#Ask Samga

[determinedbuns]

*hands Samga a muffin*

"... How long has this thing been sitting out for?"

The rabbit looks down at a moldy mess of a muffin that has clearly sat out for far too long. Its darkly colored crumb giving way to a blooming white colony of pestilence, the rabbit had no desire to consume this muffin no matter how much one might ask.

"... Thanks?.. Gosh, how long was I asleep for? I must've left this muffin before I went to sleep, heck maybe even longer.."

[hauntedofficechair]

I don't know how to write introductions...

Hello everyone. My name is Professor Samga, or Tamachi Samga in full. I hail from Unova as a professor that studies electric and/or steel type pokemon, all with artificial origin or otherwise.

He/she/they/it pronouns. Queer. Happily married. Plagued by demons (my rotom). Here is my ID card.

Don't mind the fact that I didn't look at the camera while the photo was being taken. I have autism and I struggle with eye contact that lasts longer than a second.

About my team, um...

I didn't actually *have* a starter. I just got plagued by a rotom. And then it willingly let me catch it. Best friends forever now. I named it Advil because I always need it after it possesses my electronics.

My magnemite. Darling, sweet, idiot magnemite. I caught it in the grass while taking Advil out on a stroll.

Porygon is a similar thing with rotom where I was plagued until I got jumpscared by it appearing in my laboratory as a freshman in uni. Definitely didn't shit myself. Nope.

Genesect? I forgot. I just have it. It likes me. Yay.

Emolga appeared at my doorstep. I took it in cause I thought it was sick due to the discolouration. Nope. Shiny.

Joltic is because I caught it while it was chewing on my wires.

That should be it. I'll be posting photos of myself getting terrorised soon. For your enjoyment.

ooc under cut

Tamachi Saga is from a selfmade pokemon universe taking place in the region of Vicroke, a place based off of Mongolia. For convenience, he has moved to Unova. All content to do with Vicroke will be tagged as #vicroke.

Also, he's really ill. She has several cluster B personality disorders, has OCD and schizophrenia. Content warnings goes as followed...

Death (whether that be murder or suicide.)

Contamination OCD

Harm OCD / Homicidal urges

Delusions

Paranoid thinking

Probably some other things that will be tagged as "cw: [content warning]"

As per other things!

Admin is 20 and prefers no NSFW to appear on the blog as there is the possibility of kids following, and because the character is Married:tm:

Please do not engage in this blog if you demonise any personality disorders, OCD, schizophrenia, are aphobic and fit a general DNI list.

Anon asks OK ! Sentient pokemon OK ! Literally anything is Okay just don't be weird ^_^;

That should be it! Thank you for taking the time to read all this :)

[lilbittymonster]

I thought of another one after remembering the fic/wip about Kitali retrieving her armour post-banquet! Does Kitali have a set squadron in the Twin Adders? Does she handpick recruits or leave it up to the Adders to sort out?

God I am SO GLAD you asked this bc I think about them constantly but have never had a chance to talk about them in the. 3? 4? years I've been playing.

So, short answer is yes, she does have a full squadron that she handpicked. They are all either Duskwight or Au Ra as a personal fuck you to Gridania lol. She does hold rank of captain with the Adders, even though it's an open secret that her alliance with them is on paper only. After travelling with the Ilsabard contingent she's made it clear her actual allegiance lies with Ishgard.

She's fairly close with most of them, even after they've left the service of the Twin Adders to pursue their own interests or to become adventurers on their own. Gonna put the expanded headcanons under a cut since it gets long.

So the first one to show up was Samga. She's fairly young, and likely in a similar position as Kitali of having grown up outside of the Steppe with parents who left before the tunnel was sealed off. She heard about Kitali joining the Twin Adders and hoped to emulate her, and Kitali was glad to have a ranged fighter to complement her melee.

Begter was the next one to show up, an escapee of the Buduga. At that point, Kitali had begun training with Oboro and Tsubame, and she was thrilled to not only have someone to spar with but also someone to speak her native language with. He definitely taught her some Buduga slang so when she showed up at the Dawn Throne in StB she got to confuse several people there. "Why is this foreign woman(?) speaking like one of us?" He's one of the ones she's most close to, I would say.

