#Penniless Peril

[ironeaterfinya]

Final Fantasy XIV: Penniless Peril

or: Can you beat FFXIV without spending any Currency? Part 2 - Travel Pains

After the last episode and discovering that we are able to glamour things I immediately decided to do the worst thing possible and get to the Hall of the Novice and use all the gear I got to make a Glamour plate. This was done purely because I am unable to repair things. Repairing costs gil, even when you have a crafter levelled, albeit less. This is due to Dark Matter being unavailable to get for free. I could technically ask another person to repair things for me, but lets be honest here: It goes against the spirit of the challenge as everything is possible to do "for free" by just piggybacking off of other players.

In the meantime I have progressed through the story, going through some rather wild quests that provide us with more questions than answers. Tho at the beginning we learn that Brass Blades are literally just hired mercanaries that also work as the police force of Ul’dah. I am sure there is some social commentary in here. Other than that we also managed to get roped into helping retrieve the sultana’s crown.

“Have you read the letter?” “Nooooo....???” “But you do know the crown has been stolen?”

What a dumbass.

What happens next is the first fight against an Ascien, even if it is a lesser one and after its defeat, thanks to Thancred as well, the next cutscene gives us this:

The dude dies and leaves a crystal. I don’t actually remember how often this happens in the story but I believe this was also meant as a counterpart to you getting a light crystal with the Ascians having a Shadowcrystal. We haven’t seen Minfilias Powerpoint Presentation yet so I can only speculate.

After being invited to the banquet and subsequently passing out in front of Raubahn we are tasked to go meet every leader of each state and give them a letter.

The Quest “The Ul’dahn Envoy” is probably the most important quest to set up to the rest of the game. During the quest we are tasked to g-

Thank you Aegis but I feel your effort were wasted on me.

Anyway: During the quest we are tasked to go to every city state via airship and deliver a letter to everyone. Traveling via Airship during this quest is free, tho only once. You see, Eorzea consists of two parts: The mainland and Vylbrand, the island Limsa Lominsa is located on.

Because of Limsa being on an Island, we can only travel there either by boat or by airship, both of which cost money. Tho I am going to set up my return point in Limsa Lominsa. The reason for this is that the quest also unlocks another key part to our travels:

What could the Gold Saucer possibly offer us? Well, We can’t use any of their services. MGP counts as a currency, so thats out of question. We can’t even play Triple Triad and do Minigames as they cost a few MGP to enter. However there are two important things that we can do here.

Number 1: Traveling to the Gold Saucer is free from any of the three city states.

Number 2: Traveling to Ul’dah from the Gold Saucer is also free.

This way we have a One-Way travel opportunity from Vylbrand to the mainland. But why did we do it if we already have a free teleport? We could have setup a teleport on the mainland and the return in Limsa? Well my dear reader

Now that we have setup everything we finally have the ability to do dungeons! Finally some real adventuring. Now comes another big part of what it means to not being able to repair things. Aquiring gear is my utmost priority and I have only two ways of doing this which is either dungeons or quest rewards. Buying stuff of a vendor is obviously not possible.

Running dungeons, atleast for now allows us to get items easily, even some fairly obscure items one might not really think about. The reason for this is that your normal dungeon run with random people usually just blitzes through everything, disregarding any optional path the dungeon might have. Outside of a few exceptions old ARR dungeons are full of optional paths. However we first have to get there. The quest tells us to meet V’mellpa and take the ferry to Aleport in Western La Noscea. However...

Walking there and picking up all the Aetherytes along the way took me about 6 minutes. This is one of the shorter walks and some of you may remember the areas we have to walk through for certain quests.

I am sure these people are never going to be relevant again.

Unlike these folks which are much more relevant.

Sastasha was as uneventful as one knows it. However I could acquire some gear pieces that made life a little bit easier for me. Here is a fun fact: Did you know that of all the non combat player NPCs all of them are either Lalafell or Miqo’te women in an almost equal ratio. There is exactly one more Lala in there.

Returning to Balderon made me realise something important. Dungeon number two is Tam-Tara, In Gridania. Thankfully my early trip to Camp Drybone will take away a little bit of travel time, however there are still two zones to go through.

I swear it is always raining at Camp Drybone.

After some consideration I decided to move my free teleport to Gridania. This way I can reach every city state quite easily.

Have you ever thoughtt about the fact that Gridania is full of these huge trees? I wonder how big they are but sadly my ruler does not reach that high.

More irrelevant NPCs

And more relevant ones. Welp, off to Tam-Tara!

After Tam-tara and acquiring one (1) whole gear piece, we are about to travel to Ul’dah again and tackle the Copperbell Mines. And with that we have now access to our surprise tool!

Instead of walking all the way there I can just air travel for free!

The mines have provided me with the last gear piece of the starter set as leveling dungeons are guaranteed one gear piece one does not have.

After a rather uneventful dungeon and the realisation that the area has changed quite a bit after its overhaul I travelled back to Ul’dah to rest at the inn for now. It sure has been an eventful day so far.

Thanks for sticking around today and see you around next time!

