#ayanga uyagir
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Once
Once, Aya would have watched his mate swaying through the motions of cooking dinner. He would have gazed upon the man adoringly as sun filtered through the kitchen windows to sparkle in the dark golden curls that ran down the Seeker’s back. Were those curls longer now? Were they neat or messy? Were they still damp from an earlier bath or had they dried into ringlets to bounce perfectly in sync with Tolemy’s movements?
Once, he would have seen the boy balanced on his mate’s hip. He would have smiled to himself as their youngest dozed against the shorter man, the babe only content when he was held. What was the toddler doing now? Was he watching dinner being made or was he busy tangling the tawny curls up into helpful braids that would have to be gently combed out at the end of the day? How much bigger was he? Did his hair match either of his parents? How about his eyes?
Once, Aya would have joined his son while Mede fit the pieces together of the newest puzzle Melody had gifted him on the floor by the table nearby. He would have used the silent gestures of hunt speak to follow the boy’s thoughts as he worked out the problem before him. Was he working on a new puzzle or redoing an old one? What pictures did Mede favor now? Was he quicker at putting the puzzles together or was he doing ones with more and smaller pieces? Did he miss the conversations as much as Aya did? Did he know that the man loved him as much as always?
Once, he would have poked Terbish with his tail as she snuck about the area trying to be sneaky. At least some things hadn’t changed, Aya’s tail flicking out to do just that as she tried to come around the edge of the counter to swipe a roti off the platter before it made it to the table for the meal. He didn’t see the grin aimed up at him when no scolding came for sneaking an early snack, but he did hear the thwap of a far fluffier tail impacting the girl’s hand just hard enough to make her fumble the bread so she had to think fast to catch it before it hit the ground.
Now, Aya followed the ebb and flow of family life through the sounds of living and the colors of their souls. He could see how Nekhi’s inner self was constantly changing as the toddler grew every day. He could feel the warmth of Tolemy’s body as the man walked by with the fragrant tray of curried dzo that caused the xaela’s stomach to rumble in anticipation. He could take the tray of roti and fruit off of the counter before Terbish got to it all and count the steps to the table to set it down for family dinner.
Now, he could ruffle Mede’s ears gently to pull the boy’s attention from his puzzle and to signal that it was time to eat instead of time to play. He could take his turn holding Nekhi, so Tolemy could eat the meal he made in peace and not have to juggle the attention seeking geko’te and his food. He could relax into the seat and do his best to not wince whenever Nekhi grabbed a horn to pull himself up closer to Aya’s face to plant a kiss on his father’s cheek.
Now, Aya had the life he always wanted in the cold, unforgiving nights spent alone in the depths of the Uyagir caves, or hiding in a bush on the steppes, or huddling in a cleft of a rock waiting for a Garlean patrol to go by. It wasn’t how he dreamed it would be. There was no watching the sunrise over the Ruby Sea with Tolemy in his arms. There was no way to admire the drawings hung on the kitchen cabinets and see how they changed year to year. He couldn’t compliment Terbish on whatever outrageous color combination she put together to wear or get lost in the beauty of Tolemy’s eyes when before they cuddled up for a nap while the kids did the same.
Now, that he’s healed? Aya can’t find the bitterness that once plagued him, for he has love to hold tight to every day. He can’t see it, but he can feel it and hear it and know it within his soul. For once, it’s enough.
[Tolemy is written by @ala-mhinyan]
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The Final Hours
((Music: https://youtu.be/qOMQxVtbkik and https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XpFKPVquSeA&t=331s ))
“I’m out of time.”
They’d all known it was coming but hearing the words spoken out loud had an extra weight to them like the toll of a deep bell. The look in her brother’s eyes as he said them was something she’d seen so, so many times and it never ceased to affect her, tugging at part of her very soul- her purpose for life. In this case, though, she would not be offering gentle mercy, gods willing. This time, she would be leading a Hunt, she would lead a pack to stand in defiance of the dark and fight. In a way, it was a good thing to finally be able to do something- no more waiting, no more uncertainty, no more second-guessing or sleepless nights staring at her ceiling or the strange moon with her hand wrapped around her soulstone so hard it left impressions in her skin as she begged for more knowledge- for anything that might be the key to turning the tide.
Just once. Please, gods, just once let this not be goodbye.
The Xaela had looked so fragile, so afraid. Tormented. He had been so very strong for so long, buying them all the time they had needed to prepare. She wanted to comfort him, to wrap her arms around him and hold him tight- but neither of them could risk what might happen if she drew so close. Not when her instincts and the thing inside of him were so volatile. So she had swallowed down everything- all her fears, all her hurt, all her grief, all her uncertainty. She had sat out of reach and purred comfort, sung comfort, gently embraced him in as much of her loving care as she could to offer him a few precious moments of peace- and as his pain visibly eased she had watched him. Memorizing every detail- every little mannerism, the fall of his hair, the way light moved over his skin and scales, the way his features looked in profile and when he looked over at her. His body, the way he moved, the movement of his tail, his scent, all gathered in and placed gently in memory. When she felt secure she would not forget, she had gazed around the house with the same care- it was all so precious. It was all so fragile. The wood spoke, the air spoke, the mingling of individual scents, the ghosts of every-day routine moving around her in comforting mediocrity. She hadn’t once taken it for granted, not when her place here was so uncertain. Now she was glad of that, in a way. It meant she would have many memories to return to in the empty, lonely bells that may lie in her future.
When he thanked her, she wanted desperately to promise him that it would be okay. But she could not tell such a lie and he would not thank her for it even if she could.
Returning to her room that night had never been so hard.
--------- A few days later --------
The Jaguar knelt in a circle of items that had not been seen nor touched since before she had made her sacrifice, with a padded box set to her side so she might carry everything safely to the ritual site. Sacred relics of her fallen people, some of them ancient- carefully cared for through generations, the knowledge of their use kept safe through song and story impressed upon the carriers of certain soulstones. She had turned off the lights in her room and conjured a small, floating flame. It was as close as she could get to the warm firelight that brought out the beauty and mystery of the tools and the memories that moved through her mind. First, the hanging censers…
The Jaguar lifted six of them from the collection, turning each on it’s chains so the bells softly rang as she examined them closely. The firelight was captured in the small chips of precious stones, flashing brilliance in the shadowed dark. Setting them carefully into the box, she ensured they were well-packed before moving to the next.
Melody, smiling with her tufted ears wiggling. The floof of her tail swaying. The way it felt to have the young woman sit and lean against her- trusting her. Loving her. Niece. Doing her very best to keep her head up despite the recent pain of not just grief but the loss of her innocence. Her pride when she held one of her creations for Zareen to see.
“I love you unconditionally and I always will.”
The carefully blended and pressed resin incense was next, lifted to her nose as her eyes close to inhale the complex scent. It had taken her so, so long to get the blend correct- especially since she had only had three cakes to compare against the ingredients she could get her hands on here. Setting down one of her crafted discs, she picked up one of those crafted on the island and took a deep inhalation again. Not quite exact- it could not be. But she could feel the rightness of it, feel the latent power waiting for the touch of flame to release the smoke that would act to steady her ritual-craft. Packing the discs and the charcoal that they would rest on in the box with gentle hands, her fingers lingered for a moment before she brought one to her nose again.
A memory. She was a ghost, standing to the right side of a Jaguar huntress as she worked mortar and pestle to grind down and blend the ritual mixture. Her ingredients, small mounds of herbs, little clay jars of liquid, flowers and stalks, all set carefully around her. As she worked, Zareen could hear her voice speaking in an ancient version of the Jaguar tongue, explaining each ingredient, the proportions, the preparations they must undergo before mixing, all the details that an apprentice would need to know. Step by step. When the memory faded, she had been able to smell the finished blend with clarity.
Zareen’s gold eyes opened and she took a deep breath, verging on the edge of tears. How many times had she begged her soulstone to show her a way to save her people? Her loved ones? How many years had passed in despair when it gave her only silence. She realized, now, why that was. She had been asking the wrong questions. There was no “way” to save someone from the dark. There were only small flickers of hope. Small things that might, if one were brave and committed, illuminate one of the many steps along a path that may, possibly, lead to victory.
The gods were good. Sometimes. The gods were cruel. They demanded much and often gave little. She knew there would be a price for what they were going to do- each of them would pay in their own way. Each of them had been given the chance to change their mind- even Ayanga. Each of them had expressed their desire to take the chance, to challenge fate. To take the gamble. To leap.
He’d listened to her carefully, his eyes not meeting hers as he thought about what she was saying. It was clear he wasn’t entirely happy with what he heard, but when she was done, his odd pale eyes with their black sclera moved to her face and he nodded. He expressed his gratitude for all that she was doing and though he slipped back into uncomfortable, awkward silence after she knew when the time came he would fight the same way she would.
Tolemy... let there be time for us. Let there be a chance to see...
Her eyes moved to the jewelry she would wear for the ritual. It, too, was ancient. The filigree open-work was less evident, the craftsmanship favoring a more simple design. Stylized figures of jaguar, the rising sun, and the rising moon are barely able to be made out. The gemstones set in the gold still have all of their shine, despite their age. The one open setting awaits her soulstone. She will place it when she arrives at the cave and begins the cleansing and preparations there.