Awayuki came from Kugane to study Eorzean conjury and was recommended by the Conjurer's Guild. She was their first permanent healer. Before her they were just rotating through whoever wasn't already on assignment, and the four of them (Oops All Au Ra) were a really solid group (yes it was 3 DPS to one healer shhhh it's fine). She's Kumokiri's cousin and was the one to recruit her with Kitali's permission.

Sofine was a transfer from the Maelstrom. She's originally from Peacegarden and wanted to get away from the Shroud, so she became an arcanist and joined up, but Limsa just didn't agree with her.

Teulzacq showed up after the Ixal dirigible was completed. He saw it take off over the treetops, then heard scuttlebutt about how it was the recently promoted chief sergeant who was responsible for it, and wanted to see what kind of person would manage to both. He knew some basic hand-to-hand combat, but Kitali asked if he would be willing to learn to fight with a sword and shield instead, since they still were missing an actual tank. So that was his job for a few months until Saiun showed up.

Since he had to go through the South Shroud to get to the gladiator's guild, he had run into the same handful of Duskwight hanging around the Druthers, and they got to talking while he rested. A couple of them offered to teach him traditional proper lancework if he was ever interested, and so when Saiun showed up he asked Kitali if he could set aside the gladiator's arms and learn from them instead. She loved the idea and told him to go for it. If anyone should be the lancer it should be him.

He's also the one who took on that poor Duskwight kid that's been harassed outside the lancer's guild since the fucking start of the game as an apprentice after Kitali finally lost her temper.

Saiun is a former mercenary who's party disbanded over petty disagreements and he was looking for employment. He and Kitali had a "game sees game" connection and he fell into place in their dynamic fairly seamlessly.

Kumokiri followed her cousin a couple months later since they were still looking for a secondary tank to give Saiun a break. Whenever she and Awayuki are paired up together it ends up being both the giggliest assignment and also the most efficient.

Rivienne was the last to show up as their other healer. She tentatively approached Kitali one day as she was leaving Little Solace to ask if she was still looking for party members, or knew anyone who did, she had been studying conjury on her own after she learned she had an aptitude for it. Kitali said she would give her a trial period to see how she did, and she was so enthusiastic that she didn't have the heart to turn her away. Rivienne learned by leaps and bounds and showed herself to be one of the more tactical minds of the bunch.

Anyways I care them muchly and I wish we could do trials with our squadron members.

Thanks so much for asking @whatsthisascianbullshit

AMA about Kitali!

[hoysheila]

