#khenbish uyagir

[talesfromthegameff14]

Prompt #21: Foibles

[CW: Nightmare, murder, blood, cannibalism, aphrodisiacs, the works. It’s a wild ride.  Mood Music:  https://youtu.be/NI702RlxBbY ] It was dinner time and the yard of the house in Hingashi rang with the sound of people talking and enjoying themselves.   A large table was set up not too far from the firepit where several cuts of meat were being cooked. It was set to be a good night, a comfortable one spent in the company of friends and family. The sound of the surf faded as the sun went down over the trees that were once waves on a sea.   The scent of roasting fat and savory spices wafted through the door of the Mason and Manticore as more people filed into the building to celebrate an anniversary of a marriage that no longer existed. 

Why they were celebrating Dunrai’s death was beyond Aya, but that is what Bremwyda and A’sana wanted to do when they came back from their month long Honeymoon on an airship that had skimmed over land and sea instead of soaring through the air at the mother-to-be’s refusal to fly.  It had only been a month, hadn’t it?  Yet Sana looked like she was ready to give birth any moment.  Was it because she had twins?  No, looking at Tolemy the Seeker was the same way, but?  Oh right, it was December, that is when Aya had gotten married.  Or wait, was it Kindoron’s and Kadour’s anniversary they were celebrating?  That would make more sense, the feast being laid out on the table in the main foyer was suitable for a Steppes Warrior, even one with the most voracious appetite. 

There were even donuts.  Heart shaped and frosted in deep crimson that matched the blood that stained Aya’s hand from the still warm heart he held.  Stopping by Twi, the Uyagir sliced off a piece and offered it to her with a smile.  It was the sweetest thing watching her joy at accepting the offering, how her tail wagged with delight even while that bit of uncertainty lurked in the woman’s eyes.  Walking past the dwindling pile of donuts, Aya cut off a slice large enough to share, placing it on a donut and putting the plate between the two men so the meaning was clear.  Not that it mattered, by the time Aya had taken two steps past their chairs, Kindoron was all but swallowing the treat whole.  Kadour’s fingers twitched over the empty plate, the businessman’s mein showing a brief moment of yearning before he straightened up and tugged his suit back into place, ever the professional.  Except for his tail that is, it curled upwards like a snake, the end flicking towards Kindoron as if scolding him for his gluttony.  A familiar voice rang out, the words unclear but the tone playfully scolding, Aya turning towards the door that closed behind Soliam with a warm smile.  A one armed hug is given to the older xaela and a kiss on the cheek before red eyes cast down to the heart in Aya’s hand with a hunger that the Uyagir has not seen within the Murr’s eyes before. Not outside of the bedroom that is.  A generous piece is cut off and given to the elder, as is only right.  Turning to walk away from the door Aya almost walks into Zareen and Melody, matching spears across their backs from training earlier in the day.  They looked up at him with matching predatory smiles, hands held out to receive their share of the bounty from the hunt.  It was unnerving to see both of them look up that way, Aya fumbling the first slice that he dropped into a metallic hand.  By the time he’d cut the second, slightly jagged piece, Melody broke the ruse with a single, muffled giggle that tugged Zareen with her until the two were laughing from the wool they pulled over his eyes.  Dusk walked in after Soliam did, calling out in a ringing tone that the meal was done and everyone should sit down to eat.   The heart in his hand started to sluggishly beat at the sound of her voice.  Thump-thump Everyone else sat, except Aya, panic freezing him in place despite the abrupt heat that traveled along his veins with every movement of the not so dead muscle in his hand.  Blood pumping out of severed arteries to stain his white shirt and splash on the floor.   Thump-thump The heat made his silken pants uncomfortably tight and his temper turn vicious, straining at his control to keep in check.  It wouldn’t do to hunt here, it was a celebration, nothing more.  Wait, when did the drums that called the Coeurl to dance at Holi start to play?  When did everyone end up with a cup in hand, how did he?  Thump-thump C’arha bounded up onto the table where Dusk was laying out the feast, holding her cup up high above her head before she roared, “JAI BHAVANI!”, then she drank down the contents of the cup, wiping away the sanguine smear left behind from her lips.  C’tolemy echoed her words and did the same, urging the others to drink up in celebration.   Thump-thump Aya hadn’t had a drink, yet he felt like he had, world going dizzy and queer while the need he couldn’t indulge raked across his nerves.  Dark eyes catch his and a knowing little smile crosses Dusk’s lips before she walks off towards the stairs that led to the basement of the Mason with an inviting sway to her hips.  Thump-thump

Blood continued to spill on the floor as the party goers drank and started to feast upon the roast before them, exposing rib bones and an empty cavity within that once held the heart in his hands.  Thump-thump But that was too small for a mammoth?  Thump-crash

The door was knocked in then, the sound of the frozen wooden plank hitting the floor then shattering into quick melting shards of ice sending the celebrants gathered into silence.  Brass Blades flanking either side of Edda and T’vajhe. Voice raised to shatter the silence, Edda pointed aggressively at Aya, “Him! Right there!  See! He holds the man’s heart in his hand, half eaten!  He’s a monster.  Both of them!”  Thump-thump With the bleeding heart in his hand, there was no way to protest his innocence to the Blades that poured in through the hole left by Edda’s magic. Gunblades of obvious Garlean manufacturer were shouldered and pointed at the feast-goers who stood frozen in macabre positions of celebration, clothing half discarded from the heat brought on by the Coeurl drink.  Thump-click Hammers were pulled back, and a tall woman with greying hair and a third eye walked into view behind the phalanx.  “FIRE on them, but leave the traitor to me!”, she commanded, mossy green eyes locked upon Aya with a vengeful gleam.  The satisfaction faded from her eyes a moment later, the tip of a hunting dagger sliding out from between smiling lips.  “Thank you for leaving him for me.”, muttered Kojhin, jerking his dagger free from the Tribunus Militum in a quick movement before cutting into the Brass Blades between him and his quarry. Thump-CRACK-splat

It was supposed to be a celebration? Why were the walls painted with blood?  Why were there so many unmoving bodies? Why?  Turning questioning eyes to the only friendly face in the room, Aya was greeted with a warm smile and a shrug from T’vajhe before he answered, “I always wanted to be a hero.” 

                                                ~fini~

[Thank you to everyone who let me drag their OCs along for this ride and a special thanks to Edda who let me write this companion to an earlier story she wrote for FFXIV Write Month. The chars who have an online presence are:  

Zareen = @yzareenxiv

Brem = @eyesofsteelandsky

Melody = @realmoffantasy

Kadour = https://kadstories.carrd.co/  

C’tolemy & C’arah = @ala-mhinyan

Sana = @songsofbloodandfire

Dusk = @varyinglevelsofdisaster  

Kindoron = @kindoron

T'vahje = https://tvahjetia.carrd.co/ 

   Sorry if I missed anyone’s links!  ]

[pixelsheen]

A finished commission for @talesfromthegameff14.

Commissions are open!

[egg-of-mankhad]

Finished commission for @talesfromthegameff14 ❤❤❤

[aveis-the-red]

Prompt #5: Show of Hands

“We...we’re gonna make this dippy...dipla...diplo....we’re gonna have a vote.” The Quicksand. It was always in an uproar, always crowded, always full of drunks and ne’er-do-wells, where booze and sex flowed freely. Today was no different. Aveis was on top of a table, her hand on her...seventh? Ninth? mug of brew. It didn’t matter. She had lost count bells ago, and she felt -wonderful-. She was warm and fuzzy and bubbly and the room swayed like she was dancing. The table felt like a boat under her, but she was too drunk to care.  “It’s too bloody hot for a shirt...but...but gentlemen, perverts and lesbians...I’m...I’m still sweating in this Fury forsaken bra.”  “But...but I just can’t...-expose- myself like that. Y’know...it’s RUDE. Damn rude. And uh...not everyone wants to see tits. So it’s up to you....” Aveis raised her mug high. “A show of hands! Yay or nay for titties?!” There was a great roar of approval, but the redhead didn’t get much farther. A rather unimpressed Xaela walked up to her then. Without saying a damn word he wrapped an arm around the woman’s waist and dropped her over his shoulder. Even as she protested and her alcohol spilled to the floor below, Khenbish walked out without even glancing back at the booing crowd.  ( Khenbish belongs to @talesfromthegameff14 )

[talesfromthegameff14]

Prompt #12: Fingers Crossed

About 28 years ago. 

A tall, too thin boy crept from the caves and out into the sun.   Khenbish had a bundle under his arm that he carried oh so carefully.  It was precious, discarded bits and gifts from the hunters that had taken pity on him as he scavenged through their leavings.  One had even shown him how to put together what he had into a passable bow.  Another how to make arrows.  He had done it all on the sly, knowing that Odtgerel would have taken it all away from him if she had found it.  For once, he was careful enough and she was distracted enough that he managed to hide away his treasure. 

The lower caves provided a place to practice, the wooden arrows flying from bow to miss imaginary targets by fulms at first.  Practice and watching the hunters when they practiced helped improve his aim, it was still bad, but it wasn’t horrendously awful like it had been.  The tips and tricks that the men discussed when they knew the boy was watching was particularly helpful to Khenbish.

