grumpylizardmonk

[grumpylizardmonk]

Nhaama …

“…….”

“…………..”

“Yeah, love you too.”

Joruri did not even bother to hide the sardonic smirk or the eyeroll at seeing his past opponent on the battlefield push past him.

It took all he had not to snicker smugly at the sudden heel-face-turn the former lovelorn khagan did the second he spotted his Nhaama. Seems like the hard-ass DOES have spot after all.

Casually, he glides over to a spot just off behind Magnai Oronir to better observe what happens next…

『Continued』

Magnai had grown rife with worry for his Nhaama by this time. He could not wait for Chanai’s return a moment longer. Many worrying thoughts swam through the Oronir’s mind, all of which he tried to shake off, but alas he found it impossible. He hastened his way out the doors, pushing through them abruptly with such brute force that the doors slammed violently and nearly got thrown off their hinges; in his urgency, he cared little for such things, so determined was he on going out to find his beloved. Inwardly he scowled, angry at Esugen for enlisting his Nhaama’s help with his menial tasks. Were anything ill to have befallen Chanai, the elderly man would be the one to blame! And besides, it wasn’t as if Magnai was giving the old man impossible jobs! All he had to do was cook! So what in the name of Azim was he thinking, sending Chanai out to the wilds alone?! The injustice of it all!

Such thoughts plagued him, that he didn’t notice the familiar face, one that belonged to a man he hadn’t expected to ever see again, as he nearly bumped into him. Nevertheless, the Oronir deigned to peer down at this particular Xaela, and his already poor mood worsened the moment he realized who this was, as he was made to remember all too vividly of the humiliation he had felt on the day he had lost the Naadam to …

“Joruri?! What are you doing here? Come to pour salt on old wounds? Well, I shall have you know that … “ he began, but bit back his tongue. Such trifles could be dealt with later. His golden eyes revealed his troubled heart, the fire strong as ever, yet frantic. “Tch. It matters not. More important matters are at hand, and I must see to them immediately!” With this said, he brushed past the monk without waiting for an answer, making a beeline for the landing dock, when he heard the unmistakable voice of his Nhaama and ran to the source with his arms outstretched, crying out with a relieved sob as Chanai met him halfway. Magnai smothered Chanai with many kisses as they embraced, the dark clouds that had stormed the Oronir’s mind already washing away.

“Chanai, my love, where were you? Where did that damned Esugen send you? I was so worried for you!” Magnai fussed over his nhaama, checking Chanai for any injuries, and breathing a sigh of relief when none were found. So absorbed was he in tending to Chanai, that he paid no heed to their surroundings nor to anyone who dared approached. All of his attention was on his Nhaama …

[grumpylizardmonk]

Joruri follows behind on his own Yol. While he generally has Althan, his griffin, insisting on toting him around, the Yol is more familiar with the winds on the Steppes and Althan is resting after a long hard day. And of course he enjoys every bonding opportunity he with the giant bird of prey.

For some reason, he never felt inclined to name the yol since their first bonding. It just never felt necessary, and the proud bird seems to prefer remaining nameless in the Spoken tongue.

It was not long before the Dawn Throne came into view as he and Chanai spiraled down to a landing. It does not appear much has changed since he last visited. Still a bunch of Buduga sparring with Oroniri, still shepherds bringing in their flocks for the day, still the same old stiff-faced guards who are most definitely NOT sideeyeing him and he is NOT sideeyeing them back.

And of course, beyond the doors is the world's Grumpiest Sun. Time to settle down and wait for Chanai to get them reacquainted.

[Closed RP prompt for @othello-nightshade and @magnai-oroniru ]

It was a clear day over the Azim Steppes. The grass of the plains glimmered with verdant gem-like radiance while the skies above shown a clear blue. A cool breeze breeze carried the sweet scent of the early spring blooms as shepherds tended to their flocks below.