“I barely got this second life-- I should’ve been dead a dozen times over by now, so I just want folks to know I didn’t have any regrets with this part of the life I’ve lived, and I don’t want them to regret it either.”
Amaranth’s irrepressible smile as she said the words had brought an echoing expression to Zareen’s lips. The Jaguar couldn’t express it, didn’t have the words, but that smile reminded her of so many she had known. The faces were different- slit-pupiled eyes framed in brightly-colored hair looking at her with that devil-may-care grin. ‘Death comes for all of us.’ said that grin, ‘May as well have as much fun as we can before it catches up!’ She had grinned that way before. Sometimes, she still did. It was bittersweet- it made part of her yearn for earlier days, days when she had nothing to lose and everything to gain, days when she had seen every minute of life as a new adventure and a dare- live fast, live free, live fierce, laugh at Death as you dance one step ahead. She prayed that her friend would manage to find that smile for as long as possible.
Putting the jewelry into a velvet bag, she set it into the box tenderly. Her eyes moved to the final item and her ears lowered even as a soft smile bloomed on her lips. She lifted the knapped obsidian blade, turning it so the firelight glowed through the thin, impossibly sharp glass. Her hand fit the wrapped gold wire on the hilt easily, as if it were made for her. Her head tilted a little as she slowly twisted it back and forth, gazing into the shadow-made-real.
A pair of too-bright violet eyes, or blue. Green. Red. Scarred into white. Empty sockets.
A hand held in hers, clinging tightly in desperation so claws pierced her skin. Holding loosely with a lack of strength. Gently pressing skin-to-skin as if to comfort her as much as she comforted them. Slick with blood. Cold with fear. Thin-skinned with age. Too small...far too small.
A voice, whispering in quick, pained gasps. Pleading. Broken by sobs. Empty of all emotion- too far gone into the dark to hold any more. Resigned. Gentle. Young and scared. Old and content. Moving without sound, voiceless but speaking still. Requests for the end, for messages left too late, for regrets unable to be overcome, for sins unforgiven, for loves lost, for comfort to those that remain. Tales, stories of lives lived, spoken with the hope that they might be remembered, that they will find their place in the stars, that they will be carried on in the hearts of those who carry on. ‘Remember me, remember me, remember that I walked on this star. Remember that I lived, and laughed, and loved. Do not let me be lost, do not let me be forgotten.’
The taste of blood. Tears. Rot. Sweet herbs. Salt. Alcohol. Life lived. Life lost. All that was and all that might have been. An inhalation- drawing it all in, feeling it coil and curl inside, feel it seep into every part of her soul, feel it become part of her. Feel them calm, feel them let go of the fear, the anger, the tension, the sadness, the past, the future. Feel the grip of their hands grow gentle, every one.
Whispering the words- her tongue forming them, her mind forming them, her soul forming them into shapes and sounds they knew from their earliest memories. Watching the calm fall over them. Acceptance. Even hope. Wielding the spell, the blade, sliding it gentle and painless until it kissed the heart. The final breath.
The silence.
She slowly lowered the blade, resting it on her palm before gently and carefully putting it in the special part of the box prepared for it. It is delicate, and it is vital for what is to come. The box is closed, latched, aether woven around it for protection and security. Zareen moves it aside, gathers up the other items that will be kept for another day and puts them away in the chest where she keeps that which is precious to her. Rising, she turns and walks to the closet, opening the doors and leaning in to press her fingers against one of the back panels. It slides away, revealing a different kind of box. Dusty in a way that none of her things ever are. Hidden here where it should have been forgotten, found by one of the future generations perhaps. Or lost forever.
For the first time, her hands shake and she gently closes them into fists, closing her eyes.
Her brother’s eyes, crimson and pink, looking at her with a gentle pleading.
“I can’t go through another night like the last one, not and still fight.”
She whispered the words she had spoken to him. “I will stop you befoah you hunt anehone. I sweah this to you on all that is above and below.”
A single blue eye looking into hers as the box is handed to her. “Whatever you need to do, do it.”
Eyes opening again, the Jaguar gazed into the dark closet and sighed. Leaning forward, she drew the box out and set it on the floor. Opening it revealed a collar-style necklace, glowing faintly blue along the magitek surface, the ceruleum light pulsing slowly. Matching cuff-like bracelets, two of them, rested in their own divots in the padding. They, too, glowed and pulsed in perfect time with the necklace. She picked up one of the bracelets and her wrist twinged with sensory memory- the feel of the metal biting and chafing as she turned it, and turned it, and turned it unconsciously as it seemed to weigh more and more and more. There were no tears- she had shed a lifetime’s worth for those losses. Turning the bracelet in her hand, her fingertips found the simple pad that would activate the necklace when aether was passed through it. It would take only the smallest amount- a breath, no more. The restraint would render the one wearing the collar immobile. Not for long. Just… just long enough. Just long enough to say goodbye.
Her eyes are unfocused, gazing into the distance as she feels the weight settle heavy on her shoulders. It is familiar. So familiar. Sun after sun, season after season, year after year… era after era…
Twi, holding her hand, squeezing her hand with a gentle firmness. “Whatever you will become, whatever you think have become… you are still our Y'zareen.” Falling into a hug, held and holding, a moment of terrible, terrible vulnerability met with a loving kindness that gently provided a balm to a wounded heart.
“... Thank you, sisteh. Thank you. I love you vereh, vereh much.” She whispers.
“I l-love you too,” she replied.
She refocuses, setting the bracelet back into the box for now and closing it, carrying it over to the other box and setting it on top. It would be one of the last things done, that it might not chafe at already raw spirits. As she looked at the two boxes, she felt a sudden spike of intense icy fear that caught her breath and made her press a hand to her chest as she gasped and her eyes widened. It is a surprise but the unexpected pounding of her heart in her ears and the chill in her fingers and toes is almost...welcomed. Eyes fluttering slowly closed, she breathes a prayer of gratitude. If she can still feel fear, then she is not past hope. One doesn’t fear the inevitable. One fears uncertainty. And that means that, in her heart of hearts, she still holds hope. Irrepressible hope. Hope that has kept her alive, over and over, giving her the strength to take that fear and make of it a weapon named Courage.
She would have to show the others how to do the same. They would need this of her. This is not a fight she can win by throwing herself into the dark. Never again, that. They needed her to be better. To move past her mistakes. To rise above her insecurities. To be the light, the guide. It was her last chance and she knew it. Whether they succeeded or failed, how she carried herself and the choices she made, the way she led them would set the course of her future. Redemption or damnation. A small smile touches her lips. This, too, is familiar- feet light and fleet, spinning and swaying and leaping on the edge of the blade.
Please, gods… Please, let me be worthy, just this once.
Turning slowly, her eyes move around the room- her little attic room, made cozy but still not quite “home”. It was a good place, though. It had been a sanctuary and she was grateful. Walking down the stairs, the house was very, very quiet in those bells before dawn. Moving like a shadow herself, the Jaguar walked through each room, gathering them into her memory and her heart. She did not linger in her brothers’ bedroom, passing through to where the children slept in a way that would not bother the men- it was something she did often when they needed an extra hand to soothe or care. Pausing by each little bed, she allowed herself the tears as she watched each little chest rise and fall. Memorized the curve of their cheeks, the gentle expressions they wore as they dreamed, the soft scents they gave off, the small hands that would someday shape the future.
At the bed her twin girls shared, Zareen sat on the edge and reached out to stroke the thick black hair and brush the back of her fingers butterfly-light across their cheeks. Her Hope and Dream. A terrible pain speared her heart and her eyes closed, head bowing and hand covering her mouth to catch the sob that threatened to escape her. Taking a few breaths, shaky at first before steadying, the Jaguar rose and leaned to kiss each of them, whispering inaudibly in her mother-tongue. “I love you. Always.”
She left the room as silently as she’d entered it, walking back up to the attic and sitting down at the window. The moon, strange and too-bright, shone down on her and she gazed up at it, golden eyes glowing. Bells passed...and as the moon lowered and the sun started to rise, she prayed. She prayed blessings, she prayed apologies, she prayed her dreams and her plans. She poured a river of heart-offerings into the liminal place between night and day where the Dark Lady and the Bright could both hear. The place where she walked, both and neither.
The sky grew brighter, the tops of the waves going gilded, and Zareen closed her eyes and wiped the tears from her cheeks. They would be the last she would shed until the matter was done. Taking a slow breath and letting it out softly, she went to that place inside her where the jungle trees rose to impossible heights and a pool of darkness reflected the storm-tossed sky above, lightning dancing through the roiling clouds. One of the trees, huge and wide, held an opening in the roots- a passageway. There was a sanctuary there, a healing place. But there was a deeper place, too. A hidden way. Zareen floated above the inky pool, one foot touching the surface as her hair flowed above her and her head tilted back to gaze at the sky before she closed her eyes and let go.