It was pure luck that he overheard Nergui talking about her plans to meet with their father to hunt the next day, her friends chittering with excitement from being able to learn from a real warrior, an Oronir!  The boy was used to being excluded from these excursions, Ganzorig offering excuse after excuse.  But, Khenbish was old enough to see the sun and he even had his own weapon now!  Nothing was going to stop him from joining them now that he knew.  He’d prove himself worthy to his Father!  It was finally his chance!   He slept with crossed fingers for luck under his pillow, dreams of how wonderful the next day would be teasing him all night.  When Ganzorig and Nergui showed up at the meeting place, Khenbish was already there.  Excited, he held up his bow and waved it at them.  <“Papa, sister!  I have a bow! I can join you today!”>

Nergui scowled and muttered under her breath to her father, <”We don’t have to take him with us, do we?”> 

Ganzorig didn’t respond, too busy staring at his boy in a mix of wonder and trepidation.  How did he get a bow? How did he get a bow and get out from under Odtgerel’s watchful eye?  Only someone with skill could manage that, and he was but a boy?  His boy did that?  A memory, a snarled threat from long ago rung in his horns and the young father paled.  Pride for his son and fear of the promised curse warring within.  

Abruptly, Ganzorig stalked forward, <”Only someone who has skill can come with us.”>  A compromise.  If the boy was as good as he thought, maybe it would be worth the risk? Maybe?  Did the Uygair bitch have that type of power if she could let a boy escape her claws?  The adult pointed towards a rock not too terribly far away for an archer to hit.  If they had a proper bow.  If they had the strength of an adult.  If...   <”Hit the rock, prove your skill boy, and then you can come with us.”>  

Khenbish looked to the rock and nodded once, it was far, but!  He could do this!  He had to!  He had a warrior’s blood in his veins, did he not!  He did!   Carefully, he drew and aimed the bow, whispering to himself the little hints that were given to him on the sly. Inhale. Exhale. Release! 

With a twang the arrow went sailing towards the target! 

Only to land a fulm short, the arrow head embedding itself in the sandy desert ground.  A bit more strength, a bit better bow, more time, and it likely would have hit.  

Ganzorig saw all that with a practiced eye, yet there was relief when the arrow didn’t hit.  An impossible task to prove it was worth the risk.  No, the boy was too soft, no need to risk the bitches rage after all.  Time to nip this in the bud.  The fear gone, Ganzorig strode over to Khenbish and pulled the bow from the boy’s hand, breaking it over his knee.  <��You missed.  Useless.  You are no hunter. You have no skill.  Go home to your mother’s apron strings where you belong boy.”>  

Cruel, girlish laughter followed Khenbish as he ran from his father and sister.  Ran away from them and away from the stifling darkness of the caves, hopes as broken as the bow Ganzorig still held in his hands.  Nergui’s taunting words ringing in his horns, <”Stupid boy, the caves are the other way!  Do you not even know that.  I hope you die lost in the desert!”>  

The last got a half hearted cuff to her horn from Ganzorig, <”Leave him be, it’s time for us to hunt.”> 

[talesfromthegameff14]

Prompt #6: First Steps

The trip from Kugane to Eorzea had been, eventful.  Aya had kept to himself for the first week or so of the trip, content to read the few scrolls he brought with him, or rise early in the morning to claim a piece of deck as practice area.  The few people that tried to strike up conversation with him were politely rebuffed and soon enough they stopped trying. It suited him fine.  Until one afternoon a freak squall rocked the ship with little warning.  He had been napping, a way to pass the time without having to think about the demons chasing him.  The ship bucked in the seas hard enough that the hammock brushed against the wall with him in it.  Warrior’s instincts kicked in and without thinking he was armed and sprinting for the deck. He came out into the open air just in time to get drenched, a flash of pale skin and red hair sliding close to him.  A hand snatched out, grabbing the hyur’s arm while the other gripped the frame of the door.  Aya hauled his ‘catch’ back under the deck, slamming the door behind him.  Wide eyed and shivering the red-headed female stared up at him, clinging to his arm tight enough to bruise.  She stammered out something that might have been a thank you.  

That was the end of his peaceful journey.   The hyur, Aveis, was dead set upon repaying the favor of saving her life.  She managed to weedle out of Aya that he was heading to Eorzea and soon enough he was beset with stories of Eorezan life.   At first, he resented the constant chatter, though it never showed in the polite interest that Aya showed the woman.  But, the xaela could never resist a story for long and the information was useful.  Soon enough they were swapping stories while sharing bottles of whiskey either in the small rec room for the passengers, or in one or the other’s room.  She was a font of knowledge about the new land he was going to call home.  Finally, somewhere far enough away from Doma that there should be no reminders, nothing to scrape and grind at his temper and pride.  Dismissed....

And there she was with another story, drawing his attention away from the past and into the present.  By the time he first set foot upon Eorzean soil Aya had a detailed picture of what to expect.  Too bad it didn’t include anything about Ul’dahan Lalafels, but that’s a tale for another time!

(Aveis is owned by @aveis-the-red)

[talesfromthegameff14]

Prompt #3: Lost

What if? Companion piece to @dunrai-ffxiv  prompt of the same name. An indulgence of what if Dun and Aya met when they were boys.  Dunrai is 18 here, Aya 22. They are in Doma after leaving the Steppes with Enkhjargal’s, the Dazkar Khan and Dunrai’s mother, blessing. 

It started a bit less than a moon ago.  Dunrai went from looking up to the Lupin for his knowledge to something more.  Ayanga couldn’t see the appeal, personally.  While the other man’s fur looked practical for warmth there was a scent that never left him due to it, one that bothered the adopted Dazkar’s nose.  It was more so when he got wet and every once in a while Kinji would use a scented oil.  The oil’s cloying perfume tangled and clashed with the Lupin’s natural musk in decidedly unpleasant ways.  Well, to Ayanga anyway.  Dunrai thought the scent wonderful, musing out loud if the fur was as soft as it looked, enraptured by the deep hued eyes that he called kind. 

Kinji? Kind?  Ayanga scoffed at the idea, he’s gone hunting with the Lupin enough times to know that the man was a vicious and efficient hunter.  Aya respected him for that, learned things from him that Enkhjargal wasn’t able to teach, particularly about hunting among trees and through the brush.  It had been a good fall and winter, until this.   The two were out there doing, something together.  Aya thought to spy on them, but that wouldn’t have been fair at all.  Seeing Dunrai’s eyes take on a spark of interest when Kinji walked by was so good. Aya wanted his best friend, almost brother, to be happy.  He’d never seen that spark before, that much interest focused on another outside the tribe ever.  It was a good thing, right?  It meant he was happy, right? Then why did he feel so utterly lost and betrayed by that spark? Hunting trips with the Lupin were miserable now, whenever he came back Dunrai always asked about how Lupin did in particular.  He wanted to know the details of the kill, even how the other man looked when their prey went down.   Who wanted to know that???   But, ever the dutiful friend, Aya told him anyway enduring the ooos and aaahs of quiet interest.   It gnawed and tore at his insides, leaving the tall xaela resentful and jealous of Kenji.  The hunting trips went from enjoyable to bitter pills to be swallowed and regurgitated back for Dunrai’s pleasure. The bottle of sake was more than half empty before Aya realized it, the angst born thoughts circling his mind like buzzards, feeding off of his insecurities and desires as they only can from the young and foolish.   He’s like a brother to me, I want him to be happy. 

He’d be happy with me.  

Would he? He’s never looked at me like that.  I didn’t even know if he liked men or not. 

You do and you know know.

It’s because he’s him not ‘cause he’s got a dick.  But, he’s almost my brother, I want him to be happy.  He looks happy. You don’t get off to thoughts of your brother. 

Fuck.  Exactly.  Falling back onto the pallet with a low groan, Aya’s world narrows down to his own miserable existence.  He couldn’t do anything that would make Dunrai unhappy.  He simply couldn’t.  He was going to have to suffer that damnable Lupin’s presence as long as Dunrai looked at him that way. Maybe Kinji would do something stupid and make Dunrai unhappy.  Then Aya could punch that stupid snout in without regret.   “Aya, are you alright?” “Huh, what?  Yeah, I’m fine Dun. Why?”  “I heard you groan as I was coming in.” “Oh.. yeah.  I’m... fine, just...”  Words drift off uselessly when Dunrai walks in and gives the bottle a faintly concerned look.  “Why are you drinking?”