LIFE UPDATE AFTER 1M YEARS HAHAHA

hii again tumblr so a lot had happened in the past few months. I checked it mins ago nga December 2023 man diay akong last nga post diris tumblr. Anyways, my life has still been a bit fucked up because of the happenings, gikan sa pagkapatay ni angkol and so on... yes ni taliwan na intawn si angkol loloy and everyone in here is still carrying the pain sa iyang pagkawala ug samga realizations sa dagan sa ilang kinabuhi. well naapil napud ko ato. naa ko sa stage sa akong life karun nga wala ko kabalo if gikapoy ko mo react sa tanan or sadyang naanad nako. seems like i don't make big of a deal about little things anymore, kay siguro gikapoy ko kay kesyo waste of time siya. i had seen progress in my self in terms of encountering difficulties sa life and also sila pud nanggi progress na. life has been completely different lately, it had stepped up for good. in terms of our relationship ni kolkol, naa mi sa point nga nag sinalbahay sa among kaugalingon ubanan sa pagpaningkamot nga maka survive mis among adlaw adlaw nga buluhaton. but the thing that i hate the most right now kay nag step up pu ang among problema. si kolkol kusog mo sugal ug inom plus sigarilyo nga ang tendency kay mag away mi and there were times nga maapil napud kos iyang bisyo. i want to break that kind of cycle sa among life karun. i keep on hearing words from him nga naningkamot sya pero nganong na feel nako nga wala syay progress sa iyang pag likay sa pagbuhat sa mga butang nga makadaot sa iyang kaugalingon ug sa among relasyon. i somehow felt nga kapoy na, di nako ganahan mag padayon aning relasyona. gusto nako mabuhi ug ako ray isa. ni abot napud ko sa point nga naka ask kos akong kaugalingon nga sakto ba akong desisyon, nga diri ko, kada adlaw mag sud ong sa ingon ani nga klase sa kinabuhi. but there is still a part of me nga nag ingon nga laban lang, pagsulay rani, mahuman rani, ma okay ra ang tanan. isa pa, sa akong hinanakit karun is the pressure on everything nga major nga buhaton sa akong life such as my academics and most importantly and akong plano nga manarbaho online. nalain ko kay ante kay wala pa gali ko ka trabaho, mag sige nag hisgot ug advance nga mga butang that leds up nga ni ingon na sa ako nga di sa daw ko mag saba kay te maribel kung maka trabaho nako. ang akong point is dili pag dinalo pero wala pa gali ko ka trabaho, ingon ana na dayun ang mga istorya ug naa nay expected nga mga mahitabo. nalain ko somehow. dili nalang ko mag elaborate kaayo kay nakasabot man nuon ko nganong na ingon to ni ante sa akoa. ang akoang kalagotan lang jud kay pati si kolkol mo tolerate pud sa iyang mama ug ingon ana, nga miskan dili na maayo nga mga istorya, pasagdaan lang pud kay kesyo gina daog2 lagi, kay kesyo pag mo abot ang panahon nga maka ahon nga ingon ani ingon ana, plus manungo pajug istorya. pwede mabuhi tag malinawon? ang ilang kinabuhi kagradog gubot kay ang ilahang vibe is mura mang pug manghagit ug gubot. kapoy, madamay paka nga way labot. huhays tumblr ikaw lang sa jud akong sumbunganan kay miskan pag akong ingnan ani si kolkol di rami magkasinabot kay basin ma misunderstood rani niya.. bahala sya.. kung ako ma puno sa ingon ani nga sitwasyon, basin diha najud ko mo hawa aning kinabuhia

[alexs-moon-garden]

Inktober day 5: Food

Next time on Monsterchef Kitchen-! Ft. @the-junk-sela/@emittyb Sela, @orange-mercyfighter Fallen, @two-littlesouls Cammy, @determinedbuns Samga, @multi-of-fire Daf, @nansi-stories Nansi, and @thesmilingtragedy Avarice

[whispersafterdusk]

Prompt #3: Scale

The muu shuwuu was a strange beast.

A large fuschia and white plumed avian, they typically stayed in the mountains to the north of the Mol encampment.  It was rare to see one on the plains, rarer still that the birds bothered with anything that wasn't one of their sheep.

Unexpectedly one had swooped down on Kazutane as he made his rounds nearest the rocky ledges of the mountain, and while he had managed to fight the creature off it had peppered him with razor-sharp plumes fired like arrows from flaps of its wings -- he had seen sheep pinned to the ground with such tactics but had never had the ire and feathers of a muu shuwuu aimed at himself before and hadn't quite managed to get his shield up in time to keep himself from being pincushioned with eight or so feathers.

He'd managed to prize a few free but the others were...well, stuck.  They'd penetrated his armor and sunk in deep and with each move of his arm he could feel the feather's shaft grate against the scales of his forearm; it was a sensation that made him shudder -- like he was rubbing his skin against sandstone.  It felt unnatural, painful, and was worrisome as he didn't know what diseases the beast might be carrying that may have just been embedded in his own skin to fester.

He was spotted by the others as he approached the camp and by the time he'd passed through the gates there was a small group there to greet him, and as he spied Cirina among their number he felt his face flush.

In the sun one could see the bluish tone to Cirina's horns; where most Mol had deep black scales and horns, hers had always reminded Kazutane of the deepest night where the stars shown brightest.  He let his gaze drop to the ground as he was ushered into a tent to be tended to, and gave only the briefest answers as to what had happened.

