#orben tribe

[finalfantasyxivwritings]

About the au ra shedding their scales thing - I'm pretty sure that is canon in the game. There is a tribe of Xaella au ra that make boats decorated with their shed scales.

After going back and refreshing myself with the Xaela tribes, you're correct! The description for the Orben specifically reads:

A tribe that rides up and down the great inner river on boats woven from reeds and reinforced with scales from their own skin.

I appreciate the little touches of background detail we get from the descriptions of all the Xaela tribes; it makes it all the more fun to build off of the canon information, especially for those that don't have an in-game appearance yet.

Since we already know there's at least one tribe of Xaela who use their scales as decoration/reinforcement for their boats, it makes me wonder what other cultural significance that scales and scale shedding hold in other groups across the steppe!

[paintedscales]

FFXIV Write 2023 :: Day 10

Prompt :: You pick! (Rapid) Characters :: Nomin tal Kheeriin, Arik Dotharl (Noykin), Begter Orben Word Count :: 1,660

FFXIV Write 2023 Master List

Days traveling the Steppe’s rivers thanks to those of the Orben had been an interesting experience to have said the least for Nomin. Since Horse and Wild Sun had been taken, it was one of the only ways that they could traverse that had its advantages over walking to and from places. Not to mention, it helped with searching different places where the two stallions might have been stolen away to.

Arik, in particular, had been pretty broken up about Wild Sun having gone missing versus Nomin’s rather blasé take on Horse’s disappearance. Truthfully, Nomin had been more upset about losing a lot of their belongings over the horses. It had been to a point that Arik had not really sought out discussion too much with Nomin as they shared a boat with one of the Orben tribe members they -- well, Nomin -- had made pretty fast friends with.

The Orben had a method and order to their migrations to keep their boats from knocking into one another. Their host’s boat had been relatively close to the front -- third in line of the van. Where most boats held the owners’ families and belongings, their host had…mostly himself and his own belongings.

“We are nearing where the Hak Khaal converges with the Nem Khaal. The waters have seen us swiftly these past few days…” their Orben peer had mentioned, lifting his oar from the water and staring ahead. He looked between both Nomin and Arik, both who had been notably quiet for a good portion of their trip since the Orben had been on migration.

Nomin pulled her hand from idly splashing in the water, her form straightening so that she was no longer slumped over the lip of the boat. She looked over at their Orben host, an only slightly curious look befalling her face before she turned and looked back at Arik to gauge his attention. After all, it seemed as if their boat driver had more to say…

“With the storms that have washed over the lands in recent time…” the Orben’s expression grew perplexed as he frowned. “We may be in for some rather rough waters. Especially as the rivers meet.”

“Is there anything we should expect, Begter?” Nomin asked, more willing to make conversation than Arik had been.

Begter sighed, soon drawing his oar back into the water as he thought about his answer. Paddling, he finally responded, “if you are not quite familiar, we shall be approaching river rapids. It is like that Borte khatun leading the van will want to traverse through them so as not to waste more time. We are already behind schedule as it is, unfortunately.”

“Are they particularly dangerous?”

“Pending on the weather, yes. For those of us still green in the ways of the rivers, absolutely. Whatever I have in the boat, I shall ask of you both to secure with rope and canvas if they are not put away in the compartment below our very feet. As for the safety of you both…well…” Begter have a cursory glance about the boat and continued his paddling. “I would say simply to brace yourselves away from the edges of the boat. We won’t want to capsize, especially in the thick of it. You will both have to listen to my directions in the midst of the rapids so that we keep the weight within here distributed.”

“Got it…” Nomin replied. She then looked back at Arik. “How about you? Did you get all of that?”

Her words were more to ensure that he had the information. He had been quiet and out of it for some time. Given that he had often been despondent and distant in recent time, Nomin had expressed patience to the best of her ability. At the very least, she could somewhat empathize with how he felt, given that Wild Sun had been more or less a reward from his trial with the Noykin -- much like Horse had been a reward for Nomin’s false devotion to the Jhungid’s cause.

“Hm? Oh…” Arik looked up from gazing out at the lands they passed, turning his attention toward Nomin, and then to Begter. “Sorry. I thought you were simply talking to Nomin, not me.”

“It is no problem of mine, friend,” Begter replied. He had taken the time to explain to Arik what he did to Nomin about the rivers meeting and what the recent storms meant for them. Once it seemed that Arik understood and knew what to do, the rest of the trip had returned to being quiet and filled mostly with the sounds of running water. Only every now and then were distant conversations and laughter heard among other members of the Orben.

To fill the silence, or perhaps because it was what he had been used to, Begter had started to sing as they continued on their way. It was no song that Nomin recognized, but it was something nice nonetheless. However, the more that Begter sung, the more that the others -- whether it was from the boat in front of him, or the boats behind, other members of the Orben had joined in song.