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[mary-tudor]

Henry’s politic wisdom in governance was singular, his wit always quick and ready, his reason pithy and substantial, his memory fresh and holding, his experience notable, his counsel fortunate and taken by wise deliberation, his speech gracious in diverse languages, his person goodly and amiable, his natural complexion of the purest mixture, his issue fayre and in good number; leagues and confederacies he had with all Christian princes, his mighty power was dread everywhere, not only within his realm but without also, his people were to him in as humble subjection as ever they were to king, his land many a day in peace and tranquillity, his prosperity in battle against his enemies was marvellous, his dealing in time of perils and dangers was cold and sober with great hardiness.”

—Bishop Fisher.

Furthermore, according to Amin, Henry’s reign can be summoned in the following:

“In light of the issues he had with pretenders, his hard-hitting financial policies and restrictive laws designed to curb noble power, it is often overlooked Henry assumed the throne with a serious handicap, having arrived in England a little-known, Welsh-born and Breton-raised protégé of the French regime possessing an inconsequential blood claim to the throne.

No king of England was less suited to rule the country upon their coronation than Henry, a penniless stranger to noble and commoner alike who had no experience of overseeing even a modest estate, let alone a vast and fractured kingdom.

That he was able to reach the end of his reign twenty-four years later in an insuperable position, not only the first English king to avoid overthrow since 1422, but also able to re-establish the strength, wealth, and stability of the crown in the process, was remarkable.

This was not accomplished through luck, but rather sheer hard work, meticulous attention to detail, and an iron-willed determination to outlast any and all rivals before him.”

—Amin, N. “Henry VII and the Tudor Pretenders”. Pp.342.

[kellyvela]

SOPHIE TURNER 💎 JOAN 💎 UPDATE

JOAN 💎 will be available for Latin America on October 31st on Amazon Prime

Here the 6 episodes synopsis:

T1 E1 - Episode 1

Sophie Turner stars as Joan Hannington, a penniless mother who impulsively steals diamonds from the jewellery shop where she works, and is propelled into a world of crime.

T1 E2 - Episode 2

Joan falls for Boisie who recognises her innate talent. She enjoys the spoils of crime in glamorous Spain, but faces scrutiny over her role as a mother.

T1 E3 - Episode 3

Joan rises to new heights: the theft of a valuable painting and an audacious ring switch. Boisie falls for Joan while Kelly slips further away than ever.

T1 E4 - Episode 4

An attempt to sell the stolen painting goes wrong, landing Joan in a perilous situation.

T1 E5 - Episode 5

Detirmined to escape the wrath of the IRA and a lengthy sentence, Joan masterminds an audacious inside man heist. But will she have to leave Kelly behind?

T1 E6 - Episode 6

As the heist day approaches, Joan's nerves escalate. When disaster strikes, she's forced to decide: pursue her dream of a happy family or confront the consequences head-on.

[silently-written]

you covet time (a snake, a temptress, so vile)

On your lips curve simple prayers. A by-product of a thirsty man, spilling out the nectar in which he cannot consume. 

You are but a stagnant man, hailed by the endless waves of a tsunami, subsequently watching for the quakes of the splintering earth beneath your feet. 

In you is a restless being. You flit around like a hummingbird, croon like a dying crow. 

You tremble. 

But you push it aside for the contentment of lows, watching liquid pool amongst the sand, coating it with a stain that is only repeated again and again. 

Who are you? A god? An abomination? One vessel in a vein?

Perilous was the circumstances, yet you fell further and further from the tirade of reality to parade your immortality. 

Do you advocate for the drowning of your ears? Do you advocate for the disuse of a begotten throat?

Oh, you penniless, pitiful, fool.

When did you become in love with time? 

When did you hear time’s sweet promises in your ears, all of those nothings that resounded with a mantra of tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

How are you enamored by a concept? 

What hips did it sway to convince you? What lips did it use to persuade you? 

Or was it by its own existence you grovelled, subservient to the allure of infinity?

(if i had known your enraptured affections for forever,

i’d be but a whisper in the wind,

a name etched in stone).

[nicklloydnow]

“On the simplest level this Russian film, which won its stars, Grigory Dobrygin and Sergei Puskepalis, best actor awards at the 2010 Berlin International Film Festival, is a suspenseful man-braving-the-elements adventure movie in which every excursion beyond the shabby cabin where the men live and work is fraught with physical peril. Communications to the central station (to which they transmit climatological data via two-way radio) are carried on through a haze of static. That station is their lifeline to the outside world.

But “How I Ended This Summer” is also a psychological thriller in which their mutual distrust deteriorates into a potentially deadly game of cat and mouse. Sergei Gulybin (Mr. Puskepalis), a taciturn, bearish man in his 50s with years of experience on the job, and Pavel Danilov (Mr. Dobrygin), a recent college graduate hired as his summer assistant, metaphorically represent the old Russia and the new.

In the old Russia you stoically do as you are told to the best of your abilities; in the new, disobedience, shirking and petulance have replaced an unquestioned devotion to duty. The old Russia is symbolized by a technological relic: an abandoned nuclear electrical generator on the island. In the new Russia the device is a curiosity that becomes a potential murder weapon.

(…)

“How I Ended This Summer” begins slowly, the better to steep you in an atmosphere of drabness and chill and a sense of being trapped in a limbo where time stretches out endlessly. You might even describe its austerely beautiful but intimidating Arctic Circle setting (the movie was filmed on the northernmost tip of Chukotka in extreme northeastern Siberia) as a circle of hell. It being summer, the temperature remains above freezing, and the sun, hovering low on the horizon, filters through the fog and clouds to create pastel-shaded layers of shifting indirect light.