Soon it was only Cirina and one other helping her (a younger girl called Samga) ease his armor off until only the sleeve pinned to his arm remained on him.  It was easy enough to not have to look at Cirina now -- he could turn his head and grit his teeth as the feathers were pulled free and the blood cleaned away, and as the bandages were being applied he still felt as red as he had outside with each brush of her fingertips against him.  He could keep silent - he HAD to keep silent.  

"Are you feeling all right?"

"Huh?"

Cirina's voice interrupted his thoughts and he turned just enough to see her worried face leaning in close to him.

"You look flushed.  Are you feverish?"

"Perhaps the beast was sick and that is why it attacked him," Samga added.

"Ah, no, n-no.  I am not ill, I'm just-"

Lovesick, that's what I am.  A lovesick fool.

Cirina frowned and pressed the back of her hand to his head.  "There is no need to hide illness, Kazutane.  None will think less of you.  I will ask Maqali to make certain the muu wushuu is properly disposed of so nothing eats it and grows ill.  Here, lay down..."

Groaning inwardly at himself Kazutane obeyed; Cirina finished tying off the bandage and then laid a gentle hand on his bare chest.  He was close enough to see her eyes widen briefly.

"Your heart is racing - you ARE ill."

"Truly, I feel fine," he tried to argue weakly, but Cirina stood and moved away.  Most likely she would come back with the herbal paste they used to draw out fevers - it was pleasant smelling but tended to stain the skin a pale green for a day or so after it had been used.

If a green forehead was his punishment for being unable to keep his bashfulness under control...Kazutane supposed there were worse outcomes.

[baidar-oroq]

08-Clamor

Twelve years ago, the Sea of Blades, the Azim Steppe.

The outriders of the Oroq tribe, by now, consider their search to be perfunctory, fueled as much by tradition as it was their admiration for Jagadai, who insisted that they continue to search for his brother. They all know that the best case scenario for young Baidar is being captured and enslaved by the Oronir, for his trail had led towards the Mettle, and in the dying days of the old year as the Tsagaan Sar approached, the Oronir would surround the Mettle in force, claiming any foolish enough to approach. The likelier case, though, is that the boy is dead, killed either by predators or by the trials of the Mettle itself. But yet they push on, led by Jagadai, who is not willing to give up on his brother yet. 

Even if he privately wonders what drove Baidar to attempt the Mettle at his age. 

No Oroq has ever succeeded at the trials of the Mettle younger than eighteen summers; Jagadai had been twenty-three summers himself when he’d attempted it, and misfortune had ended his attempt before he tamed the cloudkin, a boulder that had smashed into the path just before he had reached the end, shattering his elbow. He had recovered from the injury to continue to serve as a warrior of the tribe, though he suspected that in later years his elbow would ache on cold and rainy days, but as the heir apparent to his father, he would have to display caution on the next time he attempted the Mettle. His failure was seen to some as an achievement, though, since many did not survive their failure. The gods would favor him the next time, some in the tribe said. 

Baidar was only sixteen summers old. Sixteen years old, and he had taken his spear and had snuck from the camp one night a week ago, what tracks he’d left headed for the Mettle. Sixteen years old, and probably dead, but Jagadai was not giving up. 

His parents seemingly had; his father, Bujir, had seemed more offended by Baidar’s breaking with tradition than worried that his younger son had vanished alone on the Steppe. Ibakha, his mother, had shown more concern, but that, as they say in Reunion, was a low bar to clear. Neither of his parents seem to understand Baidar, to understand his talents with a spear, his ability to hunt and track, how good he was at these things. Already Baidar was Jagadai’s superior in arms, rarely losing a sparring contest, and the boy had been hunting since he was fourteen. The tale of how Baidar had slain a purbol at the age of eleven-to be accurate, he dealt the final blow after a hunting party had done much of the work, but nevertheless-is a quiet legend in the tribe. Jagadai marvels that Baidar, who’d followed him on the hunt and had leaped into action when the purbol threatened him, had even managed that. 

Bujir, of course, merely focused on how disobedient his son was.

Be honest with yourself, Jagadai, especially if your brother is dead; he did it because he wants their approval for once. He thinks it will take the Mettle to attain that.