Perfect day to drink in the chakras of home, Joruri had thought, seated cross-legged in a cliffside cave affording a good view of the Steppes, lost in deep meditation. It was a small opening, but also one that offered pure serenity with the everflowing waters pooling around him and pouring out through the mouth of the cavern. A small stream above feeds into this natural chamber, ensuring the crystalline pool never runs dry.

While the monks of Rhalgr often place emphasis on combat prowess to attune with one’s chakra with the land, for one who has already opened all their chakras, simple deep meditation provides even better conduction of the residual energies left from battles past. And of course, Xaela being who they are, the Steppes are practically churning with chakra from countless wars and battles fought for generations.

In a strange way, it was comforting. He was no Dotharl with their love of battle, nor Oronir with their strangely narcissitic yet honorable sense of duty to protect those they see as their charges. But a Kha lives for the moment; to experience the world and bring the best of it back with them.

And for Joruri, happiness is being able to take this outsider art and be able to experience his home few, if any, others of his kind ever will. As life comes, so comes death. With death, so life can spring anew. To build is to destroy. To destroy is to build anew.

Such is the fate the Nymeia spun for the world as she gave life to Rhalgr to maintain the balance of life and death and prevent any one god from overwhelming the others. Such is the way Azim and Nhaama eternally perform their celestial dance, ever watching the world, but never truly able to join their children in the world below.

Only the stars know the secrets of all, and only those with minds as clear as a still pond can catch their reflections.

That’s how the halfbreed monk sees it anyway. Born to a Raen mother and a Xaela father, he has the blood of Dawn and Dusk in him in the truest sense of the word. While the Dusk took most strongly in him, faint flecks of the Dawn manifest themselves as stars carefully concealed within his scales, as though the Spinner had decided to involve herself in the affairs of foreign gods and weave their essences together to create stars. Stars that flit about, whispering the secrets of Dusk and Dawn to one another.

A deep pulse and sharp surge pull his mind away from his silent musings and back into the raw power of battles past. The fierce conflict of his ancestors, the thrill of battle, the despair of loss, the roar of victory. The raging vortex of countless battle swirling through this unforgiving land is funneled through the streams, to the little pool in a distant cave, into the lone wayward monk drinking it all in in the hopes of enlightenment.

And yet…..despite the seeming isolation, he may not be alone like he thought. Especially not with the back entrance tucked away near the surface, nor the crags allowing cover for any potential visitors……..

[grumpylizardmonk]

“Though I wish people would forget the khagan thing sometimes because it’s not like it wasn’t just dumb luck I happened to be the one who had to go occupy the ovoo. I couldn’t show my face in my tribe for months without everyone messing with me about it. If anything, it’s a relief for Sunshine and Rainbows to take back his crown.”

“And if not, I wouldn’t be against another round of ‘Keep Away From The Giant Blazing Axe’ again.” Joruri chuckles and stretches before standing back up.

He gestures out through the opening, where the Dawn Throne stands malms away in all its glory. “Lead the way then, Tiny. I’m not sure if my khagan/guest privileges still hold so maybe if you’re in front, they won’t just shoot me down,” he quips with a wry smile.

[Closed RP prompt for @othello-nightshade and @magnai-oroniru ]

It was a clear day over the Azim Steppes. The grass of the plains glimmered with verdant gem-like radiance while the skies above shown a clear blue. A cool breeze breeze carried the sweet scent of the early spring blooms as shepherds tended to their flocks below.

Perfect day to drink in the chakras of home, Joruri had thought, seated cross-legged in a cliffside cave affording a good view of the Steppes, lost in deep meditation. It was a small opening, but also one that offered pure serenity with the everflowing waters pooling around him and pouring out through the mouth of the cavern. A small stream above feeds into this natural chamber, ensuring the crystalline pool never runs dry.