In Pavel Kostomarov’s cinematography, which won an award for outstanding artistic achievement at the Berlin festival, the camera repeatedly pulls back to observe the characters from afar and evoke the crushing metaphysical weight of this empty landscape on the humans inching along in the distance. You can feel how the barrenness, along with the incessant low roar of wind and waves, punctuated by the plaintive mewing of the gulls, can slowly drive people mad. Sergei relates a cautionary tale of a conflict between two meteorologists that ended in a shooting death.

(…)

Above all “How I Ended This Summer” is a merciless contemplation of the fragile human psyche under siege. Engulfed by a vast unknown, without the protective distractions of civilization, you have only your insecure, frightened inner voice to guide you. This ultimate measure of one’s mettle is a test that many of us would probably fail.”

“Eight years ago, Popogrebsky made his directorial debut with Roads to Koktebel, a road movie in which a penniless, alcoholic former aero-engineer makes a journey with his 12-year-old son from Moscow to a rundown Crimean seaside town where he once worked in happier times. It was a most accomplished work, reminiscent of Tarkovsky and De Sica. His new film, while hardly mainstream, takes up themes from Koktebel but gradually shunts them into a more conventional direction.

In the earlier film one suspected a lurking allegory about contemporary Russia. Here it is unavoidable. "I would never intentionally put elements of parable into my story," Popogrebsky has said. "However, if the story grows beyond the concrete time and place in which it is set, and if it strikes some universal or personal chord in a viewer, for me this means that my mission has been accomplished." I find it impossible, in the film's complex moral resolution, not to see Sergei and Pavel as representing different sides of Putin's Russia, one shaped by older traditional ways, the other struggling to discover a new set of values.

At the 2010 Berlin festival, Sergei Puskepalis and Grigory Dobrygin rightly shared the prize for best actor, while Pavel Kostomarov's haunting, evocative and at times breathtaking photography received the Silver Bear for artistic achievement. The film itself went on to win the best film award at last year's London film festival.”

[1997thebracket]

Round 1F

Titanic: Draw this poll like one of your French girls, Jack. The 1997 film Titanic, directed by James Cameron, is a disaster film set against the backdrop of the real-life sinking of the RMS Titanic in 1912; the plot follows the ill-fated love story between Jack, a penniless artist played by Leonardo DiCaprio, and Rose, an upper-class passenger portrayed by Kate Winslet. The two form one of the most iconic and pop-culturally referenced romances in cinema as they board the Titanic's maiden voyage– but as you, your aunts and your junior prom date all well-know, tragedy strikes when the ship collides with an iceberg, leading to its eventual sinking. Titanic was not only the top movie of the year but a cultural phenomenon, winning 11 Academy Awards out of 14 nominations (tying with Ben-Hur for the most won by a single film) and becoming the highest-grossing film of all time, until Cameron's next film Avatar surpassed it in 2010. Despite this, it isn’t terribly controversial to say film history remembers Titanic as… a bit more significant than Avatar.

Thanksgiving ‘97: The Day Barney Was Killed: I’m not wasting any time before linking the video here for you. The Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade of 1997 was spotted with turbulence for many of the giant inflatable characters, but none wrought more havoc than Barney. Winds that day reportedly exceeded 43 miles per hour, giving the wranglers significant trouble in guiding the iconic children’s character along the route. During a particularly perilous moment on 51st Street, the balloon handlers struggled to maintain control against the strong gusts and lack of adequate anchorage, and after slamming his side into a lamppost, Barney suffered a long ghastly tear to his midriff. His torso deflated, but his head, arms, legs and tail remained intact; police had to remove the body, and– with the traumatized eyes of children covered– proceeded to stab the dinosaur to let the helium out. The YouTube video of the incident is where we get our title from, and it has gone viral every year since posting.

[eirinstiva]

Parallel playtime

[arrives late and eating pineapple] Bunny Manders sent a letter with the first part of The Rest Cure. My poor Bunny is alone and penniless. Where are thou, Raffles?

"I've taken a house near here for the holidays, where I'm going in for a Rest Cure of my own description. Why? Oh, for lots of reasons, my dear Bunny; (...)

Raffles is hiding from Mackenzie, I guess. After reading Mr Justice Raffles and Clustering Around Young Bingo I'm very familiar with a rest cure, so I think it's a good idea to run away for a short time.

Raffles could be as full of himself as many a worse man, and I did not like his society the less for these human outpourings. They had rather the effect of putting me on better terms with myself, through bringing him down to my level for the time being. But his egoism was not even skin-deep; it was rather a cloak, which Raffles could cast off quicker than any man I ever knew, as he did not fail to show me now.

Yeah, Raffles, yeah! This is a good oppotunity to spend time together doing something different from eating at clubs and less criminal than... the usual, u know~

"So this is how you have taken the house," said I in his own undertone. "'Taken' is good; 'taken' is beautiful!"

So Raffles and Bunny are now squatters? I prefer the word in Spanish okupas (from ocupar: to occupy, to use. Written with K because is associated with punks).