Jagadai is so lost in thought over his brother that he doesn’t at first hear one of the outriders shout, but the man pointing in the distance catches his attention. Jagadai follows the man’s gesture and sees a single yol, flying low across the ground, and on instinct he pulls a spear from the saddle of his stallion. It is not typical for a single yolrider to attack a party of riders numbering ten, but as a scout for other groups, a yolrider is dangerous. He prepares for whatever is to come, but he is in no way prepared for the yol to dive down at a rapid pace and fly so close overhead that he feels the beat of its wings, nor is he prepared for what he hears:

Baidar, yelling at the top of his lungs from the back of the yol, “HEY JAGADAI!”

The noise that hits Baidar as he brings the yol in for a landing on the edge of the current encampment of the Oroq is a palpable thing; Jagadai had raced ahead to notify the tribe of Baidar’s unlikely triumph at the Mettle, and fully a third of the tribe, mostly the young ones and few of the warriors who fought beside of Jagadai, is waiting, cheering, yelling, asking questions, and mostly wondering “how?” He fancies as he dismounts from the yol that Azim himself can hear the clamor of the tribe at his triumph. He is sixteen years old and he has defeated the Mettle. He feels someone smash into him, and he half expects it to be Jagadai, but no, it’s Samga, and the girl hugs him tight before saying “You ridiculous fool, how did you do this?”

Baidar is about to answer when he realizes that the clamor is gone, that all he can hear now is the wind as it whips across the Sea of Blades, and he is not surprised when the crowd clears and there’s his father, his mother at his side, and the expression of disapproval on both of their faces simply murders the mood. He sees confusion on Samga’s face, confusion on the faces of the youngsters that surround him, especially the children, but he isn’t shocked. Nothing I do meets their approval. I’m not Jagadai, he thinks. He rests an arm against the neck of the yol and gives his parents his most reckless, carefree smile. “I’m back,” he says. “Made a friend.”

Bujir is silent for a long moment, before he shakes his head and sighs. “You left the tribe alone. You violated our custom and tradition. You were to be eighteen, my son, if not older, and would only attempt it if we intended to fight in the Nadaam. What do you expect for someone who flaunts our tradition and laws?”

“I do not know. ‘Hey, son, see you’re back. How’s Bardam’s Mettle this time of year’?” A few of the crowd chuckle, but quietly. It did not do to offend the khan, after all. 

Bujir considers his son for a moment. “You succeeded at the Mettle, then?”

Jagadai steps up beside his brother, doing, as he always does, his best to navigate the gulf between Bujir and Baidar. “What, father, do you think he just found a yol out on the Steppe and talked it into coming? He succeeded. He is Baidar Yolrider of the Oroq now.” Whether you like it or not, he does not say. 

Ibakha moves between Bujir and his sons, forestalling whatever the khan is likely to say next. “He is a yolrider, yes. But he also disobeyed the will of the Khan and the traditions of the Oroq. When you are khan, Jagadai, you’ll understand how important it is that your word is obeyed”

“When I am khan, I will accord warriors with the respect they deserve for their achievements, even if they break with tradition,” Jagadai says. He knows that both he and Baidar will pay for this moment in future days; Bujir, after all, does not treat either of his sons well, he just avoids most of it because he has the fortune to be the firstborn. He looks at the tribe and says “Let them have this moment, father. We can debate how wrong Baidar was later.” 

Bujir nods, sternly. “I bow to your wisdom, my son. Celebrate the triumph of Baidar Yolrider then.” He and Ibakha turn in eerie precision and march in their direction of the khan’s yurt. 

They have not yet reached it when the clamor begins anew. 

“I am sorry, Baidar,” Jagadai shouts over the noise of the crowd. “I honestly don’t give a fuck how old you are, you’ve done something no Oroq has. You did well.” 

Baidar is somber for a long moment as the celebration continues to break out around him. Then he flashes his brother a wicked grin and says “Just getting started. One day I’ll win the Nadaam.”

Jagadai laughs. “Sometimes I almost believe you will.”