While the monks of Rhalgr often place emphasis on combat prowess to attune with one’s chakra with the land, for one who has already opened all their chakras, simple deep meditation provides even better conduction of the residual energies left from battles past. And of course, Xaela being who they are, the Steppes are practically churning with chakra from countless wars and battles fought for generations.

In a strange way, it was comforting. He was no Dotharl with their love of battle, nor Oronir with their strangely narcissitic yet honorable sense of duty to protect those they see as their charges. But a Kha lives for the moment; to experience the world and bring the best of it back with them.

And for Joruri, happiness is being able to take this outsider art and be able to experience his home few, if any, others of his kind ever will. As life comes, so comes death. With death, so life can spring anew. To build is to destroy. To destroy is to build anew.

Such is the fate the Nymeia spun for the world as she gave life to Rhalgr to maintain the balance of life and death and prevent any one god from overwhelming the others. Such is the way Azim and Nhaama eternally perform their celestial dance, ever watching the world, but never truly able to join their children in the world below.

Only the stars know the secrets of all, and only those with minds as clear as a still pond can catch their reflections.

That’s how the halfbreed monk sees it anyway. Born to a Raen mother and a Xaela father, he has the blood of Dawn and Dusk in him in the truest sense of the word. While the Dusk took most strongly in him, faint flecks of the Dawn manifest themselves as stars carefully concealed within his scales, as though the Spinner had decided to involve herself in the affairs of foreign gods and weave their essences together to create stars. Stars that flit about, whispering the secrets of Dusk and Dawn to one another.

A deep pulse and sharp surge pull his mind away from his silent musings and back into the raw power of battles past. The fierce conflict of his ancestors, the thrill of battle, the despair of loss, the roar of victory. The raging vortex of countless battle swirling through this unforgiving land is funneled through the streams, to the little pool in a distant cave, into the lone wayward monk drinking it all in in the hopes of enlightenment.

And yet…..despite the seeming isolation, he may not be alone like he thought. Especially not with the back entrance tucked away near the surface, nor the crags allowing cover for any potential visitors……..

[grumpylizardmonk]

“Eh, apparently that’s something that can happen when you’re half Raen. “Joruri rolled his eyes in amusement at the tiny punk’s flowery language before casually stepping away from his spot so his scales are less reflective.

“In answer to your question, first of all, I’m pretty sure everyone on the Steppes knows the Buduga. They’re the guys parents tell their sons to watch our for and be good or they’ll snatch you away, blah blah blah.” Well, he was only slightly exagerrating, but he remembered his mother making a point of keeping him very well guarded whenever they pass through the Steppes.

“Though even if that wasn’t the case, yes I’ve met Lord Sunshine and Ser ‘Please Wear Actual Pants’. Though seriously, it’s hard to forget an entire tribe dressed like a bunch of what Westerners would call ‘exotic dancers’”. He snorts at his own roasts of the aforementioned khagans.

“May as well cut to the chase if you know those guys. I’m Joruri Kha: adventurer, drifter, Monk-also known as ‘Glorified Meathead Who Punches Shit’ to some people. I introduced ol’ Mags to my fists and boots a couple Naadams ago in service to the Mol tribe. May or may not have traded some with Dai somewhere in the middle, but it’s kinda hard to tell when everyone is yelling and kicking and trying to gut you.”

He gestures to his clearly foreign garb. “And as you can probably gather, I am and I am not from here. We Khas were never big traditionalists, but my father took it a step further and I’m the result. Just some dumbass who goes everywhere and mingles with outsiders and going native with them.”

A breeze blows into the cave, and Joruri takes the opportunity to kneel down so he’s eye-level with this strange undersized kin of his.

“So who are you then, kiddo? You called Ol’ Sunnyside your husband, and all I have to say is, I didn’t even know he swing that way,” he chuckled and rumpled the kid’s hair. “Glad he widened his pool a bit because I was starting to feel embarassed for him the number of times he came onto some female friends of mine.”