[ID: Front of an old building with a white sheet with black and red letters hanging as a poster. It says in Spanish "¡¡¡Somos artistas no terroristas!!! Kasa ockupa aki". Translation: "We are artists no terrorists!!! Okupa house here" /end ID]

So they are in a house with many books to read, but they can't make noise, use electric lights or have a decent bath. Just reading, sleeping and eating.

"My dear, good Bunny," said Raffles, "I've told you already that I didn't come in here on business. I came in for the Cure. Not a penny will these people be the worse, except for their washing and their electric light, and I mean to leave enough to cover both items."

AJ lies like he's trying to convince himself, and he's failing. And Bunny? He went from "I was no longer to be alarmed by this sort of thing; it was all so like the Raffles I loved least" at the beginning to:

His neglect of me seemed wanton at the time. I have long realized that he was only wise to maintain silence at the expense of perilous amenities, and as fully justified in those secret and solitary sorties which made bad blood in my veins.

Raffles wants solitude. Bunny wants parallel playtime. Raffles doesn't give the attention Manders desire, so it's time for revenge!

[rmelster]

Agnes Allenbrought, née Millward.

Born the 20th January of the year 1838 in a convent in Liverpool, Agnes, was left by her young mother -most likely an unwed, poor woman- to the care of an elderly maid that had been present during the delivery. Having been born the day of the feast of St. Agnes, she was named after the holy protector of the young women, and raised by the woman that had assisted her mother in childbirth, Martha Millward, a maid in the house of professor Beckett, who, old, widowed and childless, raised her as the daughter he never had and taught her in their home. Agnes was a tall woman, with black hair, nimble hands but though and calloused hands and dark eyes. She was also an autodidact, learning to play piano from a young age. Aged nineteen, a disciple of professor Beckett came to pay him a personal visit; his name was Barnabas Allenbrought, and soon enough, the timid student and Agnes fell in love. With the blessing of both Martha Millward and professor Beckett, they were wed in 1858. A proud husband, Barnabas often called his wife “the most beautiful woman Creation had seen”. Agnes seemed to have been as infatuated for him as she was with her.

Agnes would find herself pregnant almost half a year after their marriage. The then penniless doctor decided to embark himself in a perilous journey to serve as a doctor in India, hoping to earn more money to raise his child. During his service, he would write long and tender letters to his wife, promising her to return as soon as possible and buy a good house for them; that was not meant to be. When Martha Millward came to visit her daughter -who should be by then great with child-, she was faced with an horrible scene; Agnes appeared to have gone into premature alone and died.

Barnabas returned from his difficult year in Calcuta to an empty home and a dead wife and child. Refusing to believe that she had died in childbirth, her grief-stricken widower embarked himself in a quest to find what had truly happened that night of ill-omen; he was soon faced with the realisation that someone had irrupted in their home at night and brutally attacked her. After burying his most beloved Agnes, the doctor swore to avenge her and their child, by finding their murderer and bringing Death and Horror into his life.

[chesterleprince]

Dark Angel

//

Holding heavenly heels,

homing hegemony heals.

Atoning acephaly appeals,

aboding and arily ashriel.

Croaking, carefully concealed,

coaxing cleverly congealed.

scolded scarily, she squealed,

supposing seventhly, see steel.

Your trifecta, I deviously, need.

Red is the hound dog,

deadly, my frown drops.

Yesterday a vulture,

my better days are over.

Yesterday a vulture,

The center stage, adulter

Never stay in the path of forgiveness,

I just lay in it.

Stray from their map of the vicious,

If I'm made from it.

Painting the pastures with limits,

none my favourite.

calix is plastered with ignorance,

drink a fifth from it.

My angel is wrathful and pillaging,

hit with sinners stick.

Ancient our actions and hindrance,

hid in villages.

My glistening wistfulness,

like a bickering idiot.

Literal ligaments, filling my inner sense, blistering.

Hollow love,

Follow blood.

Sorrow club,

bravado's none.

Penniless president,

steadily looking for Exodus.

Meritless, dead, famished from fellowships.

Damaged and perilous.

Damn, I'm master of detriment.

Daedalus, where is my wing?

A festering pestilence,

I'm carried to heaven and it's derelict,

Empty and menacing,

plenty of Seraphim.

Seems like men and women are banished in.

See me running through senseless rhetoric.

Feel me sullen and relish mess, I'm in.

Daedalus, where is my wing?

Daedalus, where is my ring?

Daedalus, there is my sin.

Daedalus tearing my skin,

Rotten and left.

left to be rotten.

I'm begging for pardon,

essentially, she's stabbing me, heartless.

Never sensual, I'm sensing your solace,

“better banning you, than bearing your problems”.

You're tearing me, Taurus.

No dinner is dawning.

Never honest, he is steady, appalling.

Her melody harnessed.

I am godless, but divinity I saw it,

filled with sawdust, she's my remedy, my calling.

Heart of Copper.

March with honour.

Horrid monster,

I want your offer.

[theevilmaninyourcomputer]

Let's defeat capitalism with the power of love; explaining democracy with crayons. (Or, my book report that went off the fucking rails).

