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sea-and-storm · 2 years

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FFXIV WRITE 2022 Prompt #3: Temper (Ghoa)

------------------------------------------------------------------------------TRIGGER WARNINGS: Captivity/confinement, addiction, grief, survivor's guilt, fear of death, and just.. a lot of Heavy Shit(tm). ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The creaking of an unseen door and the sound of heavy, armored footfalls approaching roused Ghoa from her state of fitful half-sleep, pushing herself up from the makeshift cot upon which she had languished now for days.

As soon as looked in the direction of the footsteps' approach and her tired eyes once more landed upon the sturdy iron bars keeping her here, she felt her stomach churn with nausea all over again. After the series of events in the Steppe and those in Kugane that had brought her to Thavnair, the Mankhad still could not acclimate to her present state of captivity.. Even if it were wholly deserved and a dilemma entirely of her own making.

It had been nearly a week ago by her figuring since she had been detained by the Radiant Host and brought to the gaol, though it had seemed an eternity longer in her mind. Locked away in a cell with nothing to occupy her except for the unrelenting anxiety in the back of her mind, time crawled by with excruciating languidity. Kept in solitude away from others, her only company was the immense guilt that hung over her like a headsman’s axe.

If she had known then what she knew now, Ghoa never would’ve taken the commission that had landed her in this precarious situation. Yet she had been blinded to the potential repercussions by the promise of substantial coin - fuel to further feed the vices that she had fallen into in order to escape the specter of past failings that had returned to haunt her.

When the ghost of Ino had finally caught up with her in Radz-at-Han, she had first tried hard to fight against it. Yet she had found herself lacking the strength to withstand it whenever it came calling in her dreams, much less when its shadowy figure began to infiltrate even her waking moments. All she knew to do was that which she had done all her life: run away.

Leaving Radz-at-Han physically hadn’t been an option. The wages that Ghoa earned by her apprenticeship were enough only to eke out a modest living on top of the free lodgings and access to materials and tools it provided her. She hadn’t the same glut of coin at her disposal as she had when she had left Kugane, funded by Hisanobu’s guilt and affections. Besides, if this ghost had followed her here across the sea’s great expanse once already, it stood to reason that it would follow again no matter what distant shores she eventually found herself upon.

Ghoa knew then she had to flee in other ways. Drink and drug to numb her body and soul to the pains of the past. Companionship to replace the cold, dead eyes staring back at her in her mind's eye with those yet filled with light and life. All things readily available in this city of hedonism and plenty, if only one had the coin to afford it. And on a student’s earnings, afford it she could not.

After she had left Kugane, the young alchemist had told herself that she would no longer use the skills she had honed under Hisanobu’s tutelage. No more dealings within the seedy underbelly of a city that would eat her whole if only she gave it half a chance. No more succumbing to the siren’s call of the droves of coin to be had if only one were willing to set aside their moral compass. No more using her brilliance to do harm for profit when she was capable of doing so much good instead.

She had not only made that promise to herself, but to the very mentor that had taken her under their wing. But still, despite her intentions at the time, Ghoa had broken her word to them both.

As it turned out, illegal tinctures and tonics sold even better in the Near East than they had in Hingashi. The alchemical underground of Radz-at-Han was alive and well, buzzing with opportunity for coin. Even besides the locals, there was a constant supply of foreign traders looking to get their hands on such goods to smuggle back to their own buyers back home at an even heftier profit. An undoubtedly potent narcotic or poison crafted by the hands of a Hannish alchemist would sell for a small fortune in foreign black markets.

Though it had taken some time at first to break her way into this underground, break into it she had. She had had to keep her dealings discrete to the utmost degree, of course. Had her mentor learned of what she was doing, everything she had worked so hard for in Thavnair would be forfeit. Master Sarasvati would not suffer a pupil committing what she considered to be an alchemist’s blackest sin: the harming of others for one’s own gain.

At first, it had went well. Using the skills that Hisanobu had taught her to maintain the utmost level of secrecy, Ghoa had been able to keep her dealings hidden from her teacher, her colleagues, and her friends. But naturally, the occasional bender or visit to the pillowhouses began to lose its efficacy. She needed more and more just to get through the day without the ghost returning to her. The more she needed, the more desperate she became. The more desperate she became, the more reckless she had gotten.

Ghoa supposed she should have anticipated that eventually, it would take but a single misstep too far and her carefully crafted house of lies and sins would come crashing down around her. Yet even if she should have expected it, it did not stop the shock of just how violently and how swiftly her hidden life would implode in upon itself when finally it did.

The commission had seemed like countless others she had taken on, and by all rights it should have been. Whenever she was approached to concoct poisons for buyers, the Mankhad had made it a point not to ask too many questions. The less she knew about what a client planned to do with their purchase, the better.