Fair flowing waters do guide us so

Wherever the river decides to go

Under Azim’s bright and guiding light

Or under Nhaama’s darkest night

O guide us through water’s wrath

O guide us through water’s wrath

Let us sail along the right path

O guide us through water���s wrath

For our vessel we give a part of us

That our scales may be our aegis

To brave the waters calm or tumultuous

We carry on through the waters thus

O guide us through water’s wrath

O guide us through water’s wrath

Let us sail along the right path

O guide us through water’s wrath

It was, Nomin realized, a song asking for a blessing to pass through the waters unimpeded or in safety. Reaching over, she fished out her sketch journal from what belonging she did have along with a piece of writing charcoal. She committed the words of the song to a blank page where she kept other such notes and little observations in text form.

A bell or so passed, and though Begter had shifted to singing other songs a little more whimsical in nature, he had a steeled air about him. For good reason, too…for even Nomin had looked up and observed her surroundings once the pace of the boat had picked up and the sound of the water’s currents had become much louder.

Without hesitation, Nomin had gone to do as Begter asked of her and Arik, taking canvas and spreading it over the loose items within his boat. There were fastens where rope was to be tied, and both Nomin and Arik had seen to securing what belongings there were so they did not get jostled out of the boat and lost to the river’s waters. Once everything looked to have been good enough, Nomin took a seat away from the edge, her hands braced against her seat. Arik had done the same, though his expression seemed a tad more uncertain than Nomin’s had been.

As had been told to them, the waters were rough, though Nomin seemed to have underestimated how rough they would have been. Begter’s voice had nearly been washed away with the water itself, though with his years and lifestyle among his people, shouting instructions seemed to have come with being Orben. It was thanks to this that Nomin and Arik were able to have proper guidance to prepare themselves and keep the boat from capsizing.

Each time it felt like the boat was to topple over, or each time the boat had been sharply turned upward along the water, Nomin could swear that her own stomach had been turning and flipping with fear. For all that she had learned in her time foraging, training, and fighting…this certainly had to be one of the scariest experiences thus far. Especially considering she had never been taught to swim.

Even more surprising, and perhaps even nauseatingly so to Nomin, were the sounds of laughter and whoops from other members of the Orben. She could not wrap her head around how this was supposed to be fun. Riding on the back of a galloping horse -- that was fun! Sliding down a sandy dune -- also fun! Whatever this was, however, was not fun.

The ride through the rapids felt like it took bells to finally resolve, and when it did, Nomin just sat there in her spot on the boat. She had to take time to mentally process everything that had happened. Once her breath had finally stabilized from the excitement, Nomin looked over at Arik, who seemed to have taken the entire thing far better than she had. Then again, she had to remember that the Dotharl always did tout that phrase ‘we do not fear death.’

Begter’s gentle laughter was heard after a time, and Nomin looked over in his direction briefly.

“I trust that the two of you are alright,” Begter said, calming himself as he spoke.

“Y-Yeah, I think so. Nothing seems out of…the ordinary…” Nomin replied, slowly getting herself moving to make sure that nothing really was bruised or worse. Aside from the lingering adrenaline that had overstayed its welcome, she felt okay for the most part.

“I’m fine myself,” Arik said, his tone quieter than Nomin’s. He had resumed his idle staring out toward the scenery. So long as Wild Sun was not with them, it seemed, his mind was elsewhere.

“Very good…because now we must make our way toward Reunion, where we are like to trade off some of our goods before going back to our migration. With luck, and I hope Azim or Nhaama both give you plenty of it, someone will have seen your horses there,” Begter said, genuine in his words.

“Here’s to hoping for the best on that front,” Nomin concurred with a sigh.

[ffxivxd]

The Orben tribe of the Xaela is a tribe that rides up and down the great inner river on boats woven from reeds. The boats are also reinforced with scales from their own skin

[semi-imaginary-place]

im back in xaela naming hell. classical mongolian names rip. and I’m reading up on the tribes, so “Orben: A tribe that rides up and down the great inner river on boats woven from reeds and reinforced with scales from their own skin.“ implies that au ra shed scales. the image of the xaela im getting is one that is dynamic and always shifting. even with in the 51 clan names given we have this clan was recently created and so and so clan was recently destroyed. which really frees up roleplayers to make up their own clans. I wonder how long the Burn has been there, could be interesting to have a clan that historically lived there but has since dispersed

so 15th century mongolian. middle mongolian

altai river, Arigh pure

love that for them.

they’re actually going to be a wol so i suppose calling them pure light is a little much...

also intersting historical note in that in researching the people of central asia, a lot of terms for historical ethnics groups and other terms are in chinese and not the native languages. im guess this is because the chinese left the best kept records and also had an established written language. so i dont know what were the names these cultures had for themselves