Originally, my summer reading novel was The Odyssey; but 50 pages in, I discovered that I had no patience for lengthy, gratuitous travel-logs. So naturally I opted for the next logical choice: Steinbeck's Grapes of Wrath. The irony of my decision didn't strike me until I sat down to write this commentary. And sure, Odysseus and Tom Joad are both vagrants, on a quest for 'home,' but the similarities end there. Odysseus is lost at sea, and finds direction in the promise of 'home', Penelope is his true North. The concept of 'home' is, to him, resolute. Home is a physical place to be sought out, home is the woman he loves, home is Ithaca. Tom on the other hand is DRIVEN from his birthland, but carries his 'home' with him as he undertakes the perilous journey to California. He, like Odysseus, searches for a home-only to realize that home is NOT a concrete place, but (and it has to be said), the friends we made along the way. 'Home' is "fambly." 

Those familial bonds; and beyond that, human connection, PEOPLE unified together as one honest-to-god democratic body are STRONGER than the system they have created (Steinbeck seems to write, with Rousseouian sincerity).

So I am sorry to report that...the title of this paper is a misnomer. While I, too, have often daydreamed about "defeating late stage Capitalism with the power of love," I've also pulled my head out of my ass long enough to realize that "the power of love" is not a viable weapon. Or, not the only weapon, at least. Through Steinbeck's eyes, the system rests on the backs of the people, and is held-up by "The Man" (school of rock)-the wealthy few, who lord over the penniless masses.

To be clear, this is not a revolutionary take. I think most people feel dissatisfied with late-stage capitalism. Steinbeck has faith in the inevitability of human progress, "This you may say of man-when theories change and crash, when schools, philosophies, when dark narrow alleys of thought grow and disintegrate, man reaches, stumbles forward...if the stumbling forward ache were not alive, the bombs would not fall, the throats would not be curt...fear the time when Manself will not suffer and die for a concept, for this one quality is the foundation of Manself..." (Steinbeck 150-151). But I am a young person living in America, and lately, human progress doesn't feel inexorable.

I mean, speaking candidly, what the hell am I supposed to do? The planet's burning down, the country's on the brink of civil war. Retirement is as much a pipe dream as buying a house. Everywhere I look, people are dying, and I can't do a godamned thing about it. Except, hold up a picket sign once and a while. I had to SEE Trump's blood on live TV to believe that he had a heart. And now that I have, I understand: these systems we've built aren't working anymore, but WE built them. We have every right to deconstruct them if they aren't serving us. When push comes to shove-we all bleed the same, we all die the same, and THAT is democracy. Death is democracy, and we are united under her. These institutions only exist because we allow them to. The state may be the beating heart of America, but we ARE the state. We are the blood in the arteries; pumping the oxygen, feeding the macine. 

I'm doing my best to come off as optimistic. In actuality, I'm jaded. I want the future I was promised by the country that prides itself on justice. Where was that justice for Sonya Massey? Where was that justice for Nex Benedict? I want to stand by my unwavering belief in the inherent goodness of the human spirit, but we keep HURTING each other.

The media has misinterpreted anarchy (to its detriment). Anarchy has become synonymous with rebellion, 'burning it down,' but really, Anarchy falls closer to pure libertarianism on the axis of leftist extremism. See, in the absence of a government, Anarchists are forced to rely on the kindness of their neighbors. In the words of Andreas Wittel, "Anarchism is a process whereby authority and domination is being replaced with non-hierarchical, horizontal structures, with voluntary associations between human beings. It is a form of social organisation with a set of key principles, such as self-organisation, voluntary association, freedom, autonomy, solidarity, direct democracy, egalitarianism and mutual aid" (The Conversation). So, you stay on your lawn, I stay on my lawn-we respect each other, and we work together when we need to, because selfishness serves no one. This idea is so basic, it was more or less taught on Mr. Roger's Neighborhood. Share your crayons, don't hit your friends-THAT is anarchy-kindergarten law. The issue is, we have to abolish the system to get there. Which, is where the "burning it down" thing comes in to play. 

Bobby and Sam are coloring, Bobby takes the entire box of crayons, leaving none for Sam. Sam asks if he could have a few back; Bobby spits on him and takes his paper. The teacher sees this interaction and chooses not to intervene, because Bobby is the principal's son. Now, Bobby and Sam could split the crayons equally, but that would mean Sam WILLINGLY giving a handful up. How do we resolve this conflict? Well, we get a new teacher, who stands for ALL of their students. A teacher who recognizes the injustice in one child hoarding all the art supplies.

I bring this up to evidence my point-as it stands, something's got to give. We aren't afraid of anarchy, we're afraid of the road to systemic change-ANY systemic change. Because to make substantial progress, we have to organize and...for lack of a better phrase, 'burn it down.' 

But hey, it's not about the journey, it's about the destination. Or, maybe it's the other way around. Just ask Tom Joad.

[timeguardians]

"I'm going to tie you up if you keep getting in my way!" Doyle growls as he tries to shove past the obnoxious woman who has been dogging his steps at every turn on this mission. No matter which way he goes, he keeps tripping over Qi'ra, and he has about had it with her. If this keeps up, she is going to get one of them killed. --Qi'ra from Doyle/VictimoftheRottenApples

Find your opponents WEAKNESSES and USE it.

The advice is what kept her alive on the cruel and often perilous streets. Even more importantly, it helped the penniless orphan to rise into the ranks of a War-Lord named Dry.den V.o.s. A war-lord who was bound to be PISSED at the failure to complete this ASSASSINATION attempt on a hand-selected TARGET.

A voice SNAPS the thick tension as if it were a twig. Ever-darkening eyes flash upwards with no little DISDAIN.