“I was bored.” “You could have come with us to..” “NO!”  The mild look of surprise and hurt in the gold eyes spoke volumes and Aya grimaced, scrambling up to his feet.  “I’m sorry.  I, I didn’t want to... fuck. Dunrai...”  It’s only a few steps between him and the shorter Dazkar.  Fueled by liquid courage, Aya crossed the space without thought, tipping his head down to press a desperate kiss to the full, dark lips.  It felt so good, so perfect, that is until Aya realized that Dunrai was simply standing there, staring up at him in shock. He wasn’t returning it, he wasn’t... Awkwardly, Aya straightened up and turned away with a mumbled apology.  The strained silence lengthened out before Dunrai finally broke it.   “Did you only kiss me because you are drunk?”, came the hesitant question “No.”, was offered in return, sullen but a bit hopeful.  Aya looked back over his shoulder at Dunrai, heart in his eyes.  “I’ve wanted to for a long time.” Confusion and doubt filled the gold eyes, enough of an answer for Aya.  He turned and stepped close again, resting his hands on Dunrai’s shoulders.  He had to find the right words, it was harder and easier with the sake removing inhibition, yet tangling his thoughts.   Abruptly, inspiration hit and he all but spat out the question, “If I kiss you tomorrow will you believe me?”   “Y-yes.” Relief sung through his heart, he could do that.  He kissed Dun once, a second time should be easier.  Right?  Right.  “Then I’ll kiss you in the morning, after I brush my teeth.  I’m going to bed, morning will come faster that way.  Goodnight Dunrai.”  As he spoke, Aya kept patting and stroking Dunrai’s shoulders.  A few more pats were given before the drunk xaela followed through with his words, turning and heading to the pallet to lie down on it, fully clothed. A soft worried sigh was almost lost in the rustle of blankets being pulled up over Aya.  “Good night Aya.” “Good night Dunrai.” Aya slept like a rock for the first time since he noticed Dunrai giving that Lupin looks that should be reserved for him.  As was his habit, the slightly hungover xaela was up with the dawn.  He couldn’t resist the pull of the sun, even the thin light of a frosty winter morning was welcomed with delight.  The cold, less so, but the sun? Always.   Anticipation got him out of the warm cocoon of blankets and up to make breakfast.  Not wanting to wake Dunrai up early he resisted the impulse to sing to himself, nerves over the impending kiss keeping him warm for once.  Teeth brushed, breakfast made, tea brewed and now there was nothing more to keep him away.  He put everything on a tray, moving from the living area to the small sleeping area that the two men shared.  He set the tray down next to Dunrai’s pallet, then knelt down silently.   How the dark skinned man slept so soundly Aya never could fathom, but it allowed him this time every morning to simply watch and savor the sight of the man he loved.  It was easier to admit that this morning, the hope that his kisses might not be rejected having his heart pounding fast enough that it felt to burst.  Gentle, slow, little butterfly kisses were planted on any skin not hidden by the blanket.  Temple, cheek, chin scales, the back of a hand, the top of a shoulder were all lavished with soft, warm kisses over and over.  It was on the third pass of his lips over the back of Dunrai’s hand that Aya noted the gold eyes were sleepily focused on him.  A shy smile was offered and a light kiss brushed along Dunrai’s lips.   “Do you believe me now?” “Yes.”

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[talesfromthegameff14]

Prompt #2: Bargain

About 15 years ago...

It wasn’t too difficult to find time away from his duties and training.  Master Riku was content with his progress with the blade, not pushing nearly as hard as Khenbish wished he would.  He was so far behind, at least that is what the other students told him before Master and student had left Monzen to serve Lord Kaito.  The subtle disapproval hadn’t stopped upon coming here, except now it came from the others that served, somehow managing to look down upon the darkscale despite being fulms shorter than him. 

It rankled, grated at the pride and arrogance that ran through Khenbish’s veins, a gift from his father’s blood. A gift that was carried in so many tribes of the Steppes, that arrogance ran hotter and higher within the blood of the Oronir in particular. A Uyagir wouldn’t dare think themselves better than another, however the Oronir? Arrogant as the Sun is what many would say and something the tribe would claim without hesitation. He’d rather claim that than the ones that hide in the caves, meek and avoiding the eyes of the gods.  Under the sun, under the burning eye of Azim was where he belonged.  That need was why he tolerated the Doman looks and sneers the past few years.  All to learn the skills needed for him to take his place among the hunters as it should be.  Master Riku held so much back from him, so much he knew he was ready to learn if only the older samurai would show him.  The frustration paired with the current Lord’s unending disdain?  It was too much for his bruised sense of worth to bear any longer. That fire drove Khenbish into the bamboo copse along the One River before dawn as he was instructed.  It was a good time to go, the fog rising off of the river making it harder to see any who came this way.  Few did, it was too close to the Castrum for anyone’s taste even the ones that lived in the shadow of it already.  That lurking presence was one of the reasons he and Master Riku where here instead of still at Monzen. Lord Kaito continued to stubbornly, subtly resist the Garlean rule despite the increasing pressure upon his district.  It was a dangerous dance the Lord played, but an important one for Doma.  It kept Garlean attention focused there instead of elsewhere, allowing others to act unseen as Doma struggled to overthrow the puppet strings the Empire tied to them.  The Empire was at the end of their patience with the well loved Lord, hence the quiet offer whispered in a horn a few weeks back.  It hadn’t woken him out of sleep, the footsteps of the person drawing close had done that, muscles tensing in preparation for whatever prank was going to be dropped upon his person.  The words seemed to be a prank. A trap.  Yet, nothing changed after the offer.  That amount of gil?  It could buy him anything.  He heard others speak of Kugane, a world of vibrant with the colors of possibility, a place where anything could be bought. It would allow Khenbish to leave this Azim forsaken land, seek out a proper trainer in Kugane, one that would listen to him and show him what he deserved to know.  Then he would show Ganzorig and the others.  He wasn’t weak, he was stronger than all of them.  All. Of. Them. Those thoughts were cut short when the fog swirled around a previously still figure.  Khenbish stopped short, hand going for the katana at his side out of habit from the subtle movement. The uniform was unmistakably Garlean and it only took a moment for the young xaela to recognize the hyur.  Even with the promise of all that gil in his mind’s eye, it still took Khenbish a moment to loosen the grip on his blade and bow formally to the man.  “Pilus Sylua, I am here as you requested.”  A shallow, but proper bow was given in turn, the Pilus straightening up to look over the xaela critically.  “Thank you for coming, Khenbish.  I’m glad you took my offer seriously.  If it’s alright with you, I’ll get right to the point- I’d rather not waste more time than is strictly necessary.  We move in three days.  You have our offer, will you accept?” “What proof do I have that you’ll see it through?”, his eyes were sharply focused on the Pilus.  Romulus rem Sylua had a reputation for guile and ruthlessness even among Garleans.  Yet, a few spoke of honor.  It was a combination that had him uneasy, if there were other reasons for the churning in his gut?  Khenbish was not looking deeply at those at all.  

“Ask the residents of Aibara village what they think of my word, if you won’t take it from me.”

“I remember that.” Khenbish looks into the fog for a moment before nodding once, sharply. “They weren’t strong enough to hold against The Empire.  I’ll make certain the eyes are looking elsewhere.”  He looks back to the Pilus, “And you are killing the Lord, yes? You just need his guards distracted?”

Romulus’ lips twitch briefly.  Perhaps holding back a smirk?  Who knows.  “Exactly that.  No one will be the wiser. You’ll receive half the payment upon agreement, and the rest once the deed is done.” “I agree.”, the words are said immediately, before the young man could really think it through.  It would be worth it.  Any thing to get out of this mudhole to someplace where someone would recognize his worth, even if it meant flashing an obscene amount of gil around to do it.  “Three days hence, then, two hours before dawn,” he says, holding out his hand.  “Your first payment will be underneath your pillow by the time you’re off duty.”

Khenbish extends his hand a moment later, he had to remember why Romulus would do that since he’s gotten so used to Doman bowing.  “I will see to it.”  He clasps the hyur’s hand tightly to seal the bargain.   [Co-written by @eyespywithmyoneeyegtfo.  Thank you for writing Arden with me for this!] @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[talesfromthegameff14]

Doubt

The hours passed and while there was much to do, there was little Ayanga could do that would change things.  He was one pair of hands out of many that could fetch, cook, soothe, and distract as needed. Sometimes it was Sana that needed it, sometimes Delesta, and often he was reminding Dunrai to drink and eat since his focus was firmly on Sana and little else.  Trying to learn to knit from Aveis with Terbish, watching over the pair when they napped on the couch.  I It was hard to ignore the jangle of warning along his nerves at having strangers, to him, present when Sana was vulnerable.  Knowing that it wasn’t his decision to make nor the right time to argue such didn’t make the prickle of unease any less, so Aya stayed away from the older roegadyn couple.  Better to risk being seen as rude than over-reacting to anything needlessly. Years of practice in Doma allowed him to keep up a calm facade, hiding the worry deep away from where any could see.  Thoughts of Zareen’s recent travail chased him, taunted him with all the things that could still go wrong as Sana labored in the company of family.  Dunrai was the one that Aya was hyper-aware of, taking his cues from his husband and skilled healer.  It was easy to not fret as long as the dark skinned xaela was calm.  The slight furrow of Dunrai’s brows as time ticked by, the minor change of inflection in his voice while he spoke to Sana encouraging her as she endured the growing pain and fatigue to deliver the twins into the world.  It’s subtle things that others easily missed, but Aya knew his husband more than well enough to see and understand what was going on.  It wasn’t going exactly as it should, something was wrong. A brief look was exchanged between the two, a hint of a reassuring smile crossing Dunrai’s lips before he goes back to work.  It wasn’t anything major, not yet.  That knowledge wasn’t enough to the feelings of helplessness at bay, there was nothing he could do.  Just another set of hands to keep busy elsewhere, out of the way, useless.  Should he be here at all?  What did he do besides set aside sexual preference so that a woman he loved deeply enough to claim as family could see her heart-dream fruition?  Remembering the warning that history spoke, Aya found himself rubbing his arms to try to chase the gooseflesh away.  The air was warm, but the chill came from within at the memory.  Most children born to the Antelope tribe didn’t survive, born dead or too wrong to survive for long after.  Would her heart-dream, and his, come to be?  Or was this all futile?  