Ariqai. why do so many of my characters have names that start with A. I like the sound of Esen. apparently turkic in origin meaning wind but theres some 1400 historical figures named that. lol there’s already 4 shilugei out there in eorzea. shame i liked it too. shiluukei . sube eye of a needle or strategic point. sileɣü-sü lynx (mid šile'usun google shilüüs ), sili back of the head mountain range. silmeɣü-sü  conifer needles (mod silmegüsü(n), silmügüsü(n), silbegüsü(n), silbüsü(n), silümüsü(n) ). siulu conifer tree root word, usu needle? google translate is also helpfully giving me züü for pine, shilmüüst for conifer

Silmuus, Shiulu, Silmuutz, Shilumuusn, Silmegus, Silmuzu, Shilumuz. Shilumus

https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/%D1%88%D0%B8%D0%BB%D2%AF%D2%AF%D1%81. lynx. silexüsün.  /ʃiɮus/ how is “ɮ” pronounced???? ...that’s not an “L”. they’re just borrowing the character its like a zh sound. nope the idiot who did the voice sample just said it wrong.

Zikeguun cold Khonkh bell

Honh. ok youtube and the ipa guidelines are telling me X has an h-ish sound. but now wikipedia is telling me its romanized as kh which is probably what’s going on in game like in Khagan. and im also getting a historical pronunciation of honghu so idk.

Shilumus, Shilugus, Shilesun, Shilusun, Shileoos, Shilegoos

Shilegus Khonkhu or Shilu for short

[fistsoflightning]

10: words will not suffice

prompt: avail || masterpost || other fills || ao3 mirror

word count: 2111

Hien does not understand the Steppe as well as he thinks he does.

Spoilers for 4.4 MSQ, Steppe portion! Disclaimer: if you like Hien and don’t see any problem in what he does *both damn times* he goes to the Steppe in MSQ, you probably won’t like this much. I could probably go on for an entire post about Steppe headcanons and tidbits I just get Salty about, but I don’t think anybody would want to read me ranting wildly [/sweats]

In this past sun of serving as his moon’s right hand—not so much a burden as it is an annoyance, with how Oktai cannot speak, but his fair hand and open mind even with an Oronir in his bed is not one Magnai would trade for the simplicity of his time as reigning khagan—he has seen much. A conflict, once, between the Orben and Ejinn over the rivers and their bounties, and a minor conflict with Ura traders coming into Reunion with potentially volatile ores from the peaks that quickly turned into a threat when several Gesi hunters had bought the ores and turned the Steppe into a minefield overnight.

Oktai had handled those with grace, even with his sibling and fellow khagan away fighting wars for the Eorzeans they had cast their lot with. Hardly needed to wheedle respect from those who had seen him, either; he’d the same, unfortunate bleeding heart of his adoptive sisters, and the stubborn temper of Zaya within his breast, unable to let anyone go wanting despite their demands without bowing his head. It had taken a few guiding steps, Magnai leading for the first few turns of the moon, but so easily he had fell into it so long as someone could speak his wishes for him.

He’d hardly had the rancor he’d expected when Zaya came fumbling home to help their brother succeed in another Naadam, and even less surprised when the Steppe yet again claimed them both of the land, both khagan still. So few souls on the Steppe were possessed of such strong will; if he were Dotharl—never did he truly wish that, he thinks in a huff—he might think Oktai and Zaya two halves of a warrior’s soul. Perhaps the land itself thought the same, giving them the same rights usually won and worn by one.

This, Magnai thinks, stifling a sigh when he lifts his cup to his mouth to find the last dregs of his tea gone, is hopefully not the fall of Oktai from his well-deserved seat into a spiralling loss of control.

He has never seen Oktai so irritated as he does now, taking his pointer finger and sliding it across the side of his left hand for Magnai to see; his sign for when he needs meetings to end. Magnai wishes he could grant that wish, but seeing as how the lordling from Doma is still sitting resolutely at the other end of the table, Y’shtola of the Seventh Dawn seated by his side and Sadu—damned woman, demanding a spar before they could begin just to see if he deserved to be seated as the khagan’s aide—practically ready to sear lines into the table, he shakes his head. Oktai’s face falls momentarily, the light purple bags under his eyes from a fortnight spent resolving a sickness among the Gharl painfully obvious, but Hien clears his throat loud enough to snap Oktai back to attention.

Magnai, as much as he despises Sadu and her every way, cannot help but agree in her incredulous stare. The other khans and khatuns were right to leave under veil of browsing the stalls of Reunion, for the wants of their own tribes.

“The Oronir have no hand in this,” Magnai grouses as Oktai’s fingers tap irritatedly against the wooden table. By Azim’s grace, he will need a cup of tea after this, if not a skin of kumis to drown the bells he’s wasted speaking in circles with this stubborn man in. “But this is no matter of a single tribe. Still you manage to test us all.”