HIM?!!! AGAIN?!!! Just the mere sight of the IRKSOME soldier NEEDLES under Qi'ra skin like a trillion knife-edged splinters. "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?!!!" She snarls. Fingers TENSE, curling upwards into the form of a FIST. She is sorely tempted to land a few strikes, but finds herself hesitating.

"I'm going to tie you up if you keep getting in my way!"

His threat engenders no genuine KINSHIP. "Lay a hand on me, and I will break your arm and feed it to you INCH by INCH." The hired enforcer rumbles.

"WHY CAN'T YOU JUST STAY-- OUT---- OF MY WAY??!!!!" Qi'ra vehemently grits beneath her breath. "THIS IS THE TWELFTH TIME YOU'VE INTERFERED!!!" She knows it has been twelve, because for every failure Dry.den punished her thoroughly. She is in NO MOOD to endure yet ANOTHER at the hands of her ill-tempered boss.

"Don't you have anything better to do?" Qi'ra simmers, her voice dropping terrifyingly low. Better than making her life a LIVING HELL.

Those same tensed fingers FINALLY snap outwards to coil around Doyle's arm when he tries to BRUSH passed her. "Where do you think you're going, now that you've RUINED my shot?" She forcefully attempts to reel him around to face her, eye to eye. Cold and glowering indignantly, she DARES him to give her an excuse to not haul his BUTT before Dry.den.

[ironeaterfinya]

Final Fantasy XIV: Penniless Peril

or: Can you beat FFXIV without spending any Currency? Part 3 - Putting my Name in the Goblet of Fire

Happy new year everyone and sorry for the delay. I am running this challenge as a side thing whenever I have time or I am not distracted by my main or other games. Nontheless here is our New Year Fortune for Ninisa this year:

“Small Fortune” I count that as a good Omen

However we have a lot to do and a lot of it is honestly just straight up wwalking back and fourth a lot.

Leaving the Inn after a few weeks led me to this image

I accidentally stumbled upon an RP event. From what I could gather it was an Auction for... something. I didn’t stick around. Mostly because I couldn’t spend any money anyway but it’s fun to see that there are RP Events on Zodiark to begin with. Even if it is a rare thing.

After doing the quest the Shining Gentlemen to my left was asking me to do, we beat up some merchant trying to pin a crime on a refugee. We beat up his people and Thancred comes around, officially inviting us to be part of his gang.

You see the Tickets? Those are Vesper Bay Teleport Tickets and I will be using them quite often. Mostly to shorten Travel time because god forbid I run back and forth that much. It’s honestly kind of weird seeing the peeps like this, whith half of the later core group still missing.

Also this bloke was making himself even taller, trying to intimidate the only to Lalas in here.

Nontheless I am making my way to Vesper Bay, on foot, for the first and propably last time. When I arrive there I am greeted by the best Scion:

Is this an Intervention?

Everyone introduces themself and I am taken aback by the fact that Urianger had a different VA at the time. (I am playing with German voices and the VA here are a bit more consistent)

We also get to see all the other Scions chilling out in the meeting hall.

Here is a funfact: Most named NPCs here that are not part of the Core Group (excluding Brendt) all appeared in 1.X of FFXIV. 

Also our quest is sending us to Camp Drybone where we are supposed to investigate missing people and also corpses. We also meet a familiar face:

Sure thing “Marquez”, we help you bury a body.

After that, the quests are literally just “Investigate this person by talking to them and go back to Vesper Bay.”

I also got to dress up as a homeless person.

After you arrived there, there is usually some more talk and you get send of again to Camp Drybone or you put Materia into Minphilias Dagger. However that step is actually free as well so thankfully I don’t have to do that myself.

If you only knew how useless you are to me.

Mind you a trip to Camp Drybone takes about 7 minutes on foot. I can’t teleport afterall, nor can I use Chocobo Porters.

Here is a video where I walk all the way over. https://youtu.be/GEr9vILtquY After we get our butt kicked by the Ifrit Gang, we get thrown into a small sub area which is honestly kind of funny. With the help of my boyfriends alt we can show that this area is located in Southern Thanalan, it just happens to be underground.

Wild.

Ifrit was also pretty wild.

It’s cool that I get to run it with trusts.

After heading back to Vesper Bay we are promptly assaulted by the Grand Companies because I should join them. After going to all their speeches of course. The speeches are nothing really to impressive in my opinion. Drawn out a lot and Alphinaud is here who at this point in time is still green behind the ears and also a massive prick with a superiority complex.

Alisaie is also here and she is not saying a word because the both of them have some beef with each other.

After coming back I decided to join the Immortal Flames. Mostly because Raubahns speech is great and also my Job Questline is here. You know. Convenience. Before I can join tho disaster strikes and I gotta get Biggs and Wench out of trouble which is done fairly quickly.

The Gang is here.

After going back to the Flames to officially become a member I got a message I dis not wish to see:

This quest has to be finished in order to complete the Main Scenario Quest “A Realm Reborn”

The quest in question is the Chocobo Quest. In case you don’t know, in order to get a chocobo you need to buy a chocobo voucher. The voucher itself costs Company Seals and Company Seals are a currency. This does not bode well.

I will try to postpone this quest as much as possible. We will see if it holds true.