It was time to do, something.  Aveis had picked up knitting again, so the needles were taken back up.  Terbish was taught how to make a bean bag shaped suspiciously like ones that were delivered to Aya what seemed like a lifetime ago.  The memory was a good distraction, Aveis’ innocent look returned for his knowing one gained her a soft chuckle and him several dropped stitches off of his needles.  His knitting attempts were less than successful, thoughts wandering too far for Aya to concentrate on learning something new.  However, the facade was kept up, Aveis declaring him to be the worst dunce she’s ever tried to teach.  There was only one response to that, a half finished ‘beanbag’ getting tossed at her head.  The brief beanbag war ended up in a friendly scuffle and tickling match until everyone was breathless on the floor. Yet, the shadows of his thoughts ticked along with the clock. One day turned into another, Dunrai’s worry becoming more obvious with the rising sun.  Coffee was made and given to his husband, the others sleeping in turns as the need for rest overcame the need to watch and wait. Breakfast was made, each of them taking turns to try to coax Sana into eating and drinking as she drifted on the waves of pain, a little less coherent with each hour that marched past dawn.  Steadily things grew more urgent and Aya drifted to the far corner of the room where Terbish slept wrapped up in a blanket he put over her earlier.   Doman impassiveness was only broken by the occasional brief smile or other socially polite expression as was needed.  It hid the disconnect he was feeling behind the mask quite well, the numbness of the grey lurking far too close for comfort.  What could he do?  He served his part, gave her the seed to start the process.  Then it was hers to see through, the uncomfortable strain of months of carrying the children and now... this?  There was nothing to do but wait.  Did he even deserve the gift she was giving him?  Watching her labor, he became less and less certain that he did.   Automatically, Aya wrapped his arms around Terbish when she crawled into his lap for a more comfortable napping spot.  Pink rimmed eyes were focused on where Sana struggled, activity in the area picking up abruptly.  He didn’t see the change despite his attention upon the scene, his eyes tracking the movement in the area and dismissing anything that wasn’t a threat.  All the while his thoughts wandered closer to the grey, to the pairs of too young, dark brown eyes that also watched.  Was it accusation he saw in those eyes?  Was that judgement still there?  That he dared to build a family while their threads were snipped long before they should have been. The wail of an infant caught his attention and woke Terbish up.  With the alacrity of youth she scrambled off of his lap and towards Sana, only to run into Aveis who scooped her up to spin her around.  Depositing the girl out of the way and keeping her thoroughly distracted for the moment.  Getting to his feet, Aya slowly moved closer, eyes focused on Sana.  It was impossible to miss the bright green head of hair on the child settled on her chest.  A yearning settled in his heart, but he didn’t dare to get too close, keeping his distance.  It wasn’t over yet and he knew from Zareen’s experience that so much could still go wrong.  

Carefully, Dunrai moved the infant from Sana’s chest, murmuring soft words to her as he did so.  The boy was placed nearby, the healer splitting his focus between the newborn and Sana the worry written on the lines in his face.  The chill of the grey crept up Aya’s spine and this time he didn’t move to warm up his arms, knowing the gesture futile.  Anticipation fall across the room, it should be over soon, the second typically quickly following the first.  Yet, time stretched back out again Sana striving to find the strength to see it through to the end. The joy at seeing his son born leached away into the numbness that was enveloping him like a cloak.  Too still, too much worry, too quiet when the second infant was brought into the world.  It wasn’t right?  The spike of panic consumed by the fog, keeping Aya rooted in place as the caul was broken to release the red haired boy into the world.  He didn’t dare breathe until the boy did, though the relief was less than it should have been.  Still so much could go...  But Dunrai was more relaxed.  Sana’s smile was bright despite the obvious exhaustion she was feeling.  There were no more towels asked for.  There was no need for aether healing.  Just the family gathered to greet the two newest members of a wildly varied tribe.   It was done. Yet, the grey didn’t leave.  The doubts circled like flies, easy enough to swat away but always zooming right back like the pests they were.  They landed on him, relentless in their pursuit of consuming him.  The unease was easier to see now, fatigue of being awake for over a day catching up with him now that it was done.  Aya’s posture shifted, arms crossing along his chest, hands trying to rub away the chill that came with the flies.  He wanted to get closer, leaden feet refusing to move.  Apprehension cementing him in place despite the longing for what he saw. I don’t deserve this.    

The swarm of his thoughts were interrupted when Terbish won free of Aveis, zooming over to Dunrai.  A single word from the healer was all that was needed to have the girl kneeling down quietly next to him to watch, wide eyed and chattering a mile a minute about something Aya couldn’t hear. Aveis came up beside him, putting a hand in the small of his back and pressing lightly, a push towards what he wanted.   Words were spoken, but again they went unheard.  He shook his head automatically, wrapping an arm around his sister’s shoulders to pull her against his side.   It wasn’t until Sana and the twins were settled and taken care of that Dunrai looked about, a touch confused until he spotted Aya and Aveis towards the corner of the room.  One last check to make certain Sana is fine before Dunrai pushes himself up to his feet.  The healer looks tired, but there is a quiet wonder in his eyes as he picks up the green haired boy and brings him over to Aya.  “Our son.”, Dunrai says as he offers the bundled up infant to his husband.  “Ours...”, is barely echoed back, disbelief on the verge of stealing his voice.  Ayanga doesn’t move, eyes shifting from the boy up to Dunrai’s gold eyes then back down again.  An encouraging pat on his back is the only warning Aveis gives him before ducking under Aya’s arm so both of his hands were free.   Then they weren’t free, occupied by an impossibly tiny boy.  Miqo’te at first glance, but soft patches of dark scales across his nose and cheekbones were a testament to his mixed heritage. “Oh.”, is all the tall xaela can manage, staring down at the.. no his boy. I’m not ready for this.  ------------------------ @dunrai-ffxiv  @songsofbloodandfire @yzareenxiv @aveis-the-red

[talesfromthegameff14]

Rest

[Warning: PTSD themes, disassociation] 

Slowly, Ayanga made his way up the stairs from the basement to the second floor.  It seemed to take forever, trudging up one stair at a time like this.  He was too unsteady take the stairs as he usually did, running up them two at a time.  Exhaustion from hanging onto the present by the tips of his claws showing in the slump of his shoulders and how he watched his feet. Each step taken far too carefully, even meticulously as he climbed upward.  The past lurked close, peering over his shoulder waiting for a single stumble to pull him back into it and never let go.  He had too much to do to risk that, so he moved carefully avoiding the thoughts that would push him back over that edge.   As careful as he was, guilt followed each heavy step, the dense grey fog of his thoughts swirling about him unseen to any but himself.  He should be downstairs helping Dunrai, reassuring C’tolemy, digging into the wisdom entrusted to him to help soothe and heal the bleeding heart wounds he was walking away from.  Try as he might, Ayanga couldn’t find the right words this time.  Where they should have been was only a swirl of silver.  The impenetrable mist hiding what was so close from view, keeping it just out of reach.   It was troubling, but he couldn’t find the energy to care.  

Gooseflesh pebbled his skin as he went through his bedtime routine by rote, oblivious to the warmth of the early summer night.  Strip, put the clothes away, wash up, comb and braid the hair, then finally climb into bed and fall into place to hope that sleep would come.  Instead, the fog silently billowed around him, numbing his heart to the soft sounds of someone crying from the wounds Ayanga left unattended.  

Twin pairs of youthful, almond shaped brown eyes watched him through the fog.  It was that way more nights than it wasn’t, sometimes they were curious, sometimes they were accusing, sometimes sad.  Tonight, they were watchful and blissfully distant, as equally hampered by the weight of the grey as he was. It was a small comfort, leaving behind a strange sense of safety in the isolation from the storm that was at the center of his soul.  There was no burden of past mistakes, there was no joy, no love, but there was also no pain.   Instead, there was distance. Distance from the cacophony of emotion that normally followed the path of his life that danced within his mind's eye.  Shrouded by the fog, the memories had no bite.  It was like reading a story.  The tale was yet unfinished, but what was written laid the the triumphs bare and the failures open to dissect.  So easy to note where something could have been done differently to change the path taken, yet it was etched in stone, relentlessly marching forward to this point where there was nothing but the soft chill of unyielding apathy.   It was good this place. Quiet and numb, a last sanctuary against the cracks that came from a warrior trying to adapt to the routine of a normal life.  Peace came with the isolation, allowing the over-alert mind to finally fall from the weight of what was carried.  It was time to rest.   [ Dunrai owned by @dunrai-ffxiv C’tolemy owned by @ala-mhinyan ]

[talesfromthegameff14]

Dominion

[ Uyagir headcannon incoming.  Based loosely on the quotes found in game for one extremist branch of the tribe.  Warnings for length, blood rituals, grey lore bits.] Anger smoldered in his veins as Ayanga ran from the Dawn Throne toward the Uyagir caves.  He wore what the Uyagir typically wore, but dyed the color of the sky instead of the bleached out green the cave dwellers preferred.  The loose skirt flowed easily with his movements as he ran into the wind that caused the spring grasses to undulate like waves on the ocean. 