[Closed RP prompt for @othello-nightshade and @magnai-oroniru ]

It was a clear day over the Azim Steppes. The grass of the plains glimmered with verdant gem-like radiance while the skies above shown a clear blue. A cool breeze breeze carried the sweet scent of the early spring blooms as shepherds tended to their flocks below.

Perfect day to drink in the chakras of home, Joruri had thought, seated cross-legged in a cliffside cave affording a good view of the Steppes, lost in deep meditation. It was a small opening, but also one that offered pure serenity with the everflowing waters pooling around him and pouring out through the mouth of the cavern. A small stream above feeds into this natural chamber, ensuring the crystalline pool never runs dry.

While the monks of Rhalgr often place emphasis on combat prowess to attune with one’s chakra with the land, for one who has already opened all their chakras, simple deep meditation provides even better conduction of the residual energies left from battles past. And of course, Xaela being who they are, the Steppes are practically churning with chakra from countless wars and battles fought for generations.

In a strange way, it was comforting. He was no Dotharl with their love of battle, nor Oronir with their strangely narcissitic yet honorable sense of duty to protect those they see as their charges. But a Kha lives for the moment; to experience the world and bring the best of it back with them.

And for Joruri, happiness is being able to take this outsider art and be able to experience his home few, if any, others of his kind ever will. As life comes, so comes death. With death, so life can spring anew. To build is to destroy. To destroy is to build anew.

Such is the fate the Nymeia spun for the world as she gave life to Rhalgr to maintain the balance of life and death and prevent any one god from overwhelming the others. Such is the way Azim and Nhaama eternally perform their celestial dance, ever watching the world, but never truly able to join their children in the world below.

Only the stars know the secrets of all, and only those with minds as clear as a still pond can catch their reflections.

That’s how the halfbreed monk sees it anyway. Born to a Raen mother and a Xaela father, he has the blood of Dawn and Dusk in him in the truest sense of the word. While the Dusk took most strongly in him, faint flecks of the Dawn manifest themselves as stars carefully concealed within his scales, as though the Spinner had decided to involve herself in the affairs of foreign gods and weave their essences together to create stars. Stars that flit about, whispering the secrets of Dusk and Dawn to one another.

A deep pulse and sharp surge pull his mind away from his silent musings and back into the raw power of battles past. The fierce conflict of his ancestors, the thrill of battle, the despair of loss, the roar of victory. The raging vortex of countless battle swirling through this unforgiving land is funneled through the streams, to the little pool in a distant cave, into the lone wayward monk drinking it all in in the hopes of enlightenment.

And yet…..despite the seeming isolation, he may not be alone like he thought. Especially not with the back entrance tucked away near the surface, nor the crags allowing cover for any potential visitors……..

[grumpylizardmonk]

Sea green eyes flicked open as Joruri turned to the source of his interrupted reverie. At first glance, the intruder appears to be a young boy until Jor noticed his face belying his actual age. Huh, he didn’t even know males of his kind could turn out that small. And this punk appears to be wearing the distinctively revealing grab of the Buduga tribe.

Remaining seated, he turns to face his unexpected visitor and stares puzzledly at him.

“...”

“.......”

“...........”

“....You’re awfully tiny for a Buduga bastard. Did ya shrink in the wash or did you get on the wrong end of a thaumaturgy spell?”

[Closed RP prompt for @othello-nightshade and @magnai-oroniru ]

It was a clear day over the Azim Steppes. The grass of the plains glimmered with verdant gem-like radiance while the skies above shown a clear blue. A cool breeze breeze carried the sweet scent of the early spring blooms as shepherds tended to their flocks below.

Perfect day to drink in the chakras of home, Joruri had thought, seated cross-legged in a cliffside cave affording a good view of the Steppes, lost in deep meditation. It was a small opening, but also one that offered pure serenity with the everflowing waters pooling around him and pouring out through the mouth of the cavern. A small stream above feeds into this natural chamber, ensuring the crystalline pool never runs dry.

