives a long-winded response of its multi-functionality and technical properties.

Location: Balmung Castle | Banquet Hall | Mentions: N/A

Inside the castle was even more wealth than she had imagined: high ceilings with precious metals and stones making up their massive light fixtures; emerald walls that convey natural soothing as well as its nation's symbolic colors; painted portraits and landscapes filling the walls that speak of importance and beauty; and what may be most impressive to Arbora is the sheer amount of food and drink, veiling almost every visible table top as crowds eat their fill.
A tap on her right shoulder mildly spooks her, but seeing it's another guard directing her to a table, she nods curtly and makes her way to the rumpus. Arbora hasn't had the chance to sit down before men in formal attire at the very table she's attending have taken opportunities to make some kind of announcement-- or is that what constitutes as a toast? Setting down the tablet beside the fine empty plate and cutlery, she takes a moment to observe the other individuals; a perfect time to do so as a loud and particularly aggressive Mystrel grabs the attention of most.
The most obvious one to start with being the rambunctious one currently challenging their host. Whatever their background, they clearly have an ego to take on the gods. She didn't even introduce herself to the room, as though everyone should recognize the warrior. Her physique is impressive, along with some of the other more martially-adept folks at the table, but it's the attitude of a challenger that appeals to Arbora most. Surely this one will serve as a study subject more than a collaborator, but sometimes looks can be deceiving.
The two that spoke before her, however, carry themselves like the few nobles Arbora has met before. While she knows that such words spoken should not always be taken at face value, there are still notes of truth of what is said even if she doesn't know the hidden intents (if there are any). Decorum, social aspects in court, and relationships definitely hold value even in her book.
A younger Sollan girl sits across from her, keeping to herself, giving almost no information away besides their ability to remain tactful. Smart, whether intentional or otherwise, and could be calm due to either experience or ignorance. Admirable trait, either way. A Sollan man closer to Arbora's age seems to be getting along with those around him, a familiar communal demeanor. First impression on him, however, is fairly lacking. Almost everyone else at the table is impressive in their own right, though the way her carries himself seems basic; a good thing, in most circumstances. Maybe not in a space with so many standouts vying for attention and assignment. Chirping Chocobo gets the greens, as the saying goes.
Arbora almost missed the Sollan girl at the other end and side of the table. Keeping to herself, reserved. If anyone stands out, it's her at this point. Almost nobody else is as quiet as she. Definitely an interesting cast of adventurers, and when considering the number of attendees, likely to be divvied up into troops of some kind, especially that she was directed to this table instead of choosing her own space. She observes the other tables briefly, a whole range of races and backgrounds. Some make her think she would have gotten along with them, using tech and magic as she does.
For now, she settles into her seat and reaches over to one of the abundant bowls of fruit, taking even portions of those, vegetables, and a few slivers of boar. Then a cup of wine. Without a word, she offers a small smile to the girl across from her before digging in, careful to not let the Mystrel bump into her.
Time for Discord so we can ping each other more often.
I've considered doing the same. I haven't done so, but for Arbora I was thinking it would be like Nenio from Pathfinder: Wrath of the Righteous. Themes, on the other hand, are more elusive to me.
@Dark Cloud Sad to watch you go, love to watch you leave-- wait.

Well it was good chatting, however brief!
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