The sun was a thin sliver on the horizon when he arrived at the caves, breathing faster from the run but not heavily winded. The strangeness of running to what he had spent most of his life running from was lost on him in the moment.  There was no doubt now, no hesitation.  He was done with waiting and doubting.  The promise that was broken? It was washed away by the blood on his hands.  His only regret was that it took him this long to see it.  Fortunately his sisters were wise and as A’sana pointed out, sometimes promises needed to be broken. By the time he strode into the main caves he was breathing more normally, the sweat from the run drying on his skin rapidly due to the desert air.  The main cave was empty this early, most still with their families tucked away in the nooks and corners that gave an illusion of privacy as they tended to their morning tasks.  The smell of cooking food was the only outward sign of that activity and Ayanga’s stomach growled in protest from the scent of even that plain fare.  It’s another thing that goes unnoticed, his attention focused on a cluster of stalagmites in the back of the main cave.   He’s a few fulms from his goal when the Elder stepped out from the shadows, blocking Ayanga’s way.  The green haired man snaps at the Elder, <”Are you finally going to try to stop me?”>  The younger man only stopped when he’s ilms from the Elder, tail cutting sharply through the air.  The Elder can move, or be moved, it matters little to Ayanga. [Voodoo - Godsmack] For once, there was no humor in the old xaela’s eyes, no sense of the queerness that typically colored his words.  <”Son of Ancients, what do you seek?”>   Frozen in place, Ayanga stared at the Elder, for a moment everything was so sharp and fragile he didn’t dare to breathe.  <”No one...”>, he cut himself off, shaking his head once to clear it before he answered.  <”Wisdom, knowledge, the visions of our past that brought us to this place.”>   The words were spoken with the cadence of ritual, but oddly cut off at the end. The Elder tilted his head slightly at the answer, seemingly waiting for more than what was said.  The silence between the two men grows, Ayanga not backing down from the quiet challenge.  He stayed as still as the air in the caves, not even his tail twitched while he waited. The Elder’s eyes moved to the necklace around the younger man’s neck, thoughtful.   At that the silence was broken, a low sound of warning coming from Ayanga, <”It is mine.  He gave it to me.”>   That brought the white glazed eyes of the Elder abruptly up to Ayanga’s. <”Who gave it to you?”>   <”Oktai”> <”You didn’t take it from-”> <”I took nothing of hers.”>, the snarled reply cutting the Elder off. <”When did he give it to you?”> <”Just before he died.”>   The Elder’s rheumy eyes narrow, <”Where?”>   <”Reflection”>   A hiss follows that answer, <”Why there? How?”>   <”He called me there.”>   <”You were a b”> <”I know.”>  Ayanga leans in, leaving less than an ilm between the two men, so that the elder could feel the heat of his words instead of only hearing it.  <”He called me there in a dream.  I woke up and followed the call down and through the labyrinth.  I saw him reflected in the pool, surrounded by stars.  I smelt death on his breath.  It had the same scent as an herb Odtgerel traveled to Reunion to get.  She told me to stay away from it, that it was dangerous, only for the trained.  She killed him.”> <”You didn’t take it from her.”> <”No! It rots with her corpse in whatever forgotten place it lies.”>   <”How do you know she’s-”> <”Dead? I buried her.”>   <”Where?”> <”Why does it matter?”> <”I need to reclaim what she was given.”>   <”Did you not listen? She was given nothing.  She gave nothing to her family and was given nothing in return.”>   <”But she-”>   Wind blew through the cavern then, enough force behind it to travel past the entrance and into the main living space, rustling the clothing of those that were starting to gather for the day’s work.  It was an oddity, enough of one to catch the attention of those present and give the Elder pause.  Ayanga’s eyes turned distant, a horn tilted towards the cave entrance.  As if in a trance he reached up and pressed the point of a claw into his thumb, just enough to draw up a bead of blood.   <”You hear, but you do not listen. If you will not listen, you will see.”>, he whispered, pressing that drop of blood against the Elder’s forehead before he could react. The all but useless eyes of the old xaela glazed over and he fell to his knees, eyes darting back and forth focused things only he could see.  Ayanga stepped around him and past the concealment of the stalagmites and into the tunnel that led to the labyrinth.  He didn’t have to think, even with close to thirty years behind him Ayanga’s feet traveled the correct path through the tunnels, the passageway progressively narrowing until he had to belly crawl to get through the last turn.  It was a near thing, a shudder passing through his entire frame when he accidentally scrapped a horn along a sharp bit of rock, popping off one of the ornaments he suffered through getting long ago.  The tunnel opened up then, and he hauled himself up to his feet.  <”Smaller than I remember.”>, he said to himself just before words echoed into the chamber from afar.   <”Elder, are you alright?”>   <”Where did Khe..Ayanga go?”>   indistinct words   <”Seer’s tunnel? We can’t follow, no one can.”>   The last had Ayanga looking back to the hole he crawled out of, shock easy to read in his expression.  No one at all? There were no more? How...?  It clicked into place and sorrow replaced the shock.  <”I’ll do as I must, regardless.”>     The tunnel branched off into two, a strong scent of mineral and heat coming from one path and stillness from the other.   Following the heat, Ayanga stripped as he went, arriving at the mineral pool clad in only the necklace Oktai gave him.  The clothing was set to the side, neatly folded as always.  The occasional bubble broke the surface of the pool, hidden by the shadows cast from the glowing crystals set into the walls.   The air was quickly becoming stifling, the heat and humidity making it feel like lead in his lungs. The water was scalding, which was the point.  Wash away what could be, burn away the rest, enter Reflection purified, the burdens of life sloughed away in a moment of pain.  Knowing that didn’t make stepping into the pool any easier.   Measured steps, down the ones carved into the stone just for this purpose.  One step, wait, two steps, wait, three steps, wait.  At the bottom step his shoulders were still above water and with a deep breath Ayanga bent his knees and burned.   It was worse than the harae in Ishgard, he thought it wouldn’t be, but the minerals in the water burned as well as the heat.  He needed to breathe, it was only seconds to stay, but the pain took his breath away.  Even with the support of the water he swayed beneath the surface, spots blooming behind his eyelids as he counted out the seconds.  It took all of his will power to slowly unbend his knees, it was mere seconds, but it felt like hours were spent under the water.  The need to walk out tangled with the need to breathe and recover, slow was the only way he was going back up those steps. The tall man landed heavily on his hands and knees, bruising them on the rock and sand surface that bordered the pool.  Instinct kept him moving, crawling out into the cooler air of the tunnel beyond.  His skin was darker, flushed from the damage heat and minerals did while he was submersed.   Ayanga’s mind was clear of the anger that brought him here, pain was good for that. In, out, in, out.  All the Xaela could do was breathe in great gulps of air, staying where he fell as his body processed the shock of the cleansing.  It was habit, refined in Doma, grounded in the time spent with his Grandfather.  Burnt fingers pressed hard against the stone, seeking out the steady support of the earth. The wind spoke to him, but the ground was still under his feet and therefor a friend.   When his breathing slowed and his heart stopped thundering in his chest, Ayanga stood up.  His movements were deliberate and measured, both out of need and respect. This was not something to rush.  Each step took him closer to Reflection, the tunnel here was smoothed over, the work of Seers past making the path upwards clear and easy.   It was almost as he remembered.  It was daytime, not night, his own choice instead of the traditional one.  He was a child of Azim as well as the caves, the sun held no fear for him.  The bright light of midday streamed through the broken roof of the cave, filtering down through the sphere of crystals suspended above the strangely still pool.  That night it looked like liquid silver, now it looked just as odd, golden and rainbow hued as the sunlight reflected off of a surface that was iridescent, strange.   Many runes were carved into the smooth, dark, rock floor.  They were clustered around the perfectly circular pool, extending out a couple of fulms.  Most of the space closest to the pool was decorated by the carvings, the ones closest to the pool were harder to read than those further out.  One rune stood out from the rest, larger than the surrounding ones, stained and worn by age but still clear enough to read. Dominion. It was something he knew from the murals, the dominion of the Gods over the Xaela and why the Uyagir bowed. But, this was different. A different slant here, a curve there instead of a straight line. Ways of indicating Xaela instead of deity, familiar and very wrong all at the same time. A quick look around the smooth, upward curving walls of the cave pulled a detail from memory. This is where Oktai died, the stains?  Only his blood, or more? Ayanga knelt in front of the rune,the burn of protest from the skin along his shins completely ignored in the moment.  A finger traced the deep channels that were chiseled into the rock, ensuring that the rune would last the test of time. But maybe? Maybe it was for other reasons.   The air was lifeless, immobile in the dome, but a whisper echoed in his horns regardless. Right claw was brought to the skin of his left wrist.  The cut was swift and sure, the burn of the cut strangely intense due to the damage already done.  He ignored it, holding his wrist so the blood from it dropped into the bottom corner of the carving.  The floor of the cave slanted towards the pool, the slope allowing his aether charged blood to flow through the markings that made up the rune.   Slowly, steadily, Ayanga’s world narrowed down to the path his blood took.  Tracing it like that, he could see the duality of the rune, it wasn’t just Xaela.  It was, Reflection within Dominion. The first rune revealed before the other was completed.  Further the scarlet line flowed, steadily drawing his focus towards the pool.  The blood was moving slowly then, the last of the rune completed.  A narrow gouge, unnoticed until his blood touched it, allowed a few drops of blood to reach the pools edge.  The water was lower than the rock, cohesion causing the scarlet liquid to tremble on the ledge.  Time meant nothing as Ayanga’s heart pounded in his chest, everything hanging on that one, tremulous drop of blood.  One more heartbeat, a bit more blood, and the bead to welled over to plop into the pool. [Change on the Rise -  Avi Kaplan] A skeletal hand reached towards him, “It is time to see.” “Oktai, grandfather...”, Ayanga whispered, reaching for the hand only he could see through sightless eyes.  The ray of sunlight shifted, illuminating the scarred hand that grasped nothing but air.   Then Ayanga saw. Birth, life, death, the onward monotony of life within the caves droning backwards and backwards.  Brief conflicts, rebellions, stained the caves red, but they were quickly settled, tumbling into a past rewritten by those that survived.  Nothing must mar the perfection of their modesty, their pride would not allow it.  The mural was tended to, shrinking in size as the years retreated within Ayanga’s mind.  Seers guiding, and hiding, the truth from the tribe, teaching them to deny the violence of their nature. Dominion over self was revealed as the path of humility before the eyes of the Gods.   From self reflection came control, the Uyagir over themselves and the Seers over the tribe.   Reflection. 