Of course, in the beginning, she had at least vetted those buyers extensively to make sure that they were going to be just as meticulously careful as she was herself. Gradually, however, her unyielding insistence on quality, trustworthy clientele eased just so long as they were willing to pay her price.

This fellow in particular was willing to pay whatever she asked and then some. Ghoa didn’t even know his name, but the shine of his gil had been enough to convince her to agree to construct a toxin to his exactingly cruel specifications. And when she had finished, she had foolishly thought herself able to wash her hands of the unfamiliar man and his ill business.

That was, until a few suns later when the Radiant Host had dragged her from the lavish pillowhouse in which she had decided to celebrate a job well done and thrown her into this blighted cell.

It was only during their interrogation that she had learned that her client had been a trader who had sought to exact vengeance upon a partner that had taken everything from him when their dealings turned south. It was with Ghoa’s toxin that he, in turn, had sought to take everything from his former partner in kind.. beginning with his family. Yet when his crime of passion had taken its own misstep and he found himself caught, her client had been all too quick to offer up the source of the horrific poison to lessen his own punishment.

Last she had heard from the Host, the former partner’s wife and child were still gravely ill. She had been offered leniency if only she would surrender to them the antidote to cure them of their grim affliction. If only she had thought to concoct one, Ghoa would’ve been glad to give it to them. But her clients never asked for antidotes, and she wasn’t wont to waste her own time and money on something for which they would not pay.

All that she had been able to offer to them was the poison’s formulation and the mechanisms by which it worked. That was the last conversation she had had with them, and by their silence whenever she asked after their condition whenever the guard stopped by to deliver her meals, she hadn’t high hopes that it had done aught to save them.

By now, without a successful antidote, they assuredly would have succumbed to the poison’s effects. Given that the footsteps presently approaching her cell were coming between meal times, she assumed that it could only mean that someone was coming to inform her of this and to let her know her own punishment.

Would she be locked in this cell for the rest of her days, she wondered grimly. Or would the Host not suffer a woman whose concoctions had so horrifically killed an innocent woman and child to live herself? A shudder went down her spine at the thought of execution. Though once upon a time she had welcomed death’s embrace rather than to be dragged back to be at Bayanbataar's mercy, the thought of leaving this world for the next now when her soul was so heavily blackened with her myriad sins filled her with a dreadful fright.

Finally, the footsteps drew close enough to draw her out of her racing thoughts with another, more unexpected realization. There was more than one set of steps present, but only one that seemed to be weighed down by the heavy armor the Host wore. Accompanying it, she could discern two more gaits: one awkward and uneven, the other a short and furious staccato.

No, she thought as her blood went cold in her veins. Not them. Please, gods, not them..

But perhaps this was the worst punishment of all, and one the gods were intent to visit upon her.

Just as she had thought, the Radiant Host guard that rounded the corner to her cell was joined by two others. First was a stooped and hunched Raen man, his sallow face flushed with the obvious effort it had taken him to keep up with the others. In front of him was a figure far more frightening, though the older Hyuran woman was of far slighter stature than either of the men accompanying her.

Master Sarasvati Parikh was an alchemist without peer, possessing a professional reputation that was rivaled only by her notoriously foul, fiery temper.

In her youth, she had been recruited into the High Crucible of Al-kimiya to serve Radz-at-Han with her impressive skill and knowledge of the aetherochemistry of the human body. Eventually, she had taken up the role of teaching and mentoring the next great generation of Hannish alchemists in her chosen field of study. That was, until she had been approached by a group of peers with an opportunity not only to expand upon their knowledge in the realm of alchemical warfare, but great profit besides. They had wanted to use her knowledge as the base upon which they built the alchemical weaponry their would-be client sought from them.

She had not spared their feelings in expressing exactly how disgusted she was with each and every one of them for even considering it. Not only that, but Sarasvati had made it even clearer that any attempts to use her research in its pursuit would result in her withdrawing not only every single treatise and tome she had ever contributed to the Crucible’s archives, but also her considerable financial support. Though she dressed and lived in modest fashion, it was a well-known secret that she was a distant scion of the illustrious House Daemir and that most of both her earned and inherited fortunes she funneled right back into the Crucible her predecessors had founded.

Though these peers balked in the face of her threats and the deal had never come to fruition, her disgust that they had even considered it had been so great that she had never been able to put it aside. Her respect for those colleagues never returned, and it blackened the light in which she viewed at the rest of her peers as well. And so, Sarasvati had withdrawn not only from her role at the Crucible, but from the public eye near entirely to pursue her own good works in peace and privacy.