While the monks of Rhalgr often place emphasis on combat prowess to attune with one’s chakra with the land, for one who has already opened all their chakras, simple deep meditation provides even better conduction of the residual energies left from battles past. And of course, Xaela being who they are, the Steppes are practically churning with chakra from countless wars and battles fought for generations.

In a strange way, it was comforting. He was no Dotharl with their love of battle, nor Oronir with their strangely narcissitic yet honorable sense of duty to protect those they see as their charges. But a Kha lives for the moment; to experience the world and bring the best of it back with them.

And for Joruri, happiness is being able to take this outsider art and be able to experience his home few, if any, others of his kind ever will. As life comes, so comes death. With death, so life can spring anew. To build is to destroy. To destroy is to build anew.

Such is the fate the Nymeia spun for the world as she gave life to Rhalgr to maintain the balance of life and death and prevent any one god from overwhelming the others. Such is the way Azim and Nhaama eternally perform their celestial dance, ever watching the world, but never truly able to join their children in the world below.

Only the stars know the secrets of all, and only those with minds as clear as a still pond can catch their reflections.

That’s how the halfbreed monk sees it anyway. Born to a Raen mother and a Xaela father, he has the blood of Dawn and Dusk in him in the truest sense of the word. While the Dusk took most strongly in him, faint flecks of the Dawn manifest themselves as stars carefully concealed within his scales, as though the Spinner had decided to involve herself in the affairs of foreign gods and weave their essences together to create stars. Stars that flit about, whispering the secrets of Dusk and Dawn to one another.

A deep pulse and sharp surge pull his mind away from his silent musings and back into the raw power of battles past. The fierce conflict of his ancestors, the thrill of battle, the despair of loss, the roar of victory. The raging vortex of countless battle swirling through this unforgiving land is funneled through the streams, to the little pool in a distant cave, into the lone wayward monk drinking it all in in the hopes of enlightenment.

And yet…..despite the seeming isolation, he may not be alone like he thought. Especially not with the back entrance tucked away near the surface, nor the crags allowing cover for any potential visitors……..

[grumpylizardmonk]

[Closed RP prompt for @othello-nightshade and @magnai-oroniru ]

It was a clear day over the Azim Steppes. The grass of the plains glimmered with verdant gem-like radiance while the skies above shown a clear blue. A cool breeze breeze carried the sweet scent of the early spring blooms as shepherds tended to their flocks below.

Perfect day to drink in the chakras of home, Joruri had thought, seated cross-legged in a cliffside cave affording a good view of the Steppes, lost in deep meditation. It was a small opening, but also one that offered pure serenity with the everflowing waters pooling around him and pouring out through the mouth of the cavern. A small stream above feeds into this natural chamber, ensuring the crystalline pool never runs dry.

While the monks of Rhalgr often place emphasis on combat prowess to attune with one’s chakra with the land, for one who has already opened all their chakras, simple deep meditation provides even better conduction of the residual energies left from battles past. And of course, Xaela being who they are, the Steppes are practically churning with chakra from countless wars and battles fought for generations.

In a strange way, it was comforting. He was no Dotharl with their love of battle, nor Oronir with their strangely narcissitic yet honorable sense of duty to protect those they see as their charges. But a Kha lives for the moment; to experience the world and bring the best of it back with them.

And for Joruri, happiness is being able to take this outsider art and be able to experience his home few, if any, others of his kind ever will. As life comes, so comes death. With death, so life can spring anew. To build is to destroy. To destroy is to build anew.

Such is the fate the Nymeia spun for the world as she gave life to Rhalgr to maintain the balance of life and death and prevent any one god from overwhelming the others. Such is the way Azim and Nhaama eternally perform their celestial dance, ever watching the world, but never truly able to join their children in the world below.

Only the stars know the secrets of all, and only those with minds as clear as a still pond can catch their reflections.