In the meanwhile our next quest leads us to the Shroud. Because I have reached level 30 tho, I decided to become a Blackmage first and a Blackmage I became. (Even tho I had to again walk to East Thanalan... twice!)

After all of this tho I do have to take a break. It doesn’t look like much but these few things do take up a few hours of real estate.

See you around next time!

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[film-book]

‎

PAMASAHE (2022) Movie Trailer: Penniless Mother Azi Acosta makes a Perilous Journey with Her Child to Manila https://film-book.com/pamasahe-2022-movie-trailer-penniless-mother-azi-acosta-makes-a-perilous-journey-with-her-child-to-manila/?feed_id=117764&_unique_id=638ba46455c57

[flamexbound]

On the low-crafted table in front of her was a spread-out map of the mountains showing the area around Winterhold for all of a hundred leagues. Little pictographs indicated towns and villages and it was easy to understand their meanings. A blue axe indicated a flowing river. A sword was an iron mine. A boat indicated a port where merchant ships might go down the Sea of Ghosts. Major trails were marked in thick red lines, lesser ones in thinner ones. What looked like perilous routes through mountains were lines of black dots. Crossed swords indicated a battle site. An orc’s head most likely marked the lair of an Orc Hold. Looking at the map Magna could see that this place she was looking for ran down to where Solas' finger traced. He was correct and Magna had never felt more stupid. The fastest way lay along the old roads had faded with time long ago and only one path remained.

It looked as if her peer was right, she thought sourly. Perhaps it might be quicker to wait and gather supplies for the perilous journey. Assuming she could get past any dangers unscathed, it would be for the best to take it slow, and judging by the number of skull symbols on the map, possibly much safer.

Annoyed and impatient, Magna slammed her hands on the hard surface, gritting her teeth at the ridiculousness of it all. What had taken her weeks to find, Solas had done it in mere seconds and Magna felt ridiculous for not noticing it sooner.

He was not a real person anymore but a fantasy figure of legend, and one whom she could find quite annoying at times, with his cleverness and air of otherworldly sophistication. He had grown up in the capital of a more advanced and civilized world, after all, and she was the daughter of a penniless Nord of a barbarous land. His allusions to the more advanced arcane and ancient texts went right over her head and made her feel inadequate sometimes. Solas was a Snow Elf who lacked the straightforward honor code of her people, and he had traveled so far and seen so much in his life that it was intimidating.

Part of her was glad he had helped her, and another part was deeply embarrassed by his help. Magna realized that a lifetime of studying magic in musty old books had in no way prepared her for making plans to leave the nest and pursue her own ambitions. This was dreadful. She would have to get a grip on herself. Magna was a mage of Winterhold and a granddaughter of Skyrim's most feared Hagraven. She was not some callow student of the mysteries! "Thank you," she said softly, rubbing her aching temples. "You have my gratitude...and yes, it is a grimoire. One that I desperately need." She managed a strained smile. "I'm afraid my peers would be less understanding if I asked for their aid. Our interests in the arcane do not align...unfortunately."

@virrcvxs

.: There had been time enough for brooding since Solas had resurfaced, certainly. Emotions abound— grief, hopelessness, despair. But he revisits them now, allowing each successive disappointment and loss play before his mind’s eye, making him blind to the work before them. Not hard to be distracted— as they’d made very little headway.

.: Pity no entity had predicted his fate, doomed not even to walk the realm of Apocrypha, but to be shut in a box within the frozen earth, forgotten. Around him, the world had gone on morphing and changing. The coastlines had shifted, the rivers had changed, the faces were different. He alone had remained unchanged.

.: He feels curiously aloof from his own self, a shade washed in blue arcane light, his pale visage making the rest of his surroundings almost appear as archaic as he purely by his mere presence. This is certainly not Apocrypha, however. And Magna is no Seeker— or they’d have found what they were looking for by now.

.: The tip of a slender finger traces the apex of The White river from its origin to its end, circling Lake Ilinalta in a seemingly mindless manner. He taps it once, in the lake’s center.

.: “The notation here indicates the presence of some kind of artifact.” Solas muses. He pushes the page toward her, “Whether it is a Grimoire or not, perhaps it is worth investigating?”

[embystarr-blog]

It's the first day of spring where I live, but it snowed last night and it's cold and rainy today. Lucy's dead, and I'm sad.

Rather than make 12312 posts talking about today's entry, I've decided to ramble in one single post. Keep reading at your own peril!

"The whole estate, real and personal, was left absolutely to Arthur Holmwood. Frankly we did our best to prevent such a testamentary disposition, and pointed out certain contingencies that might leave her daughter either penniless or not so free as she should be to act regarding a matrimonial alliance."

Excuse me? Did Mrs. Westenra leave everything to Arthur before they were even married?? Am I not understanding this paragraph? Or is this about Arthur possibly not getting Lucy's state? I'm at a loss.

"I assure you, my dear sirs, I am rejoiced at the result, perfectly rejoiced."

NOT the time, the place, or the people, bro. A nineteen-year-old girl just died immediately after her mother, IN THE SAME BED. Please.

"even his stalwart manhood seemed to have shrunk somewhat"

Bram Stoker stop using the word manhood challenge.

"In such cases men do not need much expression. A grip of the hand, the tightening of an arm over the shoulder, a sob in unison, are expressions of sympathy dear to a man's heart."