A shift, a breath, and her head snapped down as gold eyes opened and she sprang forward, throwing herself into a leap, a dash, a run that carried her across the surface of the pool, splashes rising behind her and staying, frozen in time. Half-way to the shore, she jumped high and sure and sloughed her skin, landing true on four huge paws, already running, racing with her tail a flag behind her and her wild eyes fixed on the tree. The passageway irised open as she threw herself into it, diving into the dark.
Huntress. Jaguar. Sin Eater. Weapon. Blade and shield. Killer and protector, healer and devourer. Dancer on the edge of the blade. Wild laughter in the face of death.
A predator from an unbroken line of predators stretching back into the mists of time.
Prayers given form.
She Who Catches Demons in Her Teeth.
(( Tagged for mention: @talesfromthegameff14 @ala-mhinyan @realmoffantasy as well as Twi and Amaranth who do not have Tumblr))
#y'zareen serhan#ayanga uyagir#c'tolemy noyoh#twi khakol#melody sarathess#ffxiv rp#stories#amaranth aman
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Prompt #17: Obeisant
"At once, my lady."
The young Roegadyn straightened from his kneel and bowed once, then was off down the teahouse garden’s path and into the street. Despite his tender age, the messenger boy was nearly taller than those he served, and undoubtedly would be in scant few years' time. Michishio watched him turn and worked to keep the frown from her face, lest he take it as displeasure - though it was, just not with him. Every time a servant bowed low, every time they kneeled or called her 'my lady,' she was seized with a desire to heatedly insist that no, that was her job. She was the servant. And yet, she knew such exhortations would only invite confusion and chaos in the Enclave's rigidly tiered society, so she bit them back.
She'd enjoyed authority once, briefly. In an almost petty manner, she'd been pleased how, as the personal assistant to the commander of Yousai's militia, she wielded no actual authority... but it was tacitly understood that any suggestions she had may as well be orders from the top. Although... that was it, wasn't it? It wasn't her authority. Even in the implied invocation of her own, it was merely an appeal to the commander's. The very act of speaking placed her several rungs down, serving those above her. A follower attending the interests of her betters. It was comforting to have such a place - a right hand, not the throne itself. Yet here she was, the lady of her own house.
She sighed thinly through her nose. Her father's house, technically, though he'd had no involvement with anything from day one other than granting her his full blessing, acting authority, and the little carved stone stamp that served as the House Sakanoue seal. Yet here, she was not a servant, unless in an oblique manner to the throne of Doma... But only the elite enjoyed direct access to their king. For such a minor upstart house as Sakanoue to request an audience was unthinkably arrogant. Michishio was, to her great discomfiture, her own master.
Many seemed to find the power to chart their own course exhilarating, freeing. Michishio simply found it an unwelcome, worrisome burden. She had a place in Eorzea, a role waiting for her if she'd but settle into it. And yet, her duties in Doma - duties she was no longer at all beholden to, strictly speaking, had caught her in some hidden game of intrigue that may or may not even exist. The threads of duty were thin as a spider's web yet strong as a blade’s steel, entangling and cutting in equal measure. Here she was now, beholden to a sister house that pled for allies and a people who wished for the return of their own identity.
It was in some ways a mirror of Michishio's own struggle. Twin duties saw her suspended above an impossible divide - was she loyal to her husband, despite his repeated insistences she was an equal and no servant? His was a rising star, she was sure of it, a man with great potential but lacking the will to grasp all of which he was capable. She could be that to him. Besides, for that matter, why could not an equal serve out of love and reverence? His protests seemed almost childish, in that light.
Or was she loyal to her family name, and the people of a broken nation it once shepherded? Doma's acquisition of Santake had been entirely accidental, a side effect of Garlemald's enthusiasm in crushing Kaien's rebellion. The tiny mountain nation's borders controlled vital passes in the Fanged Crescent to the west, and so it too had burned in Garlemald's bid for an unshakable stranglehold on Yanxia. In the bustle of Doma's rebirth, the relative backwater had been nearly forgotten and left to fend for itself with the Garleans expelled and its ruling houses long since fled. Was she to be the voice of a people she ill knew, co-magistrate of a land to which she'd never been?
But it was not the country that motivated her. No, it was the people. It was Ayanga, her steppe-born swordsman caught, as was she, between two worlds; his heritage and the nation he'd adopted as his own. It was Tomoe, her attendant, the young Santakan blade whose quiet anger surfaced only in the momentary distance of her eyes or the set of her jaw; old and cooled like obsidian. Like a scar. The people of Santake were a distant dream but to these, her retainers, she owed a debt. She was their lady. She was the house they had sworn to serve.
Which path was she then to choose? Was to pursue them both to consign all to failure? Which was the old, which was the new? Which was reverent, which was selfish? If someone could but tell her what was most selfless, what was most respectful, what was most useful... But Michishio had only herself and the exhortations of her lord husband to pursue what she truly desired.
To forsake the life she'd built in Eorzea was to declare herself a servant no longer, beholden to none and defiant of all adversities. And yet... To do so would be to sacrifice part of herself in so doing. She was a servant. It was not some role she had adopted, it was her nature down to the marrow of her bones. To cast it aside would leave only the hollow shell of gold leaf and half-truths that comprised Lady Sakanoue. And yet, to withdraw from the court might well be consigning an untold number to languish in obscurity... and the betrayal of the hope placed in her besides. Could she be both, servitor and lord?
She did not know. She would have to try. Sloth was never one of her vices. She abruptly realized she'd been staring at the little garden's gatepost for the past several minutes and arranged herself more squarely at her table to finish her afternoon refreshment. Tomorrow would come, as it inevitably must, with a host of its own worries. For now, she could but fulfill her duties.
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Finished commission for two gaylas <3
Dunrai belongs to @dunrai-ffxiv , Ayanga belongs to @talesfromthegameff14 !
View the full version HERE
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Prompt #6: First Steps
( This is an accompaniment to @talesfromthegameff14 ‘ s story with the same prompt! Khenbish/Ayanga belongs to her :D )
She was finally back in Eorzea, thank the Twelve. It wasn’t an exaggeration to say that the redhead had promptly fallen to the ground to hug and kiss it after getting off that fucking boat.
It had been a horrible trip and she had nearly died. Fucking traveling by boat. Never fucking again. She would rather go back to Ishgard and freeze her twat hair off than ever step foot on anything that crosses large bodies of water.
Her savior had come in the form of an obscenely tall and uniquely colored Au Ra by the name of Khenbish. Well, a lot of Au Ra were uniquely colored, especially from a Hyuran point of view. Au Ra had even more interesting skin colors than Roegadyn! Plus the scales and the horns and the tail!
At first they kinda gave her the heebie-jeebies, as some of their features reminded her of dragonkin, but during her short stay in the East Aveis found that they were just people. Very different people, but still people.
...and well, for her, when someone tall, muscular and with one hell of a serious face saves you from being swallowed by the sea, you start to appreciate them a -lot-.
Initially Aveis was going to offer her thanks by means of a bottle of whisky she had packed away and maybe a few romps under her sheets, but Khenbish was tall, muscular, and Utterly Infallible when it came to natural charms and flirtations. (Much to her slight disappointment.) He seemed to only pay attention to her tales about Eorzea. That was fine and dandy. The more time she spent gabbing about Eorzea the less she had to think about the neverending sea that nearly made an Ishgardian treat out of her.
While he had paid plenty of attention to what she had to say, there is only so much one can tell, and when she discovered Khenbish in Ul’dah and heading to the Pearl Lane her instincts went haywire.
That lizard is about to get himself into serious trouble. I forgot to warn him about Pearl Lane!
Aveis was too late to stop him as he literally walked into a rather shady looking deal involving several Lalafell. The confusion was clear on his features as he looked at the men, who started to immediately harass him for interfering.
Before she could get to him they all pounced, and if it weren’t for the fact that there were so many of them she would’ve laughed at the scene. They all hung off the Xaela like ants, but the surprise was enough to send him stumbling a bit.
Unsheathing her rapier, the redhead sent off several bolts of lightning from her blade, quietly praying it wouldn’t backfire and hit her instead. For the most part her aim was true--she hit a few of the attacking Lalafell and once they were on the ground they scattered.
Only...one bolt wound up hitting Khenbish and the jolt sent him to his ass. When she finally got to him she found herself the subject of a glare. Aveis chuckled nervously while trying to ignore the way his tail lashed the ground.
“Those were not children,” he growled. “...and you -hit- me.”
“Sorry!” she chirped, offering a hand. “They were all over you. But uh, yeah. Sorry. If I had known you were going to Ul’dah first I would’ve told you to watch where you went.”
Khenbish took her hand then, and with a grunt he moved to his feet.
If only they had known those were the first steps to a rather...interesting friendship.
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Eclipse
The night was long and warm.
Quiet.
The day had gone along quietly; exactly as he had intended it to. The paperwork was done by Ayanga’s hands - The assets of their home, all of the financial accounts under his name, the lease to the house, how to handle Sakanoue and the Uyagir. His name on all of it… All of it, written neatly by the Xaela’s hands and tucked into a special box hidden away where only C’tolemy could find it.