Then the walls were blank, a few battered Xaela taking shelter there from the chaos left in the wake of the Gods’ punishment. The failed defense of the Dawn Throne was crushing to all the tribes, it sent them scattering to the four winds, leaving the Uyagir to struggle against the God sent insects (machines?) all but alone. A sign the others said, a trial to show strength the Uyagir countered.  If we cannot hold what is ours then we don’t deserve it. They could not hold against the wrath of the Gods.  And still time marched backwards, revealing the decline of an Empire as sure as any in a more civilized place.  Large to small, the peak to the beginnings, ambition and pride and a need to control that rivaled any other was steadily nurtured from the start of the tribe. That drive etched into stone when the first Khatun found the pool she saw in her dreams, that Ayanga knelt beside, and claimed it for her newly formed tribe.   Dominion without Reflection.

 The hand that held his vanished into the past, leaving him to crawl his way out of the memories that were not his and back to the present.  It took time, more than he likely had, before Ayanga’s eyes cleared from the vision and he found himself in his own skin once more.  The wound on his wrist had long scabbed over, the blood in the rune dried, the sun low enough that the sky was dark blue with the first hints of stars on the eastern horizon.  The silence in the dome was complete except for the erratic beat of his heart and the rasp of his labored breath.  Awareness of himself forced the tall man to double over and retch bile onto the stone, body and mind protesting what it was forced too see.  It was too much that wasn’t his, the entire history of seer to seer to seer that shared the path the tribe took.  The now dark pool of water called to him, promising peace within its depths, a place free from the memories that overwhelmed him. It would take little to tumble into it, but a small voice within reminded him that the trial was not yet complete.   The sky was darker when he managed to gather the strength to resist the call and stand instead.  Once, twice, he paced around the pool, the shakiness fading as he moved.  One last thing, then he could leave.  Settling on one of the last clear spots of stone near the edge of the pool, Ayanga knelt again to draw an end to his task.  Reopening the cut on his wrist a bit, he dipped a claw into blood and carefully carved a new rune among the oldest made.   Change. 

[talesfromthegameff14]

Lost in the Cracks

He needed sleep, the peace of oblivion that would drown out the insidious words of doubt that danced through his thoughts.  It wasn’t meant to be, the long hours passing into the next day as Ayanga laid in bed next to Dunrai.  Only their tails touched due to the welts that covered Dunrai’s skin, it was the only thing the Uyagir could touch without risking more hurt.  He drifted in that grey before sleep, almost meditative, but his thoughts were far too restless for that.

It wasn’t quite dawn when words in a familiar voice came to him on the wind, stirring the anger from earlier all over again.  The need to move, lash out, hurt, anything but lie there uselessly had him carefully untangling his tail so he could slip out of bed.  He picked up the tray left from Dunrai’s dinner and quietly exited the room with it.  Once in the kitchen, Ayanga focused on the plate of uneaten mochi.  A special treat and silent peace offering through the anger that the Uyagir was holding onto.  Not for him, sweets had no appeal, but for the man sleeping upstairs.  

The tall xaela didn’t move for some time, staring at the uneaten mochi as if it was the most vile thing in the world.  One, one was missing.  Dunrai never ate only one treat, yet this time he did.  Slowly, the sweets were tilted into the trash.  Left out overnight, they would only make someone sick.  He had enough awareness for that even as his mind wandered over the last few weeks.  Joy and pain, but right now the pain far outpaced anything else.

“I’m sorry Kaiyo.”, Ayanga murmured, breaking the silence in the kitchen.  “I hate him.”, follows a few moments later.  “It’s good that he’s already dead or he’d find himself with scars to match yours best I could manage. You, and Eigen, might speak of forgiveness.  I, this I could not.”  His head bowed, eyes closed, tension strikingly obvious in the play of muscles under the scarred and bruised skin of his back.  Matching bruises covered the right side of his torso and arm, going as high as his neck. 

The weight of what needed to be done sat heavily on his shoulders even as his thoughts gibbered for freedom, to run, to leave. That moment, he could understand the need that Dunrai and Tolemy both had to withdraw from the world when everything became too much.  Ayanga shook his head, fighting the urge futilely. In the end, his vision blurred, the kitchen fading from his mind’s eye.  Memories surged forward, paired with the words that came to him in on the winds of a dream.  

A group of hyur and him hiding among fall of boulders, bleeding in the rain.

Shadows reaching out from around Dunrai, whispering, “Burden”

“Your tears are a burden” - A father’s voice on the wind.

The sharp hiss of words spoken in Xaelic, “I curse you.”

The heavy sound of Garlean artillery hitting dirt, the shaking of the ground under his feet, the bright, hot pain of a blade slicing through flesh, too high, too far, too wrong.  

“Okay Papa, sorry Papa.”  - A boy cowed. Brown, lifeless eyes staring up from a too young, Doman face, the eyes melt into golden slits, flames dancing around the miqo’te girl reaching for him.  “Come play Uncle Blue..”   “Our duty is here, to our family and our tribe.  The sooner you understand and accept this, the happier you will be."  - The father, immovable. Ayanga reaches out blindly, grabbing the counter as he sways, the inner landscape shifting too rapidly for him to keep his balance.  Literally and figuratively, the kitchen was lost to him.  His feet and legs wet from the rice paddy he was wading through as the road was under surveillance.  Snow parted with his every step, trudging away from a village that held nothing but ghosts.  The cough of a tiger confirming that the trap was laid for the Engineer Corps who would dare to block the spring that fed the paddies, effectively starving the villages into compliance.

“I won’t ask again.” - A forlorn promise from the boy who asked for little and less. The pain from his knees striking ground as he crumpled to the floor was a welcome one.  Physical pain, that was always, almost always, real.  Something to cling to as he struggled to hold onto himself, the storm threatening to push him deep into the cracks of his mind.  Easier to fall into it, but once you fell, how did you climb out?  There was too much to do to fall.  Always. Something. Else. To.  Do.     Duty, it kept him from falling in Doma, it anchored him here.  Another man’s words became the mantra in Ayanga’s mind.  “My duty is here, to my family. My family. Mine. My duty is to what is mine.”  The xaela wasn’t aware he was staying the words out loud or how his claws sunk into the wood of the counter, ruining the finish and splintering the wood.  He wasn’t aware of the light in the room brightening from the first rays of sun cresting the horizon.  It was forever, but less than a half a bell when he could see the dark wood of the kitchen’s center island.   Trying to move his hand was futile, not until the xaela realized that he had to pull his claws from the wood.  It wasn’t easy, muscles turned to liquid from the struggle within, breath still coming too quick, skin slick with sweat.  It would be good to sleep, right here.  Too exhausted to dream, but there was too much to do.  Duty called with a siren song that Ayanga held close, shackles that he gladly wrapped around his wrists.  Anything to keep from falling, anything for them, anything at all.

