THE RETURN OF THE SON OF THE SEQUEL
Name: Delita Heiral
Series: Final Fantasy Tactics
Age: 17
Canon: Once upon a time, the country of Ivalice was waging a war of succession, fought by opposing dukes. Caught up in the middle of the conflict was one young nobleman by the name of Ramza Beoulve. Labeled a traitor and a heretic from both sides in his pursuit of justice, Ramza travels all over Ivalice and fights to discover the real truth behind the war, and discovers things about his country that have been hidden away for years.
Amidst it all is Ramza's childhood companion, a young knight named Delita Heiral. After being presumed dead for several years, Delita reappears as the one responsible for stirring up chaos between both sides of the war, and eventually usurps the dukes, throwing the country into disorder. He can be a backstabbing, manipulative bastard or a serious, noble fighter if the situation calls for it, though most who know his true self would likely say he's a schemer to the core. With a sharp mind and a sharper wit, Delita's willingness to do anything to achieve his end often paints him as arrogant, even heartless, but deep down inside, he wants peace and to see the fighting to end, even if his sardonic tones can be rather off-putting.
Note: While the latest release of Final Fantasy Tactics: War of the Lions has given a more accurate re-translation of the game's content, it should be noted that in the original release it was not so apparent that Delita (and other characters) spoke in a somewhat more formal manner, one befitting to a knight of the medieval ages.
Sample Post:
Were I a lesser man, I might think that I have taken leave of my senses.
Fortunately, this neither is and shall never be true, so long as I continue to breathe and walk. And I find that the air I breathe afouls my lungs with the rankness of death, and not the peacefully-buried-in-a-church-cemetery sort; 'tis not enough to deter me, however. This is hardly the most arduous trial I have faced, and it will doubtless be the last, if the growing ambush of undead is any indication. Aye, your presence has not gone unnoticed, you behind the tree and you behind the tree that is strangling that other tree. I mean you no harm, understand -- I would move quickly through this wood without incident, if possible. Should you find it necessary to stand between me and my destination, I am afraid that you shall become very closely acquainted with the tip of my sword. However, should you graciously allow me to pass, I promise you mercy. I swear it, on my honor.
... Perhaps I should have known that would not work. To expect wraiths and hags of these sort to know the meaning of honor gives too much credit to the god that created them. Or perhaps too little. 'Tis no matter; a small delay will hardly keep me from leaving these lands and returning to my company. I say this, and yet the layout of the place intrigues me. What madman is responsible for fashioning this swamp in such an intricate manner, I must wonder? It be no natural force that has created the beast in the lake or the strangling trees, that much is certain. I am sure many a lowlife in my country would kill to possess the ability to perverse and control such things, if it would raise their chances of victory. And it is to that I am content with leaving it be, as naught but destruction would come of it. Ivalice needs no more blood than what she must contend with, yet it would be errant of me to not admit that such violence would be almost becoming in this swampland. I can picture it all too easily in my mind's eye.
--Ah, but how rude of me, to ignore my own ambushers. Pray, please overlook such disrespect. I mean not to insult your power. On the contrary, I would think it rather an impressive feat to master, and send my compliments to your madman. I would request an audience with him, but I am quite happy with my person remaining unharmed and my clothes in one piece. I am sure you are rather put out, and for that, I send my deepest apologies.
... I see my rhetoric is unfortunately not lost upon you. And here I had hopes for exercising my proficiency at sarcasm to further perfect it, but it seems I shall never achieve my dream of becoming a court jester. Perhaps my humor is simply not welcome in these parts. However, if it is my skill with a blade you desire to observe instead, (as the advancement of your troupe and their rotting stench cause me to believe) I accept. I do hope your battle skills are as barbaric as I have imagined them to be. Pray you do not disappoint.
Voting went here. 98% what the hell you people.
Series: Final Fantasy Tactics
Age: 17
Canon: Once upon a time, the country of Ivalice was waging a war of succession, fought by opposing dukes. Caught up in the middle of the conflict was one young nobleman by the name of Ramza Beoulve. Labeled a traitor and a heretic from both sides in his pursuit of justice, Ramza travels all over Ivalice and fights to discover the real truth behind the war, and discovers things about his country that have been hidden away for years.
Amidst it all is Ramza's childhood companion, a young knight named Delita Heiral. After being presumed dead for several years, Delita reappears as the one responsible for stirring up chaos between both sides of the war, and eventually usurps the dukes, throwing the country into disorder. He can be a backstabbing, manipulative bastard or a serious, noble fighter if the situation calls for it, though most who know his true self would likely say he's a schemer to the core. With a sharp mind and a sharper wit, Delita's willingness to do anything to achieve his end often paints him as arrogant, even heartless, but deep down inside, he wants peace and to see the fighting to end, even if his sardonic tones can be rather off-putting.
Note: While the latest release of Final Fantasy Tactics: War of the Lions has given a more accurate re-translation of the game's content, it should be noted that in the original release it was not so apparent that Delita (and other characters) spoke in a somewhat more formal manner, one befitting to a knight of the medieval ages.
Sample Post:
Were I a lesser man, I might think that I have taken leave of my senses.
Fortunately, this neither is and shall never be true, so long as I continue to breathe and walk. And I find that the air I breathe afouls my lungs with the rankness of death, and not the peacefully-buried-in-a-church-cemetery sort; 'tis not enough to deter me, however. This is hardly the most arduous trial I have faced, and it will doubtless be the last, if the growing ambush of undead is any indication. Aye, your presence has not gone unnoticed, you behind the tree and you behind the tree that is strangling that other tree. I mean you no harm, understand -- I would move quickly through this wood without incident, if possible. Should you find it necessary to stand between me and my destination, I am afraid that you shall become very closely acquainted with the tip of my sword. However, should you graciously allow me to pass, I promise you mercy. I swear it, on my honor.
... Perhaps I should have known that would not work. To expect wraiths and hags of these sort to know the meaning of honor gives too much credit to the god that created them. Or perhaps too little. 'Tis no matter; a small delay will hardly keep me from leaving these lands and returning to my company. I say this, and yet the layout of the place intrigues me. What madman is responsible for fashioning this swamp in such an intricate manner, I must wonder? It be no natural force that has created the beast in the lake or the strangling trees, that much is certain. I am sure many a lowlife in my country would kill to possess the ability to perverse and control such things, if it would raise their chances of victory. And it is to that I am content with leaving it be, as naught but destruction would come of it. Ivalice needs no more blood than what she must contend with, yet it would be errant of me to not admit that such violence would be almost becoming in this swampland. I can picture it all too easily in my mind's eye.
--Ah, but how rude of me, to ignore my own ambushers. Pray, please overlook such disrespect. I mean not to insult your power. On the contrary, I would think it rather an impressive feat to master, and send my compliments to your madman. I would request an audience with him, but I am quite happy with my person remaining unharmed and my clothes in one piece. I am sure you are rather put out, and for that, I send my deepest apologies.
... I see my rhetoric is unfortunately not lost upon you. And here I had hopes for exercising my proficiency at sarcasm to further perfect it, but it seems I shall never achieve my dream of becoming a court jester. Perhaps my humor is simply not welcome in these parts. However, if it is my skill with a blade you desire to observe instead, (as the advancement of your troupe and their rotting stench cause me to believe) I accept. I do hope your battle skills are as barbaric as I have imagined them to be. Pray you do not disappoint.
Voting went here. 98% what the hell you people.