- - -
Silver, Gold and Black all stared across the vast emptiness of their home; an endless sea of flowers in the middle of a valley, protected high by rock walls. Their hidden oasis. No attention was paid to the cracks across their person, how their porcelain-like bodies seemed to crumble and crack with each step they took. No, that wasn’t important. Preserving this place in time, to remember what it was and had been was the goal - one they would not fail.
- - -
C’tolemy had smiled and pulled his husband away from the lingering pull of responsibility - away from everything that could cut them deeper than it all already had and the both of them fell into a pile of softness and warmth, a distraction away from it all. There, they spoke quietly amongst one another, barely touching yet so close at the same time. Soft embraces were exchanged, senseless distractions to have a normal day. One last, normal day. He smiled. He laughed. He fell still when finally the warmth, tea and snacks had caught up to him and left them both too sleepy to do anything else. He fell asleep, comforted by the presence of his feline mate at his side - though C’tolemy knew that rest would only be brief before something willed him to be up and handling more things before the final day.
Ayanga always had something to do. Always.
- - -
Within, each iota of time was spent collecting their world together. Every flower. Every ray of light. Each blade of grass. Every rock. Every drop of water. All of it was deconstructed like the pieces of a puzzle - pulled inward and stored in the palm of their hands. Along with the deconstruction of his inner world came the deconstruction of his emotional and mental state. There would be far too much on the line and if he was not careful, he would undo all of their hard work should one emotion happen to take him too intensely when he couldn’t stand it anymore. He would not risk it, could not risk it. Silver and Gold merely smiled.
They’d lived long enough.
- - -
The hours ticked by in minutes and those minutes by in seconds, each moment categorized and stowed away in his conscious mind with the precious passage of time.
Only when the moon was high and his husband had fallen asleep for the night did C’tolemy finally unravel from his shell. Only then, did he excuse himself from bed to step outside, to close the door to their home and breathe in the chilled air of night and bathe in the light of the moon shining so fervently overhead. Only then, did he allow himself to weep to the intensity that he’d wanted to for what seemed like days. All of the pain, all of the distress, all of the clawing insanity that he felt gouging its way through his chest every time he looked Ayanga in the face fell out of him in a mess of bitter, chest rattling sobs and bile that splashed across dark stone. His grief was gripping and his madness was intense, shackling him with maddening strength and clutching down on his throat until all that could come from him were broken whimpers.
The dam had popped another hole, to express some of the mounting pressure - only for the hole to be filled in once he simply could not cry any longer. It would make some space, give him a little bit of wriggle room and a buffer that could protect his heart until he was ready to address all of… this. All of - of the pain, the insecurity, the terror, the desperation, the anger and all of the insurmountable distress that he’s held tight to his chest for months now. A pressure valve had opened, only momentarily and was shut tighter than it had been before. Nothing would come in and nothing would come out. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
There would be nothing.
- - -
A rocking motion, back and forth, a gentle sway in the warm breeze.
A laugh, a sharp retort and the most suffering sigh.
There was nothing left behind in the wide, unending expanse of blackness but a small box.
A plain white box, sealed with silver and gold ribbon.
- - -
C’tolemy spent the night watching Ayanga sleep; observing the details of his mate and etching them into what little he had left of his memory - writing a story of images that would tell a tale his words could not. So, now, his own gaze drifted over his visage, casting delicate sweeps across his blue-tinted profile. It made him happy to note the knit between his brows had eased slightly - it only ever did in his sleep. Eyes of pearl white traced his long nose, smooth cheek, and sharp jaw. The pale of his eyelashes. The hill of his soft lips. How his crimson eyes would stare into him as if there was little else in this world worthy of his gaze than the Miqo’te in his vision. He knit it all, precariously, into place in his mind’s eye.
Full lips curved into a smile as a tear drifted down his skin and soaked into the pillow under his cheek. The final part of him that clung to his humanity took one last look over the man that held his soul in his palms, ensured that the ties he made to strengthen their bond were rigid and enforced… and then he let go of the leash.
He would remember.
If he did nothing else, if he had nothing else, if he was nothing else.
He would remember.
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Battle Stats:: Bukh/Ayanga
This Battle Stat sheet urges you to balance your character’s prowess in battle with weaknesses that could be their downfall. Options are limited to better help you home in on their specialties. Challenge yourself to follow the limits!
Designed for the FFXIV universe.
Don’t reblog; copy/paste & REPOST!
Bold character strengths.
Italicize character weaknesses.
Both can apply to one item.
- Best Traits (bold 3, italicize 2):
Strength - Endurance - Defense - Dexterity - Intelligence - Magic - Charisma- Perception - Luck
- Battle Experience (bold 1):
Neophyte - Novice - Trained - Experienced - Veteran
- Proficiencies (bold up to 5, italicize at least 4):
Martial
Sword & Shield - Axe - Bow & Arrows - Spear - Greatsword - Fists -Daggers(Includes Knives) - Firearms - Other
> Arguably he'd be proficient in spears and greatswords due to the size and basic concept of usage, but any refined movements would not be within his skill range. Likewise, he would be proficient in the use of knives but strictly in the practice of preparing game.
> His proficiency with his fists is only on the account that he hunts with his bare hands.
> In the other category, he is proficient in using his teeth and tail in a fight, and in “improvised” weaponry which focuses on primitive weaponry.
Magical
Healing - Summoning - Fire - Water - Wind - Earth - Ice - Lightning - Dark - Light - Fate Manipulation - Song - Divine Favor - Other
- Range (bold 2, italicize 1)
Close - Mid - Long
- Special Abilities:
Where the Wild Things Are: Having lived his life in the subterranean ecosystem of caves, Bukh's senses and night vision have been honed to levels that allow him to thrive as a predator. He is more beast than he is person, allowing him to be more sensitive to things like impending natural disasters and weather changes.
Bukh'kumun: Legends of his tribe tell of the monstrous Bukh'kumun, a terrible beast that dwells in the labyrinthine tunnels that lie outside of the light of the Uyagir settlements. Raised to be a creature that was capable of perpetuating the myth and, if necessary, physically instilling fear into growth Xaelans, Bukh's massive frame is most certainly not for show. He is made of terrifying brute strength and isn't afraid to use it.
Tooth and Nail: As expected of a feral being, Bukh has learned to navigate both on his feet and on all fours. Finding it far more comfortable and quick to cover distances on the latter, he will do so to pounce on and pursue prey and foe alike.
- Weaknesses:
Guardian First: While a creature of instinct, Bukh was also raised on a principle of necessity. As the guardian of the deep caves, his main concern is to keep trespassers out of his territory, and tends to use intimidation first. His attacks are always defensive; he does not start a fight, but he will always finish it. This behaviour and mindset does not change outside of his caves, but rather develops into a strong sense of loyalty to Ark (@viirtuo). Unless verbally commanded to by Ark, Bukh will never be the one to make the first blow.
Say No to Magic: Having no exposure to magic most of his life, Bukh has no gift with magic whatsoever and is in fact quite vulnerable to it. While ice-, water-, and wind-aspected magicks are less effective (being a creature that’s endured harsh climes), he does not understand the workings of magick, and thus has little way of defending himself against it apart from natural resistances.
Negative Intelligence Modifier: Bukh is not smart. While his time spent in civilization has helped him learn (albeit rather slowly) social norms, his understanding of them is basic at best and is incapable of functioning independently within social situations, especially around strangers. He finds it far easier to let his friends do the talking.
Inner Beast: Both a blessing and a curse, Bukh’s feral core has not left him despite extended exposure and gradual assimilation into society. While mostly well-behaved within civilization (mostly he just shuts up and does whatever Ark and his friends tell him), battle and the uninhibited outdoors tends to bring out the wild side that normally would be kept obedient within a suit of plate metal. It is as dangerous for friends to enter Bukh’s attack range in the heat of battle; once he’s designated prey, anything between him and it is an obstacle that must be removed.
Tagged by: No one, but I saw it on @duskwights blog
Tagging: Whoever really -shruggggggg- maybe @aptapugilis, @hiemalstorm, @tornscales, and @xsynergia if you guys wanna/haven’t done it already??
#;headcanon#;headcanon:yisun'ayanga#i don't have a recent picture of ayanga so#shruuuuuuuuggggggggggg
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Prompt #18: A Fish Out of Water - Terbish
The hawk swooped at Terbish’s command, claws extended as it rocketed towards the surface of the sea. The waves were calm today, perfect for training with Tsetseg and it got her away from the house and into the open air. The bird’s claws dipped into the water before it pulled up and away, wing tips brushing against the ocean’s waves. Alas, it’s claws were empty.
A whistle to the hawk, Terbish holding up her gloved hand for it once it’s recovered from the dive. Obediently, Tsetseg flew over and landed on the hunting gauntlet immediately preening the wet tips of his wing feathers. “You’ll get it down! I know you will! The bird looked up with a single, golden eye, the pupil pinning before he goes back to preening away any traces of moisture on his feathers.
