((It’s been a while.

Yes, I am still playing. I finally, after four or so years, got my first 75. My desire to play the game has, as has always been the case, seriously lagged after a few months and if weren’t for my boyfriend and the good friends I’ve made in game I doubt I’d be playing. I only log on a handful of times a week for Sky, Limbus, missions and the like but I have begun recently to level my first love of the which I gave up years ago, BST. So perhaps we’ll see a resurgence of interest from me.

With my lack of interest in the game goes my lack of interest in RP. For a few months I attempted to continue to roleplay, but my own lack of interest and the lack of things going on other than end game stuff hasn’t helped. I am at the moment getting my RP fix in an old MUD (text game) that I’ve always loved. But! I’m still here, and perhaps will update with OOC posts every now and then. And I’m sure my interest in FFXI RP will kick back in at some point.

But, wootles on 75 finally. PLD is one job that doesn’t really shine until thrown into end game stuff.)

Today was such a long and boring day. Adventuring usually comes off as flashy, exciting, romantic. There is nothing, I mean nothing, romantic or exciting about standing around in a boiling volcano fours hours and hours fighting disgusting eyeball … things.

It was Klo’s idea. Something about a specific quality eyeball that’s needed to lure another … eyeball? Something. I don’t know. All I know is that eyeballs are gross and volcanoes are hot.

We spent I believe five hours there, through the course there was me, Gafgarion, Klo, Alviine and Zjin. Joined by Fishy, Nanner, Keir and Ceriss at different points to help out.

I was the last to get the eyeball thing, and by the end of it I was ready to ask why in Ifrit’s I wanted one to begin with. As I disgustedly tucked it away in my bags Garion warned me to keep it wrapped tight because they can divide at will and before I knew it’d have a hectaeye in my mogsafe. That’s terrifying! I want it out of my moghouse now. But they actually want to go find more in various places. I’m wondering if maybe this wasn’t a grand practical joke on me by Garion and Klo.

One down, four to go. Ew!

(( I’ve said it before but just to reiterate, for new readers and/or my LS. I love comments. Even if a post is IC, I welcome out of character comments ^^ Bloggers are all ego maniacs anyway. We all know we just do this because we love ourselves and want everyone else to love us too.

I mean .. we do it for artistic expression. Totally. And not that other reason.))

I was going to ramble on about my fishing adventures when I picked you up book, but realized I hadn’t updated on what in the world happened to Garion a few days ago. I don’t know why it matters, as if anyone will ever read this thing. For the sake of completion:

I honestly have no idea.

My betrothed shows up on our doorstep bloody and battered and I still have no idea why. “Hunters” he said. He told me a story, long ago, that explained very vaguely why he left his homeland, why he works so hard toward his return there and why he is always getting into scrapes with these “hunters” but I don’t believe a word of it, honestly. I don’t know what to think anymore.

You’d think , that such important pieces of personal history and current events would be something you would trust your future wife with wouldn’t you? Apparently though they aren’t.

…. I shouldn’t complain. I’ve known since the first days we spent together in near silence hunting leeches in Bubumiru that he values his privacy and doesn’t like to talk of his past. I know whatever it is it’s painful. I see him looking out over the western shore of Haven at night. I know something there calls to him.

It’s just –

I should have just written of fishing.

I’ve spent the past nearly two weeks on patrol with my company of Royal Knights. It’s not trying work, except on my feet, but for the occasional skirmish with a passing group of orcs it’s terribly boring. Days spent traveling with a group of lively, active, young elvaan (mostly men, thank you Altana) sounded like a wonderful idea in theory but in practice gets very old. Especially since my commanding officer seemed to greatly resent the presence of a Temple Knight among them, as if I were there to tattle back to the Papsque should they step a toe over the line.

I was very thankful to finally return home.  Until late my first night back when I heard a great thump against my front door. I live in Haven, the island home of my linkshell, and save some special guest the only people present on the island are usually Lost Boys. Had I been in my moghouse the idea of someone or something thumping loudly against my door in the early early morning wouldn’t have been so strange but in secluded Haven I knew for certain it meant trouble. Or a drunken green haired taru. Either way.