Any words that Ghoa might have summoned left her the moment her eyes met the withering, furious look cast down at her in her mentor’s own severe brown gaze. She tried to find something to say, some explanation or apology or..

“Leave us,” the elderly hyur snapped at the guard without ever breaking her glare. Though the man paused with hesitation, casting an unsure glance back at the equally uncomfortable Naseem behind her, he eventually offered a silent nod and stepped away to give them privacy.

Once he had made it out of earshot, the Mankhad scrambled to preempt whatever words were about to come.

“Master Sarasvati, I am–”

“You will not speak to me,” she interrupted in a hissing whisper that blazed with cold, bare fury. “You have squandered the right to address me ever again.”

Ghoa instantly wilted under the rebuke’s sting. She dared not utter another word, managing only a weak nod as she dropped her gaze in shame. Yet even looking away did nothing to soothe the burn of the incensed glare that she still keenly felt fixed upon her.

“It is only by the Manusya’s divine wisdom and grace that I was able to save that poor family from succumbing to your black-hearted works. Though still they will be suffering and struggling to recover for weeks, if not moons to come because of your selfishness..”

The breath she had been holding released in a shuddering gasp of relief at the news that the mother and child yet lived. But even this reaction seemed only to infuriate her master further, apparently under the assumption that it was her own wellbeing for which Ghoa had been concerned.

“Do not allow yourself to believe for even a single moment that I did it for the sake of your life or your freedom,” Sarasvati snapped. “I did it because I was the one who took responsibility for you, educated you, and gave you the tools that you used to harm them. I might as well have been the one to pour that poison down their gullets myself.”

“N-no,” Ghoa suddenly gasped despite herself, gaze snapping back up in wide-eyed horror at the woman. “It wasn’t your–”

“I said SILENCE!” she all but roared with such ferocity that even the Host down the corridor perked up with concern, but hesitated to approach and turn that ire towards himself.

“I labored without sleep for days because my conscience would not allow me to do otherwise. I was the one who created the monster that was nearly their undoing, and it was my moral obligation to save their lives!” She seethed openly, her dark cheeks red with anger, her hands shaking with barely contained rage. “If it were up to me, you would rot in here for the rest of your miserable days. Against my recommendation, however--” she spat the words out like they were the very same poison she had battled against, “--the Radiant Host has decided to release you back into my care.”

Ghoa foundered at that unexpected turn, uncertain what to say or how to feel. Truthfully, she didn’t know what hurt or terrified her more – the knowledge that her mentor had advocated for her continued imprisonment, or the idea of returning to her home with her. As if reading her very mind, Sarasvati’s gaze narrowed.

“You will never step foot inside my home again,” she snapped. “I’ve taken the liberty of having your belongings packed and set upon a ship bound for Eorzea that leaves at tomorrow’s first light.. Would that I could find somewhere even further across the world to fling you at such short notice.. I might rest easier with even more malms between us than that.”

Her stomach sank like a stone, and Ghoa reflexively found herself looking instead from her mentor to Naseem behind her as often it did when their mentor was in one of her rages.

While Sarasvati’s gaze held nothing short of hateful contempt for her, her friend and fellow apprentice’s bore only resignation and heartbreak. He knew of the ghost that haunted her and though he knew not exactly what ill dealings she had gotten herself into because of it, he had tried his hardest to pull her back from the specter's grasp. He had never harbored even an onze of anger or disappointment towards her for her weakness, but only the desire to help his dear friend. Yet for all his good intentions and efforts, Ghoa had disappointed him in the end, too.

“I understand,” she whispered as she slumped back onto the cot, head hung in defeat and tears beginning to well behind her eyes. For a mercy, at least, they refused to fall in their presence.

“Do not return to Radz-at-Han,” Sarasvati finally ended her tirade, her words no longer alight with fire but back to their beginning cold, smoldering intensity. “She will be far better without you darkening her doorstep again.”

Ghoa nodded weakly in resigned silence. Though she dare not speak the words aloud to the mentor she had held in such high esteem for the past five years, the one who had taken a chance on her when none others would even give her the time of day..

She promised then that she would not return to Thavnair, just as she was bade. And she would not break a promise she had made to Sarasvati for a second time.

#ffxivwrite2022 #restless seas #ghoa mankhad #ino ghostwalker #sarasvati parikh #naseem malakar #backstory #JESUS CHRIST #IT TOOK SO LONG TO WRITE THIS #nevermind the fact that I kept getting endlessly interrupted while writing and proofreading #leave me to my feels people!!!#and dog!!!!#lordt what a ride tho #HOPE THE CORRUPTION ARC DOESN'T TAKE THE CREW BACK TO THAVNAIR #CAUSE UHHH #:')))))))))

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