The hawk’s jesses were twined between the teen’s fingers as she continued to walk along the beach. The house was too small today, too many people, too much noise. Out here was better, it felt more comfortable, less out of place. She could be herself, whatever that might be. Papo said she’d figure it out but...
Wait, that was a glint just under the water!
Releasing the jesses, Terbish boosts Tsetseg into the sky, pointing where she saw the fish with a sharp, short whistle. The hawk instantly beat it’s way airborne, flying up high before circling in place once, twice, then down into another sharp dive. This time, when the powerful wings brought the hunting bird skyward once more there was a large fish secured in both claws. Laboriously, Tsetseg made his way to the beach, dropping the fish on the sand.
Terbish pounced on it before it could flop back into the water, putting a line through a gill and out the mouth to secure more easily than holding the slippery, flopping thing. A happy whoop from success and then a treat brought out of a bag for the hawk for his work. “Fish for dinner! I hope Papo likes it!”
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Old Ties, New Times
Content Warning: Violence, Blood, Vivid Injury Description
It never occurred to An to think that Khenbis..., Ayanga wouldn’t show up at the appointed time for the missive that An sent out. It simply wasn’t how things were done. No, instead he expected the xaela to show up early as was the man’s long time habit. Just as it was An’s habit the petite raen was perched in the shadows of a roofline on the edges of Shirogane to watch.
Yet? The time ticked closer without the expected arrival. The time came, then went, without sign of the xaela. It was two minutes and twenty-four seconds past when Aya came into view and An let out a pent up sigh. Late? Even a short time late was strange, almost unfathomable. But then it matched the xaela’s garb too. There were no signs of armor, instead it was purely practical. A warm jacket in shades of forest green and midnight blue, loose, dark pants, and well worn boots that allowed the taller man to move quietly along the stone paths. All in all the xaela looked like any other gaijin trader or moderately successful adventurer that settled in the allowed areas of the isle of Hingashi to live.
There was no knowing glance towards the rooftops, Aya heading to the beach via the docks. He didn’t take the stairs two at a time, or jump to the bottom. Instead, it was with a steady, deliberate pace that he took them. Strange and stranger, but An took it in stride and made his own way through the shadows cast by the waxing moon until he fell into step next to Aya.
“Good evening Hibuki.”
“I use An now.”
“I heard, I’ll use that now.”
“Thank you. Why did you take the name Ayanga? You held stubbornly onto the other.”
Only then did the too pale eyes shift to glance towards the smaller man. “It was a gift given to me. The time was right for it.”
The ghostly pink eyes with the bright, white limbal rings were enough of a shock that An stopped walking to simply stare for a moment. Aya stopped a stride later, turning towards the petite raen with the perfectly neutral mask that An had taught him.
“Your sight?”
“Mostly gone. I make up for it in other ways.” The words were said without hesitation or a waiver in the xaela’s voice. It had taken weeks of practice to manage to say that without flinching.
“I see.”
Aya smirked, “Where I don’t. But, we didn’t come here to talk about that, did we?”
A soft cough that was almost a laugh followed the xaela’s dry, but humorous observation. “Ahh, excuse me. No, we did not.” An started walking again, taking a moment to hide away the humor that had crept into his voice, “Duyi was captured. I don’t know if he is dead or not.”
Silence followed the statement, Aya taking a deep breath and letting it out in a heavy sigh a few moments later. “There is more.”
“Bullet casings were found where he was last known to be, the type that we are well acquainted with. I think our old friends are hunting. Others that helped us over the years have vanished or died in ways that are suspicious.”
“How many are left?”
“Too few. Me, you, Tatsuo, Chiyo, and Shun.”
It was Aya’s turn to abruptly stop, turning towards An with visible shock in his expression. “That’s it? I know not many of us survived, but there was...”
“Triple that, yes.”
<“Fuck.”>, the curse in Xaelic growled as much as spoken
An smirked, “That is a pithy way to put it.”
A noncommittal grunt was Aya’s only response as he turned and started to walk again.
“Can you defend yourself?”
That got another growl of annoyance before the snapped out reply, “Yes.” Aya stopped walking once more, turning towards An with a taunting smile on his lips. “Do you want to see? Make sure that I’m not crippled too?”
An briefly froze, heart fluttering in his chest to have that look leveled at him once more. It had been, how many years? He thought he was immune to the arrogance held in that look, yet he felt a little breathless and the yes came unbidden to his lips. It wasn’t said out loud though, the raen having just enough control to pause and reel in his wayward emotions. “It would be good to see if you can keep up with me yet.”
“Oh I can, but can you keep up with me? I’d say we could make a wager like we once did, but I’m not sure my mate would approve of me bringing you home all trussed up. He might, you are pretty enough to catch his eye.”
Wait, what?? WHAT?? Did he just offer...??? Now? After...?!?! No, no. He’s teasing. He has to be. It was years of habit that kept An’s voice as placid as a lake despite his dancing thoughts. “It is a moot point. You aren’t going to win.”
“We’ll see. You know where I live, yes?”
“I do.”
“Meet me there in half a bell, on the beach.”
“Alright.”
“Good, I’m looking forward to it.” Aya turns, heading back the way he came. After a few steps he calls out over his shoulder, “I’ll bring the rope, so you don’t have to worry about it.”
That.. that cocky bastard did not just???!?!?
”Bastard.”, is the hissed out curse, no more than a whisper to make sure he wasn’t heard. Yet, the damning chuckle that An hasn’t heard in years drifts back to him as Aya walked away. Did he hear? Of course, with his sight gone his hearing would... Damnit.
Precisely half a bell later the two au ra met on the beach. The tide was just starting to come in, gentle waves licking along the sandy shore a little bit higher at regular intervals. There were no words said, the two stopping at a distance just outside of a katana’s reach. They bow as one, long habit not forgotten despite the intervening years since they last spared.
Both were the epitome of composure as weapons were drawn. An’s daggers left their sheaths silently and Aya pulled the staff off of his back in equal silence. That got a brief flick of a tail tip from the far shorter raen, though he didn’t comment on it at all. It made sense, the staff is better suited as a blind man’s weapon. The pale glimmer in the crystals on either end of the wooden staff spoke of more than pure melee though.
Yet when the pair first crossed weapons, springing into action on some unknown que, it was staff to blade that clashed. Sparks rose where the daggers should have bitten into wood, the spinning staff deflecting the twin strikes with relative ease. The next pass was much the same, but ended with An leaping upwards and over the taller man when Aya tried to sweep An’s legs out from under him. A hiss broke the xaela’s silence from the slice along the top of his shoulder, tail lashing out to catch An’s hip and sending the raen tumbling across the sand.
“First blood.”, whispered An.
“First knock.”, came back the wry retort from Aya as he turned towards where An popped up to his feet.
Unseen to the raen, threads of aether followed him from the staff, looking much like puppet strings in Aya’s mind. They weren’t solid, but they tracked each of An’s movements as he circled around the xaela along the sand without even a whisper of sound. Aya opted to not move with him, letting the threads monitor his opponent. It still was disconcerting to do this with a person, it was easier with objects that didn’t move. But it was better than the whispers from the wind by malms.
The shallow cut steadily bled, dripping blood under the light armor the xaela wore. It was an itch of a nuisance, but the shinobi still kept more of Aya’s attention even though it didn’t look like it. Seconds slowly ticked by before An finally made a move, darting forward from behind where Aya shouldn’t be able to see.
Shouldn’t doesn’t mean can’t, Aya proving that point as he spun at the last minute so one end of the staff swung out at hip height. Reflexes born over a long occupation and war had An dropping almost flat to the ground to avoid the hit, then rolling to avoid the other end of the staff that swooped down towards him. The raen’s knife edged tail flicked upwards to try to slice at Aya’s arms only for something to wrap around it and yank it away. The grip disappeared as quickly as it occurred, not keeping An from rolling to the side and out of range of Aya’s staff.
How the hells? He’d swear that Aya didn’t release his staff, so what grabbed his tail? Aether, that was the only answer. Well, two could play that game. An hopped to his feet only to spin in place and seemingly vanish into nowhere. Nowhere that was atop the nearby beach shelter, slit eyes focused on the xaela to see how he’d react.
It was telling how Aya immediately stopped in place when the raen disappeared, threads following him to... there. The taller man didn’t turn towards the shelter, instead he waited, tilting his head from side to side as he listened to the breeze along the waves. Each second was counted out by the beat of his heart, the xaela patient until he wasn’t. The unseen threads between Aya and An vibrated before the wind responded to the Uyagir’s call.
A gust came off of the water and slammed into An’s side, catching the raen entirely off guard. He rolled with the impact, the heaviness of his feet thudding into the sand as he landed a subtle testament to the unexpectedness of the attack. An couldn’t take time to reorient himself, not with the ironwood staff descending upon him. It wasn’t often that Aya put the raen on the defense, An was well aware that the other man’s strength would make short work of any spar that he didn’t keep control of. The years hadn’t changed that, but it had changed how Aya fought.
So much for thinking this would be a quick win.
Duck, jump, dive, roll, An turning his tail to the side and sweeping across the sand to spray it towards Aya’s face. The grit was bothersome, but instead of stopping to deal with it the xaela simply closed his eyes. It cost him the bits of vision he clung to, but perception shifted and snapped into crystalline clarity with that simple gesture.