That’s how the halfbreed monk sees it anyway. Born to a Raen mother and a Xaela father, he has the blood of Dawn and Dusk in him in the truest sense of the word. While the Dusk took most strongly in him, faint flecks of the Dawn manifest themselves as stars carefully concealed within his scales, as though the Spinner had decided to involve herself in the affairs of foreign gods and weave their essences together to create stars. Stars that flit about, whispering the secrets of Dusk and Dawn to one another.

A deep pulse and sharp surge pull his mind away from his silent musings and back into the raw power of battles past. The fierce conflict of his ancestors, the thrill of battle, the despair of loss, the roar of victory. The raging vortex of countless battle swirling through this unforgiving land is funneled through the streams, to the little pool in a distant cave, into the lone wayward monk drinking it all in in the hopes of enlightenment.

And yet.....despite the seeming isolation, he may not be alone like he thought. Especially not with the back entrance tucked away near the surface, nor the crags allowing cover for any potential visitors........

[grumpylizardmonk]

MUSE INTERVIEW!

█ FILL IN THE QUESTIONS AS IF YOU ARE BEING INTERVIEWED FOR AN ARTICLE AND YOU WERE YOUR MUSE.

TAGGED BY @magnai-oroniru TAGGING @meteormemoirs

-quietly groaning in resignation at the Mythril Eye reporter haranguing him-

01. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?               ❝Joruri Kha❞

02. WHAT IS YOUR REAL NAME?               ❝Oh sorry. I am actually the fucking Sultana herself wearing stilts and a fuckton of makeup❞  

-the reporter appears very taken /aback-

03. DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU’RE CALLED THAT?

            ❝I’m going to assume you’re throwing out the last question for your benefit. My father is a Xaela of the Kha, a tribe known for actively seeking out non-Auri and integrating aspects of their culture into our own. My mother is a Raen who settled in with him. They were adventurers when they first met, she a chirugeon and he a bard. When it came time to choose a name for their child, my father, ever the musician and a Kha, wanted me to have a Doman name that also follows Xaela tradition. He had a particular fondness for bunraku, a traditional Doman puppet theatre, which he had seen while traveling with Mother. So they settled on Joruri, the narrative songs sung for bunraku. I guess he was hoping I’d have a good story to tell in my life.❞

-a small smile breaks out as he fondly recalls his father’s tastes and his mother’s happiness to go along with them-

04. ARE YOU SINGLE OR TAKEN?             ❝I stay with someone when I’m in Ishgard.❞ 

((He’s with Sidurgu, but it’s not something he waves around freely. The tabloid reporter’s disappointment will only grow from here, alas))

05. WHAT ARE YOUR POWERS AND ABILITIES?            ❝I punch shit.❞ 

((translation: he’s a monk

not spoken: he’s dark knight on the side, occasional astrologian, and part-time dancer))

06. WHAT COLOR ARE YOUR EYES?            ❝.....You have eyes right? Why don’t you tell me?❞

((he has aqua irises with sea green limbal rings))

07. HAVE YOU EVER DYED YOUR HAIR?            ❝My hair’s always been the same since I was born.❞ 

08. DO YOU HAVE ANY FAMILY MEMBERS?            ❝My parents back home in Othard. And I guess there’s my own family in Ishgard...❞ 

((He considers Sidurgu and Rielle part of his family))

09. DO YOU HAVE ANY PETS?            ❝ Mori’s been a good friend to me since the moment he chose me when I was sent for my Company Chocobo. Althan, I met while exploring Cloudtop and found him beaten up by some stupid Vundu punks because he got caught in a trap and of course they couldn’t resist the chance to torture a griffin to death. He’s been insisting on following me since for some reason. Ben, he was a griffin hatchling some dumbass in Clan Centurio orphaned and then felt bad for. He got taken back to the Forgotten Knight and I decided to take him in.❞