 [Dunrai belongs to @dunrai-ffxiv]

[talesfromthegameff14]

Bold What Applies: Khenbish Uyagir

Bold all that applies to your muse Italicized any that are applicable in some way Extra notes in (parentheses)!

• Eyes: Blue | Green | Brown | Hazel | Gray | Gray-blue | Other (Red)

• Hair: Blonde | Sandy | Brown | Black | Auburn/Red | Ginger | Grey / White | Multi-color | Other ( Chartreuse )

• Body Type: Skinny | Slender | Slim | Built | Curvy | Athletic | Average | Muscular | Pudgy | Overweight

• Skin: Pale | Light | Fair | Freckled | Tan | Olive | Medium | Dark | Discolored

• Gender: Male | Female | Trans | Cis | Agender | Demigender | Genderfluid | Other | Doesn’t Care About Labels

• Sexuality: Heterosexual | Homosexual  | Bisexual | Pansexual | Asexual | Demisexual | Other | Unsure | Doesn’t Like Labels

• Romantic Orientation: Homoromantic | Heteroromantic | Biromantic | Panromantic | Aromantic | Demiromantic | Unsure | Doesn’t Like Labels

• Species: Midlander Hyur | Highlander Hyur | Wildwood Elezen | Duskwight Elezen | Hellsguard Roegadyn | Sea Wolf Roegadyn | Dunesfolk Lalafell | Plainsfolk Lalafell | Keeper Miqo’te | Seeker Miqo’te | Xaela Au Ra | Raen Au Ra | Other

• Education: High School | College | University | Master’s Degree | Phd | Other (Apprenticeship)

• I’ve Been: In Love | Hurt | Ill | Mentally Abused | Bullied | Physically Abused | Tortured | Brainwashed | Shot (guns and arrows)

• Positive Traits: Affectionate | Adventurous | Athletic | Brave | Careful | Charming | Confident | Creative | Cunning | Determined | Forgiving | Generous| Honest | Humorous | Intelligent | Loyal | Modest | Patient | Selfless | Polite | Down-to-earth | Diligent | Romantic | Moral | Fun-loving | Charismatic | Calm

• Negative Traits: Aggressive | Bossy | Cynical | Envious | Shy | Fearful | Greedy | Gullible | Jealous | Impatient | Impulsive | Cocky | Reckless | Insecure | Irresponsible | Mistrustful | Paranoid | Possessive | Sarcastic | Self-conscious | Selfish | Swears | Unstable | Clumsy | Rebellious | Emotional | Vengeful | Anxious | Self-sabotaging | Moody | Peevish | Angry | Pessimistic | Slacker | Thin Skinned | Overly Dramatic | Argumentative

• Living Situation: Lives Alone | Lives With Parent(s) / Guardian | Lives With Significant Other(s) | Lives With A Friend(s) | Drifter | Homeless | Lives With Children  | Other

• Parents/Guardian: Mother | Father | Adoptive | Aunt | Uncle | Foster | Grandmother | Grandfather | Other (Mentor Figure(s))

• Sibling(s): Sisters | Brothers | None | Other

• Relationship: Single | Crushing | Dating | Engaged | Married | Separated | It’s Complicated | Verse Dependent | Other (Polygamy)

• I Have A(n): Developmental Disorder | Learning Disorder | Personality Disorder  | Mental Disorder | Anxiety Disorder | Sleep Disorder | Eating Disorder  | Behavioral Disorder | Substance-related Disorder | PTSD | Mental Disability | Physical Disability | Other 

• Things I’ve Done Before: Had Alcohol | Smoked | Stolen | Done Drugs | Self-harmed | Starved | Had Sex | Had A Threesome | Had A One-night Stand | Gotten Into A Fist Fight | Gone To The Hospital | Gone To Jail | Used A Fake Id | Played Hooky | Gone To A Rave | Killed Someone | Had Someone Try To Kill Them @egg-of-mankhad  see what you made me do when I should have been sleeping?  ;) <3 

[talesfromthegameff14]

Burn

[Warnings: Reference to violence and death] Ayanga could feel the itch of drying blood under his claws as he walked away from the caves.  It was a minor distraction from his thoughts, barely worth noticing.  The rest of his movements were automatic.  A firm grip on the sword sheath. The occasional shove forward to keep the broken man on the other end stumbling forward. The too sweet smell in the air.  The burn in his veins that demanded more.  All the details were noted and shoved aside in favor for one step closer to the village, one step closer to the last place in the world he wanted to be.  

It felt like another was walking forward, the strangling sense of detachment too strong to break. Someone else who walked paths like this before in the same skin, yet completely different.  A cascade of pink blossoms fell along the rocky, barren path from trees that couldn’t grow in the arid landscape. The cloying sweetness in the air not the comforting one of the cherry, but something strange and maddening instead.   RUN, screamed instinct.   wait, whispered on the wind.   Another step, and another.  Grass was crushed by his boots with the skittering sound of pebbles shifting under foot. Dry dust heavy with moisture from the river that divided Yanxia so far away from the waterfalls of Gyr Abania.   Noise next, the riot of Holi overwhelmed by the quiet rustle of wind moving through the bamboo.  Bamboo, that was safe, tall enough to hide even him.  Yet, where was it?  All he could see were coeurl spotted dancers, lithe and alive, circling around the bonfire.  Bright kimonos of red couldn’t hide the golden rosettes tattooed on skin or contain the graceful sweep of furred tails that no native Doman ever claimed as their own.   Gold, no brown eyes caught his own, peering back with sadness, rage, pain. Pain from the blood that started to pour along skin, hiding the rosettes in a swath of crimson that only meant one thing.  Shadows danced with the blood after the last step was taken. It left Ayanga surrounded by death, greeted by the heavy silence that always trailed in it’s wake.  Drumbeats vibrated within his horns, felt not heard unlike the soft notes of shinobue drifting up from the feet of the dancers. The weight at the end of the sword shifted, the sensation of something heavy hitting the ground, the heat of someone passing close by, a snarl that was too feral to be his own yet echoed from his chest anyway.  Clawed hands reached towards him, then retreated back into the darkness left behind by the flames that blazed gold in his field of vision.   Where was the bamboo?? Run. Hide. Flee. No more sweet smell of what was that?  Death?  No need, need that burned, crooning rage that demanded more blood.  But, they already bled? Isn’t that why they cried from golden eyes as brown as loam?  The blood itched under his claws still, maddening as the coy fire that scented the wind and sharpened his temper until it cut from within. Cut until he bled along with them.   Still, so very still, except the erratic flicking of his tail through the bamboo stirring up the dust that coated everything in Ala Gannha.  The weight of duty paralyzed him, made a leash for the rage that quivered unseen, hidden by skin and muscle flayed by the lash of discipline. A lesson written upon his skin.   wait, it whispered. KILL, the sweet need screamed.   So the fire danced, the tribe celebrated, and all the while the dark eyed children sobbed within the flames.  Gone too soon, far too soon. They needed him. So he waited, as patient as stone, while the passion within burned everything to ash.  

[talesfromthegameff14]

Intent

Sleep was for babies and old men, something he was getting closer to every day according to the aches that plagued the Xaela. After the fourth almost sleepless night in a row Khen’s body was crying for sleep.  There were things that needed to be done in the quiet hours before dawn and his heart wasn’t going to let him rest until it was so.  Hand in hand with Dunrai, Khen wrapped aether around the two of them, sending their bodies elsewhere.  

The caves first, slipping into the Uyagir home without fuss.  Khen came and went often enough that it was only a mild curiosity, which for the too humble tribe meant he was all but ignored. Dunrai was of more interest, a few eyes looking up from their work to watch the two men pass through the main living space of the caves.  That he was so readily welcomed and allowed to go where he wished was a mystery to Khen, but one he was going to take advantage of for as long as he could.  Down, down, down Khen lead Dunrai into the places only Keepers and Seers go, using lantern light to find his way through the tight, twisting tunnels.  It took time to seek it out what he was looking for hidden in the walls, using careful strikes of the small mining pick he’d brought with him to extract it from the rock.  Just a small stone, it was all that was needed, it took little to hold fire if the stone was suited for the task.

Out of the mining tunnels and then down again, along a different branch where the air turned moist, hot, with a tang of minerals that caught in the back of one's throat.  He’d been here with Zareen most recently, purging the darkness from within.  This time, the cleansing was different, ensuring that the stone was a ready vessel for what would come next.  Words far older than most remembered echoed in the cavern as he dunked the rock into the water once, twice, thrice.  By the third time wisps of aether danced along the surface of the water, being drawn into the stone as Khen lifted it from the water for the last time.  

The claws of his right hand reached for his forearm and then he paused as a whisper of wisdom sounded within his horns.    “Apologies Khti.”, he murmured into the silence before reaching higher, plunging a claw into the scars on his left hand.  

Sacrifices needed to be made.

Balling his hand into a fist, Khen’s blood ran from between his clenched fingers, and onto the stone.  The aether in his blood joined that of the stone, head bowed as he channeled intent and love into the blood from his veins.  The faintest scent of burning flesh followed the first drop of blood and the ones after upon the changing surface of the gem, the sacrifice accepted.  