It was instead, a half conscious and heavily bloodied Garion. I’m not one to panic in an emergency, I can in fact seem rather cold in my interactions when things are serious or dire, but really it’s just my way of dealing. Panicing, crying and being emotional can come after everyone I care for is safe and the offending parties have met my sword in their gut.

Back to the story. Garion sat crumpled on my door step, a large gash near his right eye that seeped blood down his cheek was the first thing I noticed, the crossbow bolts in his shoulder and side the second. I helped him inside, may or may not have made a comment about him bleeding all over my rug, and set in a flurry of locating and healing his wounds with my meager skills.

As I pulled the bolt free of his shoulder and stemed the blood flow in a manner that I’m sure Aydann or Nanner would label as two kinds of sloppy I tried to question him on what happened. He was in no mood to talk. More propped up in the kitchen chair rather than sitting I finally felt a touch of panic as his eyes rolled back and he went limp, blood all over my yukata from catching him as he nearly fell from the chair. He’d simply passed out, with all the blood staining he and I I’m not suprised.

Dragging a fully grown unconscious elvaan man up a flight of stairs and into bed is a feat and I’m unsure how I did it. Adrenaline I guess. It wasn’t until he was cleaned up and safely tucked into our bed that I let myself slump confused on the floor and have a good cry. I think I fell asleep there, with my head on the bed and still wearing my stained yukata.

(OOC: After a brief forced hiatus, forced being comcast doesn’t like you if you don’t pay your bill, I’m once again back in Vana’diel. Updates to follow soon ^^)

-the page is dotted here with ink blots and idle doodles, as if it were stared at for quite some time before writing actually began-

It’s not as if I have nothing interesting to say, little book. I just don’t feel like writting it out for some reason.

The past week or so has been less busy than the one before in some ways, and more in others. Garion and I have taken a small rest from training, at least with his scythe and my sword. He’s been spending long days in the mines around Bastok, collecting ore to smelt and sell to afford some chest piece that’s gone crazy over it. It’s left me with time to catch up on smaller things.

I’ve practiced my weaving, working mostly in linen. I haven’t sewn anything recently but I’ve been turning flax flowers into thread and thread into cloth for some practice. And I’ve been fishing, which is something I love to do but don’t usually have the time. That went well until I lost my sabiki rig. Thinking off all that gil I tossed into the ocean cut that a little short. Especially since I’ve caught more yellow globes than I could possibly eat. I took a big basket of them home to Windurst and handed them over to several of my mithra friends. They made short work of them.

Let’s see, what else. Oh, I finally had the chance to finish unpacking and setting up my home in Haven. Windmere is so lovely and easily several times larger than a mog house. The big soft bed is my favorite, it’s hard to find a bed fit for elvaan outside of San d’Oria. It’s whole worlds of annoying to sleep with your feet dangling off the end of the bed. So much so that whenever I had to sleep in my Bastok rental room I took to sleeping on the floor. Mooglet and Garion’s moogle Kumori have been spending most of their time in Haven as well. They still manage each of our mog safes when we’re in the mainlands but it’s nice to have their help at Windmere.

Good Goddess, do they refuse to get along though. Mooglet is such a … oh what’s a polite word? He’s a pain in the behind, to be frank. Strict and highly picky about everything being in it’s place always. Kumori is very obviously Garion’s moogle and much more laid back. You haven’t lived until you’ve woken at sunrise to hear angry “Kuu~po!”s from your living room. Last night Mooglet threatened to report Kumori to the MHMU for “not taking good enough care of his master’s things and always losing them”. Domestic bliss, it’s a beautiful thing.

Other than that they only things of note have been a bit of dancer training and discovering the wonders of dirt that can come home with a man after he’s spent a day mining and how hard said dirt is to get out of the bathtub.