“My deepest apologies,” Hien says with the authority Magnai expected of a man raised into rulership. “but there is war on the horizon, and I would not suffer either of our lands being controlled due to a lack of communication.”

He does not scoff at his words—it is a very near thing—though a quick little smirk does emerge for a moment. Controlled. How self-aware is he, Magnai wonders, watching Y’shtola quietly side-eye her companion. 

Oktai taps his arm, pulling his attention back to his hands; a few quick signs that Magnai hardly has the time to mull over, then a single finger held up, slowly pulled into a fist. Together.

He nods, and clears his throat, thoughts turning to weaving Oktai’s sentiments together in a way that doesn’t seem… dismissive. “As we have said, the House of the Crooked Coin falls under no sole tribe’s jurisdiction. It is a place deemed sacred to all those blessed by the Dusk Mother, from the most devout to even the Oronir, born as we are of the radiant Azim; She still deems us Hers, gifting this land with Her aether. The pillars in the Crooked Coin are no simple matter.”

“And by my reckoning, there is no issue should I gain permission from the other tribes, yes?”

Azim be merciful, he thinks, rubbing at the edges of the scales on his forehead. It is not even as noisy as the last few meetings Magnai had held as khagan in his rule, but he finds himself with a headache of the same manner regardless.

“Yes, but you—”

“You,” Sadu says, pointedly interrupting his train of thought; if Oktai had not laid his hand on his arm, a gentle hold on, let her speak in a single touch, surely this yurt would have devolved into messier infighting than that between a khagan and a king. “have not traveled far enough into our deserts to meet the Kagon; devout worshippers of the Dusk Mother. They will have your head for daring to suggest the thought, as would I. You mean to rush something that will easily take moons.” 

The Dotharl khatun’s hands twitch against her arms, faintly gleaming with an abundance of fire aether that has Magnai wondering if he should call Daidukul to bring water. 

Hien, ever blind, breaks the silence. “Cirina had told—”

Oktai’s low groan, accompanied by Magnai’s eyebrow twitching, is enough to stop Hien from continuing. The quiet noises of Reunion closing stalls and retiring fill the silence, uncomfortable as it is; a wonderful evening, wasted on hours of such tedious debate. Sadu looks distinctly unimpressed, because all his arguments, eventually, circle back to the Mol—and she lies in Cirina’s bed; this, Magnai understands well enough. The fire in Cirina’s eyes was not solely her own the last Magnai saw her, no longer wholly the ethereal maiden he’d thought he’d wanted, but even then.

“The Mol are… fearful, shall we say, of those with strength.” Sadu crosses her arms, glaring intensely at him. “Cirina is brave, yes, but not stupid. She knows who and who not to anger. Including…” She raises a hand, almost dismissively in manner, towards Hien. “You. Protector of her people when Nhaama’s child fell and shrouded our lands in smog. Warrior of the Mol, who fought valiantly for their safety during that Naadam two years past. She has led you to believe, perhaps—”

“That the other tribes might fall in line, yes. I suppose,” Hien pauses, tilting his head up to the ceiling. “‘Twould have been better if I’d brought Zaya along, perhaps. They’d seemed neutral to the plan, at most.”

Y’shtola, for the first time in several bells, clears her throat. “That was because they have been ignoring every word that spills from your mouth, not because of placid agreement.” Hien almost looks scandalized, in how his shoulders fall. “Forgive my interruption, I simply thought it prudent to be truthful than impressive.”

Oktai shakes his head in a pitying sort of way, frown hardset against his face from what little Magnai can see of his mouth from this angle, where his horns cover his expression.

“Leveraging the khagan with his sibling would not change the problem,” Magnai says, voice carefully measured.

“Then what would?” The Doman lordling comes forth with a renewed determination in his voice, despite how he scrabbles so for any foothold, any respect within this sole tent. “Surely we can come to compromise at least for long enough so I might consult with the other khans and khatuns, regardless of how long it takes. Surely you understand the dangers of the Garleans enough to—”

“Hien,” Y’shtola says, her voice a sharp, unforgiving breeze among the stifling atmosphere of the Qestiri yurt. “Enough. There is yet—”

“Is there?” Hien turns to his companion, and Oktai nearly slumps over the table, a sentiment Magnai himself reciprocates by crossing his arms firmly over his chest. How could two allies be so unable to reach a solid conclusion among themselves and hope to survive against the ironmen they fear so? “You had stated the lack of crystals in the Burn yourself; I’ve little reason to doubt there being no other deposit of aether nearby strong enough—”

Through Oktai’s hand, still resting atop his own, Magnai feels a shock of furious lightning crackle up his skin; not strong enough to harm but enough for him to know that when Oktai stands up in frustration and storms out of the yurt he has truly, finally hit his limit for the needless words of alliances and compromises from a ruler that has given no quarter, so used to his own homeland being drained of its own culture and sacred lands that he no longer sees wrong in doing the same to others subconsciously.