Now the threads didn’t tangle with sight, instead they crisscrossed like a spider's web in the area around him, each anchored to a point in space to stretch and shrink as Aya moved within the strands. No, not a spider’s web, but a tapestry. It was a thing of beauty, not true sight but vivid enough to stop the xaela in his tracks. The image was a living, breathing tapestry that had movement and nuance and pain?
A dagger sliced through leather armor, drawing a far deeper line along Aya’s back than An intended. The dance between them was always vicious, accidents were rare though. Particularly ones like this where the blade skipped along rib bones like a mallet drawn across a xylophone. The sound that came from the xaela was not musical, an abrupt scream turned into an enraged snarl. The threads vibrated from the touch of their summoner’s blood, the pale strands soaking up the liquid like a sponge. The carmine weave was almost invisible against the darkness of the night’s tapestry, but Aya didn’t need to see them. No, he could feel them intimately. After all, they were his own.
The reaction was instinctive to a wound too close to deadly for comfort, the staff was spun around him in a defensive maneuver despite the pain that lanced along injured muscles from the forced use. Some of the threads wrapped around the xaela’s torso, supporting muscles that shouldn’t be forced to work. The rest sought out the source of the pain even as An lowered his daggers to end the spar gone wrong. Why didn’t Aya move or block him? He had every other strike? Was the sand actually effective? It shouldn’t have been, yet?
“My apologeeee!!”, the raen’s voice pitching upwards in surprise as he’s lifted off of the ground by something unseen and pulled in close. The staff slides by a horn before coming to a stop less than an ilm away from crushing the opposite horn and caving in An’s skull. The look upon Aya’s face was a familiar one to the suspended raen, one of a man balanced on the edge of violence and teetering towards a bloodletting all too rapidly.
The threads holding An fast started to tighten, causing leather to creak and cloth to start to fray. It’s not long after that when the first of the conjured strands touches flesh and blood is beads up along his skin, further feeding the web that binds. Carmine is stained scarlet and a shiver runs up Aya’s spine, one side of his mouth turning upwards in a cruel smirk.
“Are you the one hunting us Hibuki?”
The switch back to that name couldn’t mean anything good. Was the gossip that the Enclave’s former captain was caught by the Warrior’s sickness true? No time to wonder. Calm, stay calm. Don’t prick the temper running like quicksilver and fire. “No.”
“No? I’m not certain I believe you.”
“What would I gain?” Calm and still as a pond in a bamboo thicket, there was no pain, there was no danger. There was only the face of the man he’d.. No, not that either.
Aya squeezed his eyes tighter before blinking rapidly, reaching up with a hand to wipe the grit and tears away. “What would your masters gain, you mean. Solve the mystery before you die, frame someone inconvenient, ingratiate yours into the Enclave further. I’ve heard the whispers, I’m blind not deaf.”
“There is no need for that.”
“No?”
“No.” It was hard to keep the pain out of his tone as more threads worked their way through his armor to his skin. The sensation was fire and.. No, it was fire and nothing more.
“Why then?”
“A mistake. You didn’t move like I expected when I attacked. Nothing more.”
“A mistake? You admit to a mistake while sparing?” The smirk melted into a half smile, the warrior stepping back from instinct and fury with a pained sigh. “It must be truth, you're far too proud to lie about that.”
The old joke had a laugh bubbling up from An’s chest despite it all. The threads binding him loosened, letting the raen drop lightly to the ground before shedding their carmine hue to turn softly translucent once more. “Do you need a healer, S.. Ayanga?” No, no he didn’t almost say... Calm and still as a pond. Calm and still and flushed as a mineral spring burbling from the depths. That’s, not calm.
The hint of deepening of color along An’s cheeks was lost to Aya, but the swift change of address and the hitch of the raen’s breath was not missed. “I did say I’d bring the ropes.”, though this hadn’t been what he meant, something they both knew. A familiar chuckle followed before the xaela shook his head, “I need healing, but I have potions in the house and someone I can ask for help should they not be enough. Do you need assistance?”
“No, I will take care of myself. When..” How to ask, everything?
“When did I learn that? Recently.” Aya taps the staff against the sand, “We’ll talk, soon. But for now I need to tend to my wounds before my daughter decides that politeness be damned, she will interrupt.”
“Daughter?”
“Yes, daughter. Rest well An, I’ll save the rope for next time.”
Aya walks off, leaving the raen staring after him with an unreadable expression. “If I didn’t know better I’d think you want to tie me up again.”
“I do.”, echoed back to An along with the sound of another set of feet, light upon the ground as they approached Aya. The raen stayed silent and still until the sound of a door closing reached his horns.
“Bastard.”, was finally muttered before An turned and walked away, lost in his own thoughts.
#FFXIV RP#OC Stories#ayanga uyagir#also Khenbish#an xaio#no gods no editing#owo what is this?#a new plot brewing?#parhaps?
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Eight
Slowly, Aya made his way up the stairs from the beach, taking the long way back to his house. Halfway up the stairs he gives a sharp whistle that echoes through the neighborhood. A slim figure that was running down the opposite stairs towards home freezes at the whistle, shoulders slumping before she turns and heads back up the stairs.
They meet on the path behind their home, Aya reaching out to wrap his arm around Terbish's shoulders with a smile. <"You'll still get your story, I didn't hear you or see you. The aether threads gave you away.">
<"Papa, that's cheating.">
<"It's how I see best Starshine, but it is unfair for this, which is why you'll get your story.">
Terbish huffed as if still upset, but she was unable to play the game for long. The huff led to giggles and her leaning against Aya as they approached the stairs home. <"Who was that?">
<"His name is Nariya, he's a new student I'm training."> It's said with a smile and a brief, happy swish of Aya's tail. It was healing to be able to still say that, still do that.
<"He seemed upset?"> She tips her head to look up at Aya, the almost question said with some hesitation. Nariya wasn't the only one that looked upset, but Terbi has learned it's best to not ask, not directly anyway.
Aya's steps slow a bit, both due to navigating the stairs and the question that wasn't asked. He lets go of Terbish's shoulders, one hand gripping the railing instead. Best to not risk pulling her down with him if he did fall. <"He was. He asked a question that wasn't easy to answer."> They both were.
Terbish briefly tensed when Aya pulled away, at least until she realized that it was for the stairs and not the question. It should be safe to ask more? Should... <"What did he ask?">
Ahh yes, the night was full of loaded questions. But, could it help her to hear it? Some of it at least? A lesson is a lesson, and sometimes they don't have to be taught the hard way. <"You remember how it felt when your mother died? That everything was sad and frightening? How people wanted you to do things you didn't want to do?">
A question answered with a question, she wrinkled her nose and thought about it. Maybe she didn’t want to know that much after all. Particularly when it comes to that. <“I remember”>
<”That happens to adults sometimes too, where it is all too overwhelming to sort through. When all you want to do is hide in bed, or go outside and howl at the sky how unfair it is.” A pause and a deep breath, <”Like when I lost my sight.”>
She wrapped her arms around herself as they reached the top of the stairs from a chill that had nothing to do with the warm, summer night. <”Uhhuh. I remember that too. You were grumpy.”>
A slow nod of agreement, Aya stopping at the last step to reach out to put his arm around Terbish’s shoulders again. <”I was.”> Another pause paired with a heavy sigh, <”I was scared, like you were then.”>
Wait, what? Scared? Seers never were scared!?!? Terbish looked up at him with shock, not that Aya could see, but he could hear it in her voice and feel it in her shoulders. <”You’re never scared Papa!”>
A lesson, a lesson to hopefully buffer the pain later. This wasn’t about him, this was about his niece. No, his daughter. She needed to know that there was more, before she found out the hard way herself. <”No, I’m scared sometimes. Everyone is Starshine.”> He squatted down, hands moving to her shoulders. Once balanced, He tips his head to the side and then up so he could meet her eyes as best he could. <”Being an adult isn’t about not feeling fear. Being a warrior isn’t about that either. It’s about knowing how to act despite the fear. To think instead of only feeling afraid.”>
When did she get so tall?