-He gives the baby griffin an affectionate scratch behind the ears-

10. DO YOU HAVE ANY HOBBIES OR ACTIVITIES YOU DO IN YOUR SPARE TIME?            ❝I weave.❞

11. HAVE YOU EVER HURT ANYONE BEFORE?            ❝I’m an adventurer and a lieutenant of the Immortal Flames. What do you think?❞

12. HAVE YOU EVER… KILLED ANYONE?             ❝I know you’re killing me with all the stupid questions.❞

13. WHAT KIND OF ANIMAL ARE YOU?            ❝What kind of idiot are you?❞ 

14. NAME YOUR WORST HABITS. 

          ❝Apparently indulging dumbass hack reporters.❞

15. DO YOU LOOK UP TO ANYONE?           ❝My parents. Mother is a chirugeon, father is a talented bard.❞

16. GAY, STRAIGHT, OR BISEXUAL?           ❝I suddenly feel an urge to eat cake and I don’t know why.❞

((He’s greyro ace and wouldn’t know what a romance is if you smacked him with......apart from Sid anyway, though he’s still about as romantic as a brick wall))

17. DO YOU EVER WANT TO MARRY AND HAVE KIDS SOMEDAY?           ❝I’ve more or less settled in with my partner, and we’ve got an adopted kid with us. Poor thing was treated like shit by her own mother, so we took care of that issue.❞

-he would not elaborate further, nor answer any more questions on the subject-

((He and Sid haven’t officially done a Bonding ceremony, but they’re content with things as they are at the moment. Maybe eventually they will but they’ve got other things to worry about. And yes, the kid in question is Rielle. Unofficially, Joruri adopts every child he meets.))

18. DO YOU HAVE ANY FANS?           ❝Given how many kids insist on following me and shooting away at me with questions, I guess so.❞

19. WHAT ARE YOU MOST AFRAID OF?           ❝...❞

-He is silent-

((greatest fear is losing everyone he loves. especially true after having to lose many friends))

20. WHAT DO YOU USUALLY WEAR?           ❝Not normally a uniform type of guy, but I always keep my coat from the Flames on if I can help it.❞

21. DO YOU LOVE SOMEONE?           ❝.....❞

          ❞Many someones. ❞

-he stares off as though lost in thought-

22. WHAT CLASS ARE YOU?           ❝Just a wayward monk. Not much to say.❞

((see ooc answer to abilities question for the real answer))

23. HOW MANY FRIENDS DO YOU HAVE?          ❝Enough to hurt sometimes.❞

24. WHAT ARE YOUR THOUGHTS ON PIE?          ❝I see it, I eat it.❞

((especially if it happens to be meat pie, and definitely one of Mother Mionne’s eel pies))

25. FAVORITE DRINK?          ❝Anything involving fruit. Lassi. Any Othardian alcohol and tea.❞

26. WHAT’S YOUR DICK SIZE?         ❝Why don’t you ask your mother?❞

-he smirks sardonically at the appalled reaction-

27. WOULD YOU RATHER SWIM IN THE LAKE OR THE OCEAN?         ❝Ocean❞

((cue “Ocean Man” playing))

28. WHAT’S YOUR ‘TYPE’?         ❝The type who won’t ask random stupid and personal questions.

29. ANY FETISHES?         ❝Do I look like a thaumaturge to you?❞

-knows full well what the interviewer means but is being deliberately obstinate out of spite at this point-

30. TOP OR BOTTOM? DOMINANT OR SUBMISSIVE?         ❝I am going to stick my boot on TOP of your BOTTOM if you don’t stop DOMINATING this interview with idiotic questions you want to SUBMIT answers to.❞

31. CAMPING, OR INDOORS?         ❝Whichever is available.❞

32. ARE YOU WAITING FOR THIS INTERVIEW TO BE OVER?         ❝Gee, I wonder what gave that away?❞

[grumpylizardmonk]

Nothing better than soaring over the land on griffin-back.