Magnai sighs in relief. He’d expected Oktai to allow this useless conversation to drag on longer.

“The khagan has spoken,” Magnai declares, standing from his seat. His tail aches something horrid when he stretches, kinks in his tail straightening out. The sun filters in slow through the crack in the canvas flaps, dust motes gleaming and covering Hien in a stark shadow as he remains seated. “If you truly think to convince all the tribes of your duty and its needs, first you must convince him.”

Hien’s brow furrows. “I had thought our discussion a long ways from over. The alliance?”

“The little sun has misspoken.” Sadu stands, and despite the insult Magnai is inclined to agree—he has, and now the Doman princeling has assumed. “Talks of alliances will wait. The khagan has left.”

“Certainly; quite rude of him, I might add.” Hien folds his hands in his lap, eyes misted over yet still hunter sharp, seeking a weakened point. “Has he not left his lands in danger, by denying us his approval before we have even begun to travel and visit the other khans and khatuns? Would he truly be so temperamental to quit the conversation ere we have truly begun?”

The harsh roll of Sadu’s eyes only serves to prove that, no, Magnai is not having some sort of nightmarish dream that if he pinches the scales on his nose hard enough he will awake in a Qestiri yurt instead. Shame that the only thing the two of them agree on is the merits of Oktai’s rule, and of how this discussion has long overgone its stay at this table.

Scratch the pot of tea. He will have to ask Taban for kumis if he wishes to rid himself of this horrible, horrible headache.

“If you cannot respect the time of the khagan and his people, you are not ready to speak of alliances,” he sighs. A shame; Hien is, rightfully, fit to be king—of his own people, of whom he has already earned the respect of, learned the needs and requests of like the back of his hand. “A full turn of the sun and still you have not learned, Doman, so I shall say it again.” He straightens to his full height, and Sadu barks out a laugh as she leaves the yurt, calling for Cirina and both their yols as she walks down the wooden steps. Hien, for his merit, does not turn to look bewildered at her, instead meeting Magnai’s stare.

“You have made mock of our ways since the very beginnings, Doman. Bardam’s Mettle is not a simple trial; our Naadam is not a little contest for you to win and tip the balance of our lands to win your wars. Even the Dotharl, respectful of warriors, have found you and yours wanting, and yet you continue to play at the role of magnanimous ruler. The Mol bow their heads to you out of respect for a savior and friend, not king; they let you live among them and you did not learn. Do not dare to presume so again,” he says, letting his voice rise and ring, and by the princeling’s side he sees Y’shtola shake her head. “Or you will find the khagan much less forgiving in hearing your useless words.”

[dahniwitchoflight]

All of The Tribes of The Xaela, from FFXIV, sung by me to the tune of Yakko Warner’s “Nations of the World”

Lyrics:

Of the Tribes of the Steppe there’s first the Geneq, the Horo, and Goro, then Mol

Then Bairon, and Bayaqud, Ura, and Malaguld, Remember of course the Kahkol

Now there’s Adarkim, Bolir, the Sun-Children Oronir, Buduga, now the Dazkar

The Towering Olkund, the Dead Drunken Ugund, then Qerel and Tribe Avagnar

And then Dhoro, and Haragin, Secretive Khatayin, recently now Arulaq

The silent tribe Qestir, and Orben, and Uyagir, ever-migrating Dataq

There’s Feminine Borlaaq, and poisonous Mankhad, but sadly the Hotgo are gone

The Tribe of the Tumet, the Oroq and Urumet, Moks, Orl, Kha and Kagon

Jhungid and Gesi, the Songs of the Qalli, Miraculous twins of Himaa

The Malqir plays Kharaqiq, Masculine Iriq, and Cold of the North Angura

The Clay Urns of Gharl and Violent Dotharl, Furious Raging Chaghan,

There's Saghal, then Mierqid, settled-down Dalamiq, 

The Warring Tribe Kharlu, The Skin Painted Torgud 

The River Tribe Ejinn, The Riders of Noykin 

And those are the Tribes of Xaela

*edit* I did it again but I added background music this time and also changed the pronunciation of Xaela from Jhaela to Zaela because apparently a character in FFXIV saying it with the softer ZhJ sound was part of his accent and not how it was meant to be said lol whoops

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bUrq0AXlc3E

[chainuzz]

hey guess what time it is. it’s i finally drew my ffxiv main time. this man is yalean orben and he was born and raised in dravania!

his family pulled away from the original orben tribe a couple of decades ago. even if they’re but a splinter group they still kept their tribe name

[egg-of-mankhad]

Prompt 10: Coward

The ruby sea was set ablaze in the north along the coast. Warm, raging colors from sunshine yellow to a violent and passionate red danced upon waves of blue. Casting bloody reflections that equated the sea to its namesake. Shining like it was made from billions upon billions of tiny rubies.