[a-forlorn-soul]

Prompt #10: Nhaama’s Path

FFXIVWrite2019

Prompt #10: Foster

Rating: SFW

Warnings: None

Timeline: Approx three months ago

A groan escaped the Xaela who had somehow managed to appear from the Aether at the Aetheryte in Reunion. Not many among the tribes bothered with their use, but he had long since realized there may be times that he’d need to do so. Thus he staggered in the bitter cold air of the Steppes, the home of his people, with his eyes moving about the camp slowly while fighting the effects of aether sickness. He only did this in the hopes of figuring out if he had made it there before Chabi or not.

<”I cannot believe that she ran off like that…”> he grumbled to himself upon not seeing a sign of her at all.

After taking a few moments to gather what strength he could he took slow uneasy steps to make his way around the marketplace. At every stall he stopped to ask if anyone had seen someone matching Chabi’s description, and so far it seemed that he had in fact gotten ahead of her. Nhaama was watching him since it appeared that she had not ever attuned to the aetheryte in Reunion. It was enough for him to pause a break to avoid passing out from exhaustion.

He had little chance to actually rest, however, as while sitting himself down on a rug for those to ease their feet he found himself nearly flinching at a shout. <”Kete!”>

Turning in the direction of the shout he saw a sight he had not in more years than he could ever possibly remember. With skin as red as his and hair as black as night a small xaela woman came running towards him, and despite the passage of time he could still remember the name that belonged to her face.

<”MaraL?!”> he responded, forcing himself to his feet in order to catch his sister in his arms, <”By Nhaama I did not expect to run into you here.”>

A bright smile and soft gold eyes looked up at him after pulling away. <”Nor I you, brother. I thought I was imagining things when I saw you, you have been away for far too long,”> she told him, her smile remaining bright.

In true Xaela fashion neither of them showed their true emotions out where others could see. No instead they only smiled at one another after their embrace, remaining as stoic as ever. <”That is an understatement. How are mother and father? And the other two demons?”> he questioned in a taunting voice.

<”They are fine,”> Maral answered with a musical laugh, <”Though things were getting difficult there for a time. Turbish is keeping the Tribe under his lead with a rock fist. He would not let anyone who was not loyal to only him out to hunt,”> she explained, her voice becoming somber, <”Even those are becoming fewer, most regret siding against you as the Khan.”>

<”I always knew that would come to pass. You said were, though.”>

Her smile brightened right back up when he pressed for more information. <”Yes, then we received your message and instructions should the Tribe need to free itself.”> At this point her tone went from somber to almost blood thirsty. <”Hope was fostered among those who have been struggling.”> There was then a pause while her eyes narrowed in slight pain. <”It is not too late Kete. You could still-”>

<”I cannot, I will not,”> Kete cut her off with a shake of his head, <”It must be Yesui. She is my choice for Second and thus the rightful Khatun of the Tribe. With you and Ibakha at her side she can do it.”>

Sighing Maral let her head hang in response to his answer. <”I thought you might say that.”>

<”I am sorry sister,”> he muttered and brought a hand up to try and get her to look at him, <”A season ago I would have gladly returned, but I have made a life for myself in the West. A tribe actually. And there is one…”>

<”Oh? Are you perhaps finally settling down Kete?”> his sister suddenly prodded with an impish grin, <”Mother was beginning to worry that you really were hopeless. I just figured it was taking you a while to find a blind woman who had been knocked dumb by a dzo hoof.”>

With a loud laugh he shoved his sister and rolled his eyes. <”Far easier to find than you finding any kind of man that can stand you,”> he retorted with a sigh.

<”So you truly wish to remain in exile in the West?”>

<”I do. Yesui can handle things in my place, we both know she will make a better Khatun than even Samga. All you need to do is make sure that Ibakha does not convince her to kill Turbish,”> he said in a serious voice, <”He must be humiliated and then sent West to me.”>

She glared at him before slamming a fist into his arm. <”What do you take me for? Ibakha only does what I allow. Now come, let us go and get food and khumis while we discuss the rest.”>

Nhaama really was guiding his path, at least that is what he thought as he followed his sister off to a tent to rest. That was the only explanation he could think of. By her hand Chabi made her way to the Steppes in a manner that caused him to give chase right as his sister was bound for Reunion. Now hope was given to both him and his Tribe for a better future.