<”Is that why you kept encouraging Mede to swim when he was scared?”>
Aya smiles and nods, <”Exactly that, a person doesn’t become brave overnight. You don’t wake up one morning fully grown and fully brave. You learn it, though some are better at it from the beginning than others. You’re one of them.”>
<”I am?!”>
<”You are, but someday you’ll find yourself in a situation where you want to hide in bed, or lie down on the ground and never get back up. Where you can’t find the right answer to fix what is broken, or when it’s part of you that’s broken and hurting so much that it feels like nothing will make it better.”>
<”Like when Mom died.”>
Oh the guilt at that, it’s a fleeting thought. Only there for the pain he caused Terbish, not for his sister’s corpse rotting wherever the unclaimed dead are laid to rest in Ul’dah. <”Yes, and maybe even more.”> He let that sink in for a moment before continuing. <”That’s what he asked about. What do you do when life has hurt you so deeply that you don’t want to, don’t think you can, stand back up and be brave.”>
<”What did you tell him Papa?”>
Switching from Xaelic to Doman was easy enough for Aya, the words flowing with the cadence of a native speaker, >”Nana korobi ya oki”<
Terbish parroted the phrase, not as fluently as him, but still understandable. <”Fall seven times, get up eight?”>
<”Yes, Starshine. You take the time to rest, let your mind and heart heal, then stand up once more. The heart and mind need care and time to heal like the body does. Things won’t be the same as they were before, but you can get up again and move on.”>
She thought about it, pink rimmed eyes framed by furrowed eyebrows not unlike one Aya often shows when he’s thinking through something. <”Did it help him?”>
<”Yes, it did help him. Very much. There is hope in knowing that you can heal and stand back up after a fall.”>
<”Has it helped you?”>
Aya chuckles and nods, <”Every day.”> He reached up to ruffle her hair, earning him a smack on his arm and a squeal of protest.
<”Papa!! Don’t mess up my hair!!!”>
Laughing, he stands up, turning towards the path that leads to their home, <”Ready for a story now?”>
<”Yes! I want one about a girl whose papa doesn’t mess up her hair!!”>
<”You do? I don’t know any stories like that...”>
<”Papa!!!!”>
#ffxiv rp#oc stories#ayanga uyagir#also khenbish#Terbish too#Nariya is not my OC but the catalyst#just family things#no gods no editing
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Prompt #24: Vicissitudes
It was late when he finally came home, a very sleepy sister cradled in his arms. It was fitting to end it like this, popping into view on the front lawn with the Coeurl’s weight in his arms. It was strange for that weight to be so light, Aya having gotten quite used to carrying Tolemy home instead. It felt right tonight, Arha was the first Coeurl he met at the Mason, and now she was the last to bring home from it.
The bed was plenty big enough for the three of them, so he tucked her sleepy self into it only to find that his sister was part squid and wasn’t going to let him go anytime soon. A soft chuckle and he resigned himself to striping down to pants and tucking in close as she wanted. Not that it was a bad thing to be cuddled by two warm and comfy Coeurl, not in the least. But his mind was full of thoughts that made him restless, wishing to move.
He wasn’t about to deny a cuddly sister though, not with as rare as these moments happened anymore. Her scars sent her wandering as his made him want to put down roots. As much as he wished that it were otherwise, there was no force on this star that could make him try to coax her home more often. Her fire deserved to be free to burn and he’d kill anyone that tried to make it otherwise.
It wasn’t until the wee hours of the morning that Aya tried to slip away again, spending the lazy hours cuddled up in a half slumber, thoughts drifting through the memories that felt like a lifetime when they were only a few years and nothing more. This time he was successful, making his way out of the bedroom to silently wash up for the day. Then it was to where the diya were kept, making sure that the lamps were tended to as they should be.
He lingered far longer than usual, taking the time to trace his fingers over the detail of each lamp. Sun and moon, light and shade, fire and ice, the opposites that tugged on his life in so many ways that he could never say no to. Light, tears, laughter, and pain though above it all love. Love that held them all so gently, even when it cut.
It was the noise of others waking up that drew him out of his thoughts, Aya standing up and stretching with a grunt of discomfort as joints popped and muscles grumbled. As always time marched on and demanded the start of a day, and that meant it was time to cook the breakfast promised the night before. Even if the odds of a sleepy sister getting up to eat it were slim to none. He could always cook more later.
[Both of the Coeurl mentioned belong to @ala-mhinyan]
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Prompt #19: Turn a Blind Eye
It advances, engulfs, consumes.
Unblinking, the bloodshot eye peers down at the inky blot of nothingness that grew with every passing moment. Trees, mountains, cities all given the same ceaseless treatment, the presence rolling in like a fog, bringing the gloom of midnight to the brightest of noons.
It was a peaceful end. There was no screaming, no fighting, no acknowledgement of the doom that clung to spoken, animal, or insect. Instead a simple inhale of the mist within lungs, a moment for it to circulate and be exhaled was enough for life to end, the soulless husk falling to the ground as if asleep. Yet there was no breath, the eyes didn’t close, the heart didn’t beat, limbs moved no more.
Nothing survived.
No one tried to stop it.
No one cared.
Instead, the star was devoured in whole, the aether sucked out by the ravening beast that broke free of its prison only to find itself caught in another of its own making. Glutted beyond measure, there was only oblivion to consume and nothing more.
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Prompt #17: Novel
It was late, yet sleep was not coming to the xaela. It was so easy to get day and night mixed up now that light had less, and more, meaning to them than before. Something to be cherished instead of expected, but no longer the driving force between activity and rest. Add to that change a mate who preferred the night, children that couldn’t make up their mind, and responsibilities that demanded tending in the day? It was little surprise that a regular schedule of sleep was elusive at best.
At least it wasn’t nightmares that kept Ayanga up these days, that was an improvement. Was it not?
It did mean that the house was quiet, the various occupants either asleep or off to end to other duties. It left the xalea with a rare moment to himself, something he rarely sought out these days. To be alone meant there was silence, stillness, and isolation that was unnerving instead of soothing. Time ticked by differently with little to occupy it besides restless pacing and counting to ensure that nothing was bumped into or tripped over.
There was another possibility, something Aya’s been avoiding ever since the gift arrived from a sister that knew a little too well what that isolation was like. The box of books held a promise of hope that taunted the xaela with possibility. It seemed like a frivolous indulgence, or so he told himself as time passed and he left the box unopened. There were other things to learn, far more important things than that. Most people didn’t know how to read, the world was well suited for that at least. He would make do without and that was that.
It was a practical excuse that was still met with skeptical snorts from those who knew him best. Skepticism that Aya firmly ignored, holding his reasoning close to his heart. It was armor of sorts, protection from the disappointment he was afraid would follow when he failed. And that was the rub, fear of falling was becoming harder and harder to push back each time he did.
A life of picking himself up and moving forward when the path grew rocky didn’t prepare him for this challenge. Relearning how to eat, dress, bathe, walk, and simply live was a far different battle than any other he’s done. One more burden was something he could ill afford to carry, even with the hands that helped and lifted and tugged and pushed along the way.
It was different tonight though, the stillness was still scratchy and irritating, rubbing at his temper and turning him restless and grumpy. The thought of the box of books brought curiosity in equal measure with the fear this time, that change leaving the long and sharply scalled tail twitching and rattling in the wake of Aya’s pacing steps. It wasn’t long before he found himself pulling the box out from under the bed, using claws to finally open it up long past when he should have.
Carefully, the books were removed from the box, two different types from what he remembered. Strangely, it was easy enough to tell the difference between them. One was physically heavier, the pages a bit thicker and bulkier than he remembered. The others tingled along fingertips, enchantments to the ink lending to the sensation of more in his hands.
One of each was picked up and tucked under an arm, Aya retrieving his staff and preparing a tray for tea and snacks before he made his way to the hanging chair that was his favorite spot to... To do what? Read? The thought seemed ludicrous to him, yet he settled in anyway, habit keeping his movements steady and sure.
Fingers danced over the books before he picked up the tingling one and took a deep breath to brace himself. Another to reach to the staff at his side, the crystals set within the wood glowing softly at the touch of his will. Then the book was opened with a trembling hand, heart pounding from excitement and dread.
It took time, Aya staring at the pages as if he could will the pages to appear before him as they once did. They did not, but something else did. Shapes, aetheric and odd danced before his fractured vision. Try too hard and all of the writing done via aetherical ink showed despite the book being open to only one page. Try too little and nothing at all except the general shape of the book was perceptible.
It was something though, Aya’s breath catching in his throat as one word then another was picked out from the glimmering lines upon each page. It was difficult, but possible. Hope drove him forward and made the headache that bloomed in his temples as the hours passed worth it.
The night passed in a blur, exhaustion finally claiming the xaela as he fell asleep curled up in the hanging chair. It was how Tolemy found him in the morning, Terbish, Melody, and Zareen dealing with the children as to not wake the slumbering man. Tea long gone cold, snacks forgotten, but a hint of a smile on Aya’s lips with the book clutched tight to his chest.
[Melody belongs to @realmoffantasy
Tolemy belongs to @ala-mhinyan
Zareen belongs to @yzareenxiv]
#FFxivWrite2022#Write Month#OC Stories#ayanga uyagir#also Khenbish#just xaela things#progress comes in slow steps#he's healing as he should#family good#no gods no editing
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Prompt #13: Confluence
Every once in a while, fate takes a hand in the path of two people’s lives. The Weaver reaches out and plucks the threads of two souls out of the tapestry they are part of and twines them together in a confluence of that neither expected. These changes are sometimes just a whisper along the fabric of the two soul’s existance, as their lives entangle for a brief moment only to separate once more.
Other times the pattern is more complex, The Weaver ensuring that the two lives in question cannot be separated no matter what they might think. Time, space, even death brings the two souls together again over and over, destined to dance in harmony each time they tread the star. Well, most of the times it’s in harmony, sometimes it’s...
“TERBISH UYAGIR TAKE THAT HAWK OUTSIDE RIGHT NOW!”