As always the Mankhad would send out a boat into the waters. To lend aid to the Kharlu on their own version of the Nadaam. Just as tribes to the west would with the Orinir or Dotharl. Or sometimes tribes such as the Hotgo.

Contact with the west was. Difficult. It was always difficult. Only through the graces of their Ejinn cousins did Mankhad ever seem to gain any inkling of what was going to occur. But the patriarch of the Mankhad seem to believe that the Dotharli would win once more. As did their Enjinn cousins. As did everyone.

But the Jhungids were not going to win the Arrads. The stealthy Mankhad had declared to the creatures in the sea they would not let it so. They prayed that the monsters of the hidden depths lend them their powers. Their poison. And enhance their senses so that they may strike true. And strike to kill.

It wasn’t really about winning though. It was about survival. It was about convincing the two largest tribes of the coastlands that they were needed. That they weren’t expendable. There were horror stories about tribes being slaughtered and destroyed by those that were largest and those that were strongest. As long as a Mankhad proved that his poison was deadly. He would never become simply another casualty.

The Mankhad tribe would live on. They had to.

They were already tiny enough.

And even though the Khakol existed many would rather drink from their own poison than to become another one of the adopted and the nameless.

According to the Enjinn, who got their information from the Orben. The Haragin was to aid the Jhungid this year.

<This year worries me> the elder Veesk spoke to his eldest, Saral. <The Enjinn speak of legends, brought by the Haragin to Orben traders, of far off lands with demonic magicks. Fire breathing creatures made from iron….If they were to somehow harness these magicks.>

Saral, although he knew that it meant death to be curious in the demonic forgeries of the outside lands, found himself becoming rather jealous of the Haragin. His mind full of wonder at the possibilities of acquiring the power to breath fire. He couldn’t help but feel a rush from such thoughts. A certain delicious type of pleasure. <Do we know if they brought proof of their travels father?> he would ask. To which the elder would reply with a shaking head.

<You will not seek out this tale of foreign things. You understand? We have a war to prepare for and we all need to be here. Heart. Soul. And mind.>

<What /I/ want to know> Egel would pipe up from the sidelines. While working on dipping darts into the poison of a gland. <Is why we don’t just steal one of their ships. And then pretend we are Haragin. So that we can just. Walk into Jhungand te!!rritory and shoot them all? We don’t even have to kill them! Just tie them up, and negotiate something. Why do these things ALWAYS have to be so damn bloody?>

<We are not going to steal from the enemy. We are Mankhad. We make and use our open weapons. And our own boats. And we give back to the sea that which we took...As is tradition.>

As was always tradition. Yet someone would be missing that night. And later in the fight itself. A Mankhad who had also heard these rumors. And would take his own boat out in search of such a land. In hopes of bringing back such things to aid his family.

Except he wasn’t there when his family needed him the most. When it came that the winning tribe would judge and slaughter his family, the man would have also been suspiciously missing.

A coward to the very end.

The Mankhad name must survive though. And survival never meant winning. Mankhad finds a way, even during judgement.

<...This brother of yours. The coward...You say you know how to draw out such a pest?> a tall Xaela asked. Standing proudly at the hull of a massive wooden ship. Which looked over the Ruby Sea. Violent passionate red now a violet pink. With destroyed ships and sinking bodies found around and below.

Saral, with his sister close behind, would flash a wicked little grin. <I do. But for that, I desire something in return.>

But who was the bigger coward, the one who runs, or the one who would sacrifice his own name for the taste of a fleeting sweetness lined with bitter thought.

Bruuv the Whaletamer was gone. Fleeing on the back of a whale he had entered the chaotic war scene with, that signaled the end of the his family. And the retreat of other Mankhad into the shadows. He had narrowly escaped with his own life. All that mattered was protecting it.

========

<My brother’s mate is Raen. And she is very weak. And believe me, finding a Raen out here in the Arras will be no issue at all.>

[ecliptic-bite]

Alphinaud: What is my character’s greatest dream/aspiration?

Dagg doesn’t really have any! He’s already accomplished far more than he thought he would; settled into a group of people who actually care about his well being, found a woman who can do more than just tolerate him, gotten married even. Dagg is pretty much set as far as goals go!

Chuluungal wants to rebuild the Orben tribe, and eventually lead them to victory in the Naadam(porbably not something the Orben have even participated in previously) and become Khagan. Basically Chu wants to rule. None of this is likely to happen though; the status of the Orbens across the sea is uncertain and Sarangeral seems content to stay in Eorzea. Assuming the Orben havn’t been wiped out, he still needs his wife’s status to assert power. He’s kinda stuck for the time being.