I know this smells of "I'm a masculine manly man", but there's something about the way English people express their feelings that is like a punch in the gut for me. Nothing is too overt, too exaggerated, but it's there. You won't see Elinor Dashwood sobbing her heart out, and her sister (who does these things) is seen as "too dramatic"... but Elinor's pain just shines through, both in the film and in the book. I love that shit, man.

"He fell a-trembling, and finally was shaken with doubt as with an ague. At last, after a long pause, he said to me in a faint whisper:—

"Jack, is she really dead?"

Oh, god this is so sad. He's so shocked, I need to wrap him up in a blanket and let him cry it out.

""No, no, not that, for God's sake! Not yet at any rate. Forgive me, sir: I did not mean to speak offensively; it is only because my loss is so recent."

Arthur, please, you're killing me. :(

""I only used that name because I was in doubt. I must not call you 'Mr.,' and I have grown to love you—yes, my dear boy, to love you—as Arthur."

I think Van Helsing here was thinking that perhaps Arthur had started to hate him somewhat, and he wanted to respect his feelings. Arthur's response is so warm and kind-hearted, poor dude.

[your-good-pal-chevy]

The Vagabond

“Chest piece of a knight banished from their motherland. Dirty and battered after enduring a lengthy vagabond journey. The crest emblazoned on the front is worn and dingy, no longer able to evoke sentiment.”

Vagabond Knight Armor Description

The Altus Plateau was everything it was expected to be. A lush, lovely place. Golden fields stretched out as far as the eye could see, interrupted only by towering vistas both natural and man-made. The sky above shared the same golden hue, the splendor of the Erdtree shining upon the grace-given environs around Leyndell.

But that wasn’t what the vagabond saw.

The vagabond saw only the things he expected to see. A pair of golems guarding the Grand Lift of Dectus, blocking his path forward. Countless patrols of Lordsworn soldiers guarding the road. Trebuchets and greatbows and worse, all aimed at him.

The vagabond saw no beauty in the Altus Plateau. The vagabond saw only death, and so he greeted it in kind.

Torrent carried the vagabond swiftly forward, bringing the edge of his sword to and through the neck of an unsuspecting soldier. Before the man even knew he was under attack, he was dead.

The vagabond leapt from Torrent’s back and brought his sword down on another in the same fell movement. Two dead. The third whirled around in a blind rage, swinging with lethal intent, but the vagabond already had his shield up. The Lordsworn recoiled from the force of the impact, his sword bouncing harmlessly away as inertia carried it out of position. In that brief moment, there was an opening, and the vagabond struck true.

The vagabond hardly felt human anymore. He stared down at the bodies surrounding him, then at his hands. He looked at the blood and the calluses and the sword. He hadn’t been human for a long time, he thought, only a killer.

In his homeland, there had been a human. There had been a proud knight, serving his lord with chivalry and valor. There had been a dispute, a political conflict that had left the knight’s house decimated and the knight banished.

The knight clung to his ideals for a time. The knight had hoped to regain his honor, perhaps finding service to another lord. Perhaps that new lord would help him reclaim his family’s home.

The knight clung desperately to that dream, even as he ate his own horse to keep from starving.

Eventually, the knight died. The man was still there; the hungry, desperate man. The man took to robbing and killing. The man spilled blood for every meager bowl of porridge he could get his hands on. The man became like a wolf, his bloodshot eyes scanning the roads for a sign of pillage to be had.

The man was reduced to a vagabond. He gave up his humanity. He hurt the innocent; those just as desperate to survive as he, but without such a proficiency in removing heads from necks.

Eventually, the man’s shell was hunted. The vagabond was pursued as a common bandit. He was captured, thrashing about like a wild animal, and cut down in the woods. He wept as he died, for he felt that justice had finally come.

His body was left to rot. And then She called out to him.

Through Grace, the vagabond stirred. Returned to life against his will, he came to the Lands Between. And he began killing again.

It was unjust, he felt, that a tramp like himself should come back to the world. It was unjust that he should be denied the permanence of death.

But his wits returned to him, and with them came a small spark of hate.

Limgrave was a land in peril. The rightful ruler was a penniless fop begging for aid in the woods. A usurper tyrant, the spider called Godrick, had stolen the land and the flesh of its people. Untold numbers had been taken apart and grafted.

Hate swelled within the vagabond, and his campaign began.

Everywhere he went, the vagabond slew men. Lordsworn, aristocrats, knights especially, and finally demigods. He dedicated himself to the destruction of these people who had given themselves to lust for power and, in so doing, had sealed the fate of the Lands Between.

The vagabond hunted honored warriors and great champions. He used every filthy trick he could find, and he killed these glorious men. He trampled on crowns and toppled thrones. He had grown to despise his own kind, for even now the vagabond knew he had once been a knight.

And now here, in Leyndell, he had come as close as he could to the root of it all. He could see the light of Grace guiding him toward the city, toward the palaces and temples of that great metropolis. He felt nothing but disdain.

More crowns and thrones and statues to toss into the mud. More trumped up fools convinced of their own self-righteousness by nothing but the virtue of their birth. More wolves in the shape of men, clad in glittering golden armor and anointed in sacred oils.

The Altus Plateau was everything the Vagabond expected it to be.

The Altus Plateau was hell, and he was its reckoning.