[determinedbuns]

...💖 LISTEN MAN THIS GOTTA HAPPEN ONE WAY OR THW OTHER SHDHSJ (@garrthedustbun)

The music begins to play, denoted by the Dust Bunny reaching over and holding onto Samga’s hands. The mere gesture alone was awkward enough, it was a stranger after all. Did he know this person? They looked so familiar, but he couldn’t place his finger on it. Until he did. The look in his eye, the general haircut and color scheme, they looked just like that one guard that tried to..!

His grip on Garr’s hand tightened as the music picked up more and more and his shocked expression shifted to a gradually widening grin of wicked fury before he turned around and swung gar over his head and–

RULES OF NATURE

The table was left in pieces, Samga walked away from the disheveled mess of memes and old sour relations.

[sea-and-storm]

Crimson - Have you ever been in war? If so, describe how it impacted you

OOC:  Decided to answer this as a drabble that I was planning on writing sometime anyway, so maybe the writing isn’t 100% spot on with what specifically the question asked. So to actually answer the question:  not directly, and very very badly.

It was the morning after the annual battle over the coastlands and at the their clan's camp, the Kharlu that had not marched off to battle eagerly awaited the return of the warband.

Among those waiting were the seven wives of Batukhan Kharlu and the youngest of his progeny. Babes still at the breast slept soundly curled in their mother's arms while toddlers pulled impatiently at their skirts. Those older still watched the horizon with the adults, some with wide eyed excitement and others with the solemn understanding that the day would come when they too would leave the safety of camp to join the other warriors on the field.

At the end of the line was the newest of the khan's wives. Only around half as old as the first, Samga of Kharlu, the former Mankhadi looked closer to a daughter than the seventh wife. She was the only one among their number without a child hanging onto her, nor with swollen belly, which only served to make her seem that much more sorely out of place.

Had the circumstances been any less solemn, there would have been whispers. There was any other time Ghoa was out among the rest of the tribe for any reason. The women snickered and sneered as they whispered behind their hands. The men didn't even bother to lower their voices to make their crass comments as they cornered her alone, just so long as they were sure their khan wasn't closeby to overhear. No few of their number had spat at her feet and made clear their disdain after it had become widely known across the camp how increasingly vexed their beloved leader had become with his newest, barren, defiant bride.

While this cycle’s battle for control over the eastern coastlands had quickly come and gone, Ghoa's own war had been raging on for almost a year now, from the moment she had been taken from her people to become the property of Batukhan Kharlu.

Ghoa's silver eyes would not leave the horizon, and scarcely would she even allow herself to blink. In the distance, she could hear the low rumbling of hooves on the packed earth. It hadn't been nearly so loud as it was when they had left. Were they still far out, or had they lost many? She didn't know. This was her first experience with the grand annual battle, and her own people had never been the warring sort besides. All of it was uncharted territory to her.

"You're worried."

Her attention was finally pulled away by the voice of the woman to her right, her expression alone enough to confirm the other’s observation. Her eyebrows were knitted together, jaw tense, and lips set into a hard line. Yet the face Ghoa found staring back at her, while certainly not casual, was far less tightly wound. Togene was the fourth wife, and perhaps the only one among the Kharlu that truly seemed to hold any shred of sympathy for her situation. She had tried to be Ghoa's guide in the difficult transition, to teach her the ways of her new people and to pick her back up when she faltered. Out of the entire tribe, Togene was the only one that the former Mankhadi would truly call a friend.

"I am," Ghoa admitted in a quiet whisper, giving a meek nod.

Togene's lips pulled into their usual soft, understanding smile. Careful not to wake the young boy she held, she shifted him off to one hip and reached out with her newly freed hand to caress her cheek. Her fingers gently brushed the strands of Ghoa’s long, inky blue hair from her face then fell to find her own, wrapping around it and giving it a firm, reassurance squeeze.