“But Papa....”
“I don’t care that you saw a mouse in your room, the hawk belongs OUTSIDE.”
“But...”
“NOW!”
.....
......
........
“Terbish...”
“FINE!”
The door to the Shirogane home slammed shut a few moments later and Aya let out a long exhale. That exhale dissolved into laughter as he leaned back against the wall of Terbish’s room and slid down it to land on his ass. Feathers from the pillow the hawk demolished while trying to catch said mouse fluttered back up into the air as the Uyagir took an impromptu seat, several finding a new home in his pale green hair.
Quiet snickers joined him from the doorway, Tolemy walking in to see just what their daughter wrought. The Seeker took in the sight of the feather coated room in stride, before eyes tinted the softest of gold fell upon his mate who was trying to not laugh and failing miserably. Walking over, Tolemy picked up a feather and used it to tickle Aya’s nose, resulting in a loud sneeze that sent more feathers flying. The impromptu tickle fight ended in a long, gentle kiss and a quiet discussion about how to handle the angry pre-teen that was likely lurking outside.
No, not always harmony, but at least the chaos was entertaining.
[Tolemy belongs to @ala-mhinyan ]
#FFxivWrite2022#Write Month#ayanga uyagir#also Khenbish#also terbish#just kid things#family good#no gods no editing#down to the line once more
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Prompt #12: Miss the Boat
Writing Music: https://youtu.be/OWbDJFtHl3w
Life in the caves was far quieter these days. There were less people working, fewer teachers to instruct the tribe, even the children made less noise by virtue of reduced numbers and the haunted look left behind in their eyes. To hear one of the toddlers laugh was startling, bringing tears to the eyes of more than one adult who wished that the joyous sound would never end.
It always did though. Our yearning for how things were swallowed the laughter whole, hungry for more than one small child could provide with even the most boisterous of giggle fits. I couldn’t help but wonder, where did we go wrong? Once we held, was it hope? No, that’s too much of a reach for any of us Uyagir born. But we held content, quiet and peaceful, in our hearts.
The signs of the God’s, dare I say, favor blessed us the past few generations. The Seer’s were strong and dedicated, the ones of Chinua’s line were particularly blessed. They suffered for their strength, paid tribute to the Sun and the Moon, and served unflaggingly for generations. It all changed when Odtgerel dared to mate with one of the Sons of the Sun. Some whisper that it was a mistake still. The daughter had no skill as a Seer, only as a hunter, but the son? All the potential of Oktai but with the promise of trouble in his eyes.
Ahh, Oktai. I miss you brother. You saw that trouble as mischief and gave the love to your grandson that you didn’t give to your daughter. Was that where it all went wrong? Would Odtgerel have been less jealous if you had given her more of your time instead of leaving her training to the other Keepers and Seers? Would she have been content with her formidable abilities and kept to tradition instead of reaching to the Sun when Uyagir should not? Yet, how many of us would even be alive if she didn’t? Would you have been a strong enough sword and shield my friend to defend and kill those that turned within our own ranks?
Yet, for all that happened we seem to still hold the God’s favor. The gift of sight has not been struck from the Udgan’s eyes. A strong Seer still holds the First Stone and still protects the tribe despite being absent for so many years. The ones that called him false, Qacha and many of her followers, were all turned into Blasphemies as he called them. At first it was hard to believe, but news even reaches our caves when it is that momentous, the Dorthal bringing the warning to us far too late but no less needed. What he said was true. It flipped our world upside down once more.
I’m not sure how many more times this old heart of mine can take this much shaking, Oktai. Your grandson has a knack for this. I know you want me to watch him for as long as I can, but I think you and I will see each other sooner than later. I fear it, not for the passing into the peace of the long, silent night. But for what will happen to those I leave behind. The tribe looks to me more than ever, the Udgan is silent on these matters. Insisting that it is not her place to look beyond her duties.
That was true, once. Time has caught up with us brother, change is upon what remains of the tribe whether we like it or not. We can embrace it, or we can watch it pass us by. I fear what will happen if we do not change in the wake of the storm. Your grandson picked his name well, yet he provides despite the thunder he brings that has shaken those that remain down to our bones. He is smart, ensuring we have enough without it being too much. The children are fed, going to sleep every night with full bellies. The tribe is fed and warm, it’s not the luxury of feasts and soft furs that other tribes have. But it fits with our ways, simple food, warm blankets, medicines to see to our ills and lingering wounds.
He checks regularly, spending more time with the children than the adults for certain. At first I thought it fear, but now I see it as wisdom. The children laugh more when he is here, he teaches them the games he wasn’t allowed to play, tells them the stories he was told but in moderation. The lessons there aren’t dealt out with an iron hand, but with a warm smile and a patient heart. It’s hard to see him as other, an outsider then. He’ll always be different, but it’s easy to see that despite how far he has traveled that his soul still finds solace in these caves.
Even if we don’t embrace the change, he’s already doing it. The children will find it easy to follow him, I find it easy to follow him. The others? They look to me for guidance as I offer the man a smile and the embrace of family when he arrives. I don’t know if it will be enough, what do you think Oktai? Did your daughter save us or doom us when she poisoned you and took you from us? By the Sun and the Moon I don’t know anymore. All I can do is take it one day at a time and hope that is enough.
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OOC Info:
Oktai - Aya’s grandfather
Odtgerel - Aya’s Mother
Qacha - Aya’s youngest Sister on his mother’s side.
The Elder - Speaker in the story, oldest living Uyagir and contemporary of Oktai.
Sun: Reference to Azim without saying his name when capitalized
Moon: Reference to Nhaama without saying her name when capitalized.
#FFxivWrite2022#Write Month#OC Stories#ayanga uyagir#also Khenbish#just Seer things#headcannons galore#but it's fun#the sickness lingers#no gods no editing#no smell either but that has nothing to do with the story
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Prompt #9: Yawn
[Content Warning: Violence, Death]
The canyon spread out before her, the sound of the river many, many fulms bellow echoing up from the depths in a frisson of sound that was as indistinct as a whisper from too far away. It was softer than the gasps of her breath or the pounding of her heart in her horns. The moisture in the air was welcomed by a raspy throat and oxygen starved lungs, the xaela leaning on her staff as she struggled to regain her breath.
No time to rest, she could see the shadows of the riders on the other side of the gorge growing larger by the second. Looking behind herself all she could see was grass, no place to hide, no where to run to where horses couldn’t get. No safety, the bridge would slow them down for a short while. Not enough for her to get away, not with them on horses and her reserves nearly spent.
The babe in the bundle on her back stirred, a thin cry of discontent at being kept away from his mother’s arms, and food, for so long. She rocked in place without thought, sushing him softly. “Not now son, not now. Not yet. Soon I’ll feed you, soon.” It was enough to quiet the child, for now, but she knew it wouldn’t last much longer.
She didn’t want to kill the hunters, but they certainly wanted to kill her. Tired eyes went to the bridge, then to the riders, then back to the yawning canyon bellow. Kill or be killed, it was the way of the Steppes. “No choice.”, the former Ugden murmured, “No choice at all.”
Keeping the staff in hand, the woman turned and bolted once more. Her muscles had turned to rubber in the time that she took to rest, so the stumbling steps were not for show. She knew that the hunters could see her, heard their glee in their hunting cries as she stumbled and fell, then didn’t get up again.
What they couldn’t see was how she wiggled in the tall grass to face the bridge, crouching up just enough to better see the rope bridge and the hunting party that bore down upon it. They didn’t think, just as she expected, the excitement of their quarry making them dumb. Gripping the ironwood staff in the fingers of her left hand, she stuck one end deep into the earth and covered the crystal on the opposite end with her fingers before whispering words meant for the wind. The staff heated up in her hands, the crystals glowing bright with fire unseen by the ones it was summoned for. “May Azim have mercy on your souls.”, she murmured softly, holding the spell in wait for just the right moment.
It came quickly enough, the sound of approaching hoofbeats shifting from a solid thud to an echoey, wooden sound. At that first change, she sprung up to her feet, staff held above her head in both hands. The twin crystals at each end glowed brightly before a gout of fire shot out from each one, bright as the sun in the sky. The flaming projectiles split once, then struck the rope that held the bridge in place, burning through the supports clearly.
The rope bridge collapsed under the riders, horses and xaela both screaming in pure terror as they fell to their doom. The sounds were heard for far too long, though some ended early, either from impact against the walls or their hearts giving out from fear long before their lifeless bodies broke upon the rocks and water waiting for them.
The woman slammed one end of the staff back into the ground, holding onto it as she slumped towards the ground sobbing. There were so few xaela left, to kill more just so she could live? Was it right? Should she have let herself be captured? She screamed the questions to the wind but they went unanswered, only the babe on her back replied with his own cries of hunger and now fear.
Soon enough she pulled herself back up to her feet and started walking once more. There was no looking back. One could go forward, or not at all.
#FFxivWrite2022#Write Month#OC Stories#ayanga uyagir#also Khenbish#Just Seer Things#No gods no editing#i hate being sick#words good still
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