[grumpylizardmonk]

Joruri Kha

THE BASICS ––– –

Age: 24

Birthday: 2nd Sun of the 1st Astral Moon

Race: Auri Xaela (technically half-Raen)

Gender: Male

Sexuality: Greyro Ace

Marital Status: with Sidurgu (if WoL; probably single otherwise depending on rp circumstance)

Server: Zalera (Crystal)

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE ––– –

Hair: Deep blue w/ sea green highlights

Eyes: Dark green iris w/ bright sea green limbal rings

Height: 7′2″

Build: Sleeker side of buff

Distinguishing Marks: Golden paint across his face and dotted around an eye; also has very tiny pinprick speckles of white on his scales and horns resembling stars on a night sky if the light hits them right

PERSONAL ––– –

Profession: Monk (occasional Dark Knight in the background)

Hobbies: Mainly Astrology, Dancing, and Weaving

Languages: Common, Auri, Doman

Pets: Mori (his chocobo), Altan (a griffin he tamed and befriended), and Ben (a griffin hatchling he adopted from Clan Centurio)

Residence: Mainly Ul’dah

Birthplace: Azim Steppes

Religion: Both Auri religion and The Twelve

Patron Deity: Nymeia

Personality: Fairly stoic for the most part when in public, with plenty of snark to spare for the right occasions. Opens up more when he knows someone enough to trust them, which reveals an amicable young man with a dry sense of humor. Prefers to let his actions speak for him most of the time, but perfectly capable of speaking more poetically if he feels it. Fiercely protective of loved ones and children. Will adopt every child within a 50-malm radius.

Fears: Losing loved ones, probably Morbols

RELATIONSHIPS ––– -

Romantic Partner: Sidurgu Orl (mainly for WoL story; may not apply in rp)

Companions: (these characters will only be present on this blog in the form of written vignettes or text rps because I can’t be arsed with alts)

              - K’Aisa, a hyper female 14-year-old Miqo’te mage whom he can never convince to stop following him into dangerous situations. It is only by Jor’s weakness for cute fluffy things (that he will never admit to) that she is allowed to climb all over him and hang off his horns (ouch!).

              - Turogo Aturogo, a male Lalafellin thaumaturge with a dry sense of humor who is pretty much Joruri’s best friend. They frequently sass each other between drinks when lounging at an inn or tavern.

Background ––– -

The child of a traveling Raen chirugeon and an adventurous Xaela bard of the Kha tribe, Joruri (affectionately referred to as “Jor” by his Eorzean friends and comrades) lived most of his life plunging headfirst into many novel experiences. This is especially true as a member of the Kha tribe who are known for adopting many cultural practices of outsiders they meet.

While he was born in the Steppes and spent much of his early childhood there, the Garlean occupation of Othard would ultimately drive his parents to frequently travel about the continent to assist those suffering under the empire. As a result, young Joruri is no stranger to hardship, having had to aid his mother in tending to the sick and wounded as well as aiding his father in defending the commonfolk from more physical enemies and raising their spirits (he was always fond of his father’s songs and was encouraged to dance from the first time he did such as a toddler).

Although he admired his mother’s conjury and his father’s archery, Joruri always favored using his own body as a weapon and spent much of his spare time practicing barehanded fighting. When he’s not honing his body, he would peruse the numerous books his parents procured for him on their travels. From there, he learned of the Ala Mhigan monks and took an instant fascination with their techniques.

Some time after reaching adulthood, Jor realized that things will only get worse in Othard as the Garleans tighten theit grip. At the same time, he has no desire to abandon his family to an unknown fate. Until one fateful day they were caught in the midst of a raid that injured his father. It was during the night he heard a mysterious call urging him to go overseas to Eorzea, where he will find the answer to saving his homeland from its fate...

After leaving his parents safely in the care of his father’s tribe, Joruri would take a merchant ship bound for Thanalan, where the first of his many journeys would begin.