Karaku just wants to make sure the world’s a better place, whatever that all entails. He has the Echo, so listening to what Crystal Mom says is a good starting point as any.

@monstrous-machina

[chiaro-oscvro]

@murasakiibb

I’m afraid I won’t be available to talk for very long; I have something bordering on a migraine.

Anyway. Hey, I’m Revas Lavellan of the Orben tribe. I’m an Au Ra Scion of the Seventh Dawn. ...I don’t know what to add, most of the time people know who I already am before I have to say anything.

Are you well?

[getaku]

- Chibi Golyn Orben (one of my characters from FFXIV) -

Here is my first post with a chibi ! I’m not a professional artist, so please be indulgent. I draw only for my pleasure and when I have time. Tell me what you think, in the meantime I will continue others chibis. If you have any questions to ask me for, I’m ready to answer you anytime ! 

So, next, I will describe you in a brief presentation one of my characters : Golyn Orben. She is an Ao’ra, more precisely a Xaela from the navigator tribe : Orben. I’m playing her in RP on Ragnarok server. She is an elementalist and a lancer, but her function is firstly to be a navigator (RP). She came from the Azim Steppe, and she don’t know how to speak eorzean language correctly, but it looks cute ! 

Tools : 

 > Black Liner

 > Watercolor (only)

 > Paper (simple)

[dubiousduskwight]

The Suitors: Ogul Dataq

Had they been willing to suffer it, they would have left the city in smaller numbers - one rider here and another there. Yet there was too great a risk in this that one of their number would be challenged and detained, not for any real reason but a fit of pique on the part of the Temple Knights. Even if that were not so, Ogul would not allow them to creep out of Ishgard in such a matter, enduring the final humiliation of slinking away for the sake of their leader’s own failures. In truth, even if he and he alone felt the shame of it, he still would not leave with his tail between his legs. It was part of why they followed him.

On an exceptionally cold day, the people of Foundation in the right place at the right time found themselves unnerved by the procession of a score of Xaela riders, silent save for the snorts of their steeds and the click of their hooves on the city streets, as they made their way south to the Steps of Faith. To the untrained eye of the smallfolk, their heavy furs gave the impression of being clad for war, one enhanced by strange weapons of Othardian make, better suited to hunting on the steppe than fighting dragons. Yet none had heard of a raiding party of a foreign power breaching the city, and it made little sense that they would try to leave in so upright a manner if they had done so in secret. It was a surreal sight, and one that would make for an evening’s speculation over their cups.

But though the commoners shrunk back, making signs of protection to Halone, and the guards tightened their grips on their spears and kept their hands near their swords, there were none who challenged their retinue. Not in the streets of Foundation, not in the long path down the steps where they picked their way through rubble and workers in the midst of rebuilding the shattered bridge, and not at the Gates of Judgment. Only there did the soldiers offer anything but caution as they ascertained the band’s intentions and let them pass with very little comment but, in their haste as they opened the gates wide to let the Xaela through, with a great deal of relief.

On the other side, wind passed over the ravine marking the borders of the highlands from Ishgard itself, making a noise so high and shrill it set the riders’ on edge from the ache in their horns. Ahead, only the cold awaited on their path to Dragonhead.

“The further the better,” said one at last, breaking the silence they had agreed to share. “All that preening, and all those birds.” She tightened her belt, the only piece of her attire still dyed in the blue of the Dotharl. “And so little battle. To the Steppes, then? To home?”

The thought of home raised the band’s hopes. It had been moons since they had departed on Ogul’s mission, and though it would be be moons more until they returned, they would at least have begun the journey. As one, they looked to the head of their ranks, to Ogul. The largest of their number, he was impossible to miss, towering over their ranks and with a steed of similar size.

“No,” he rumbled, and the wind fell silent to allow him to speak, or so it seemed to the band. “There are other ways. We will have our warriors yet.”

The sense of hope died, and found itself replaced by resolution, but only among most. “And two nadaams from now, we might have them,” growled the Dotharl. “Half a year, and for nothing! Our men at home have forgotten us by now. Let us - “ “Then return, Adyu.” Ogul inclined his head only a fraction of the way necessary to look at her, and she fell silent. “Go back to your tribe, if they will have you.” He spurred his horse to turn, and addressed them all, his voice again rising above the wind and snow. “Will the Noykin take you back, Samga? And what of you, Chagur? Will the Mol have you, your lack of faith and all? Do the Orben remember the boats you’ve destroyed, Okin, or will you hope that they have forgotten?