Looking up, Khen gestured for Dunrai to come close, bloodied palm turned upwards towards his husband.  “Like we spoke of, intent and love. You know who he is. You love who he is. Think of that and nothing else as you offer yourself to the stone.”   Dunrai’s eyes focused on the cut on Khen’s palm first, sorrow and concern coloring his features in that moment.  After a deep breath the dark skinned man shifted his focus to the stone, nodding in silent agreement.  Gold eyes closed as the stockier Xaela focuses on the task at hand.  After several minutes there is a gentle nod of Dunrai’s head, indicating he was ready.  

Again, Khen plunged a claw into the flesh of Dunrai’s left palm, not as deeply as he did his own, but enough to bleed freely.  Dunrai’s part in this was different, but no less important.  Khen turned Dunrai’s hand so that his fingers were extended, palm down, blood slowly dripping onto the ground of the cave.  Blood and aether and intent dripped from the dark skinned Xaela onto the newly mined stone.  The scent of burning was a little bit more pronounced this time, each drop of blood disappearing as it landed on the unpolished surface of the stone.  Little bits of fire showed within the opalescent rock where the blood landed, revealing the beauty that was within to the eye.  <”Freely given”>, Khen said quietly in that ancient tongue as the last of the blood burnt off.

Khen turned Dunrai’s palm over after, curling the calloused fingers inward to help stop the bleeding.  “You can tend to me now if you wish Kaiyo.”, Khen offering his hand to his husband as he speaks.  Dunrai doesn’t hesitate, taking Khen’s hand within his own, the hint of concern back in his eyes.  “You need to be careful.”, is all the gentle admonition that Dunrai indulges in, washing the wound off in the mineral spring before channeling aether into the cut to heal it.  Only a small red mark is left behind after the healing is done, a hint of the scar that will remain.   Gold eyes seek out pink rimmed ones after, Khen nodding once as he locks eyes with Dunrai, “I know, anything for family though, yes?”  

Dunrai’s troubled sigh speaks volumes before he turns away to tend to the cut on his own palm.  Khen waits, tucking the stone into a small leather pouch for safe keeping, putting that pouch into a larger one at his waist.  When Dunrai’s done tending to his hand the couple vanishes from the cave, this time Dunrai carries the two of them along the aether to a stone in Ala Gannha.  The sky has lightened considerably at this point and the tribe is bustling as those who preferred the night were ending their day while those that preferred the sun were starting theirs.  

The two Xaela were greeted enthusiastically, bright chirps and chirrrs of greeting following them as they make their way to the people Khen had in mind to help with this.  Children pounced out of the shadows, wanting to play hunt and pounce with their large, scaled uncles.  A few games of chase later both men felt lighter, some of the worry chased off by bright smiles and squeals of joy at the game.  

More drops of blood were added to the stone, not many, the intent had to be free of doubt for this to work.  C'mayan and C'ohna were the first, and Khen took their recommendations from there.  By the time the two Xaela left Ala Gannha more of the surface of the gemstone sparked with fire from within, the beauty within revealed by the blood of the tribe who understood C’tolemy’s heart.  

Shirogane after that, seeking out family to add their heart to the stone.  Each drop of blood, even the ones that smoked and sparked due to the wild within, added more to the focus.  Love, joy, conviction all added in equal measure as a gift to the heart wounded man.  Freely given, Khen only hoped it would be as easily accepted.  

A kiss to Dunrai’s cheek after that and the two men parted ways, Dunrai back home to tend to C’arha and C’tolemy, Khen to go to the Enclave to finish the days work.  Khen watched Dunrai go then started the process to bring himself to the Enclave, but abruptly stopped.  Instinct said more was needed, it’s what kept Khen from going to give Tolemy the stone just then.  Yet... could healing be found where the wound was made?  Or, maybe it was the perfect spot to reclaim what was lost?  

Pivoting on the cobblestone, Khen walked briskly towards the ward that housed Opal.  

The purple haired miqo’te was the first to add to the stone, leaving a thumb shaped swipe of the gemstone’s fire laid bare in the wake of his strength. The fire danced fiercely there, an acknowledgement of truth without any doubt.  Others were asked as the day progressed, a hesitant request here and there as Khen carefully, very carefully gauged who would only add strength to the stone, making sure there were no dark streaks of doubt within the fire.  

It was later that day when Khen arrived back home, making his way to the downstairs loft where C’tolemy slept.  Boots, belt, gloves, robe, pants all came off, dumped into an untidy pile at the corner of the loft, leaving the Uyagir in nothing but his skin with the small pouch held tightly in one hand.   A light brush over the growing lilac tree was all the attention Khen afforded the plant for now, attention focused on the futon.  Khen places a light kiss on Dunrai’s head before climbing under the covers and curling up next to C’tolemy.  

“It’s done.”, Khen says around a yawn, eyes already drooping closed.  “We can give it to hi... “, the mumbled words fade into nothing as exhaustion pounces on the Xaela, forcing him deep into sleep.

[ Dunrai belongs to @dunrai-ffxiv, C’arha and C’tolemy belong to @ala-mhinyan, Zareen belongs to @yzareenxiv ]

[talesfromthegameff14]

Memories of Lilacs

[Photograph by Saco River Art ]

Fatigue heavier than anything physical weighed down the Uyagir as he walked through the evening fog that shrouded the paths by the beach.  Sonya beeped up at him occasionally, getting a distracted head pat from him as he wandered through the Mists.  Home called, but he was too restless to comply, needing the air and open spaces to try and clear his mind.  It was a futile search though, so after a dozen or so beeps later Khen made his way back up the path towards home.  

He walked past the house, having to go back down the flight of stairs near the building once he realized his error.  The creeping fog hid the building and he wasn’t familiar enough with the area to go there automatically.   It was home but not Home, not quite yet anyway.  The people inside were Home though, and that is what drew him inside and out of the night’s chill.  

Inside was dimly lit, dimmer than he liked, but it suited Dunrai and C’tolemy well enough.  He craved the light himself, but both of his lovers were drawn to the moon.  Like the sun after the moon he’s chased both of them more than once, like now.  Not wanting to draw attention to himself, Khen closed the door quietly and headed right to the kitchen.  He made up a bowl of snacks, some dried meats, breads, cheeses, and a significant amount of oranges.  As he worked Khen spoke quietly to the golden eguana, meticulously outlining the task before her.  A bit of an experiment, see how it would work out.  

Once the bowl is made up, he picked up an orange and Sonya, heading downstairs to the platform that Dunrai made for him, but had already been claimed by Tolemy and Arha.  As expected, the unmoving, golden form of C’tolemy was curled up on the futons tucked into the corner.  Closer to the stairs, two potted plants sat there, the brown limbs mostly bare from the winter’s hibernation.  Buds were starting to show along the branches, the promise of the coming of spring.  As always, Khen stopped to look at the plants, kneeling down to check that they were doing well.  The lilacs were precious, a legacy and a reminder of how far a bit of kindness could go.  

“Don’t ever touch these.”, he murmurs quietly to Sonya while reaching out to gently brush a finger tip along one of the slim limbs.  “They aren’t just for me, but for family. For remembrance, what is dark isn’t always evil, that kindness rarely goes wasted.  It’s a hard lesson for it being so soft.  A sharp one too, not for the weak of will.  There is strength there, more than I have of late.”  The troubled words are too soft to travel far, meant for him and the eguana alone.  “Too many missteps, too many cutting things that can’t be undone, too much bleeds.  Maybe you can help a little with this golden one, yes?”  

He doesn’t move, eyes focused on the plants the entire time he’s speaking.  One kindness?  Could it truly be that easy?  How to show kindness to someone that snarls and snaps and bites?  Would it matter in the end? His heart called out for payment, blood for blood even if the wounds that bled were far too deep to be seen.  But a small voice whispered what if...? just loudly enough for him to doubt.  A hard lesson? An extended hand?  Could there be a way to do both?  “I’ll try Sarangerel, there has to be some way through this.”, Khen whispered before standing back up slowly, keeping his head slightly stooped so he didn’t hit it on the ceiling.  

Walking over to the futons, Khen knelt again so he could put Sonya down on the ground next to him.  Leaning over, he whispered instructions to her as to not disturb the sleeping miqo’te.  Then the orange was placed next to her before the tall Xaela slipped out of his clothes then under the covers to curl up behind C’tolemy tightly.  Gentle words of love and reassurance were whispered against the wild mass of curls near the miqo’te’s ears.  Cuddled up to C’tolemy’s back, Khen can’t see when the other man wakens, but Sonya can from where she waddled over to with the orange.  

The moment C’tolemy starts to stir, a bright gold muzzle pushes the orange within eyesight, but not too close as to startle.  A soft beep follows the offering, along with another little nudge of the fruit closer.  “Eat silly fleshling”, her expression seemed to say, “Eat”!  

[ Sarangerel belongs to the lovely @ninth-threnody.  C’tolemy belongs to @ala-mhinyan.]