“Leave as you please. I have failed you; I will not interfere. But you will be alone, both among your ‘kin’ and theirs. Stay, and I will not fail you again. We will have our warriors. We will take the naadam, and we will become Ogul.” He did not wait for agreement, but turned his horse again. “Leave or stay, we ride to their fort, and then south. Rest where I rest, or continue to ride. The choice is yours.” A kick of his heels and a tug of his reins, and he set off to Dragonhead. He did not wait to see who would follow suit, for all of them surely must.

They rode against the wind, which seemed to grow worse, as if to strip them bare. Ogul braced himself against the weather, resting a hand at his side. The parchment he kept there, marked with the broken seal of the Eglantine, was fragile, and easily lost.

[iamfilledwithstatic]

Thank you to the anonymous gift giver who commissioned this piece for a friend. They were so happy receiving it. You really made their day!

Tei of the Orben tribe!

[tinolqa]

A disjointed bunch of Horo tribe headcanons

Since I play a... moderately prominent Horo character, the customs and practices of the tribe have been on my mind quite a bit. These are pulled from both speculation based in the lore we do textually have about Xaela and Horo culture in particular, and my own research into Mongolian culture.

Due to the importance of abundant water for their most noteworthy practices, the tribe’s migration is typically along the length of the One River and its tributaries.

Often interacts/clashes with the Ejinn and Orben tribes, who may see them as intruders.

Aside from horses, buffalo/oxen are a favored herding animal as they are less likely to become trapped in muddy floodplain regions and carry more meat per animal, although they must eat more grazing material and force more frequent moves.

Many Horo are thin or average, the same as in any tribe. But the appearance of prosperity to other tribes is important, as it gives them an advantage in negotiating and intimidates some aggressors. Hence the tribal practice of filling one’s stomach with water to appear fat.

During times when the tribe is in non-violent contact with outsiders, all individuals are expected to engage in the water drinking practice. It is impractical in times of war, however, and having a belly full of water is discouraged when one rides onto the battlefield.

Within the tribe, larger-bodied and heftier individuals are afforded a level of respect and admiration, even if they are of humble lineage or modest means.

Poor Horo wear layered clothing and bundle up- wealthy Horo expose more flesh.

It follows that larger Horo are considered more attractive within the tribe, and many (though not all, as everyone has their personal taste) hold this true across tribe or race, regarding plumper individuals as naturally more attractive.

If one Horo of lesser status attempts to use water to genuinely convince another they're of high status, they'll get their ass kicked. But at the same time it is expected in all social situations to come in with a belly of water at the risk of seeming tactless or weak. It's just important not to act like it makes you better than another member of the Horo.

"Full of it" is a translation of a very common phrase. Obviously, it carries different connotations than in Eorzea. "Full of piss" is the cruder, more insulting version, which carries connotations of being old/past one's prime in addition to acting above one's station.

A Horo of high status can choose not to drink plain water when negotiating, but opt instead for fermented mare's milk, a great privilege that also leaves them mildly drunk. This is most typically done when arranging a marriage or tribal alliance, or swearing blood brotherhood with another.

Most Horo food tends to be boiled or stewed, including but not limited to meat dumplings, a widespread favorite.

Out of riding, archery, and wrestling, the Horo excel most at wrestling, and least at horseback riding.

There is no strong preference among the Horo for any particular weapon. It is just as common to see spears as it is to see swords or axes.

They are not a tribe with great wealth or martial prowess, but many non-Horo believe otherwise. Creating that impression is vital for intimidation purposes.

Although their customs may seem strange, etiquette and the following of proper traditions, as well as hospitality and civility are important to them. A Horo, at least a good one, would never deny a guest or traveler a meal and a place to rest their feet.

Comparisons to the moon are favorable if you wish to woo a Horo mate. Nhaama herself has blessed a rounded middle in their eyes.

Relatedly, Nhaama carries a distinct association with water in Horo culture, and water even outside the body is a major aspect of religious/shamanic rituals.

As is the case with several tribes, an honorable and proper death (the kind meant for those who are not enemies, or for animals being slaughtered) is one that does not spill or waste any blood. Blood is as alike to water.

[miqo-tales]

If your character(s) were forced to join a Xaela tribe as a host-home on the Steppes through an exchange program, which would they choose and why?

Uh... (goes to look at the list of Xaela tribes)

OK, so S’era would probably opt for the Orben or Ejinn, since they’re both river tribes.  Fits with her being Blue Zu and loving water and all.

Hisui, well... probably the Kha, since they associate with non-Auri, and so she’d be closer to the cities, which she prefers.

[theduskthrone]

What the first ten minutes of quests on the Azim Steppe has confirmed about Au Ra biology: 

Horns grow with age

Tails also grow with age (presumably to a maximum length at adulthood)

All males have black sclera, not just a few face options

Scales grow back, are at least somewhat armored, and are/can be made water tight (implied by the Orben tribe lore)