"I know it is new to you, Ghoa, but there's nothing for you to fear," she cooed. "Successful or not, Batukhan always returns home to us."

Her stomach twisted uncomfortably at the words, and for a moment she had to drop her eyes away to keep her feelings from becoming obvious upon her face. As she had told her, Togene had eventually learned to love their husband, to find joy in the children that he had given her and in serving him and the Kharlu. From the very beginning, Togene had insisted that in time, she too would come to feel the same way if only she tried.

So how could she tell her only friend that she was not worried that he would not return, but rather that neither Nhaama nor Azim nor any other god who would listen had heard her impassioned prayers to let him fall upon the battlefield? How could she admit that what she wanted more than anything in that moment was for Batukhan, the man Togene loved and the father of her children, to have fought his last battle?

She couldn't, and so instead she only gave the woman a weak and shaky smile and squeezed her hand in turn before returning her eyes to the horizon in silence.

The hoofbeats were growing louder now and finally she could begin to make out the shapes of riders in the distance. As they drew closer, she could tell that there were indeed far, far fewer returning than those that had left. So many casualties of war.. But still her eyes desperately sought out only one man in particular while desperately hoping that she would not find him.

Ghoa had almost allowed herself to feel a flicker of hope when her eyes had finally landed on him. His armor was dented and scraped. His brown hair was matted with sweat and blood, and his face covered in dirt and grime. The lance he had taken with him to the battle was gone completely, likely lost somewhere in the fighting.

But there he was, hale and whole and seemingly little worse for wear, save for the umbral anger that so evidently simmered under the surface of his severe expression. A look that Ghoa had become all too intimately familiar with, and one she had quickly learned to fear.

The gods hadn't heard her prayers;  if they had, they had chosen not to answer them. Batukhan had returned and the war she herself fought would continue on, unending. Silently, the tears began to roll down her cheeks.

"See?" Togene whispered when she noticed Ghoa’s crying, clearly mistaking them for relief and joy as she reached up to wipe them away. "Our husband always comes home to us."

[hiddeninshxdows]

((heyyyy I wanted to ask if maybe youd like to do a fun lil thread between Elly and Samga, or if you wanted to continue our first thread where Samga and Elly were lookin for Mr. Skelly, im up for either one, BUT SAMGA KNOWS HOW TO DO HAIR!!! HE LEARNED AFTER DOING IT FOR HIS LIL SIS EVERY MORNING!)

{HECK YEAH LET SAMGA DO HER HAIR, ITS VER SOFT AND SHE PURRS WHEN ITS PLAYED WITH}

[baidar-oroq]

Laugh

(Spoilers for 5.2 and the Ruby Weapon Trial):

The Sea of Blades, the Azim Steppe, eleven years ago:

He is sixteen summers old, his first Nadaam behind him now, when his uncle Bukidai comes to him on the eve of a dairalt, a raid of protection against a swarm of Adarkim looking to defeat weaker tribes to replenish their numbers after a disaster of a battle against the Oronir. 

Baidar is tending to his steed for the raid, one of the dozen that are the personal property of his father, the khan of the Oroq, Bujir. It is only because Bujir doesn’t wish to break the traditions of the tribe that Baidar has even been given one of the stallions; Baidar’s choice to face the test of the Mettle and then fight in the Nadaam before Jadagai, the future khan has forever put a distance between father and son for his presumption. Baidar is not the udirdagch in matters of war, not the one who decides who fights in the Nadaam, after all. That no one in the long oral history of the Oroq has ever succeeded at the Mettle as young as Baidar seems irrelevant to Bujir. Bukidai finds his brother, at times, to be a damn fool. Even at such a young age, there is no better warrior of the Oroq than Baidar, not even Jagadai, who is already named the champion of the Oroq and the war leader. That Jagadai himself acknowledges that Baidar is already his superior at arms is also ignored by Bujir. 

Bukidai sighs and sets that all aside. The outriders have reported that over forty riders of the Adarkim are approaching, thinking that the Oroq are easy prey for them. The drivers of sleds, many think on the Steppe, are easily beaten. They would need to be taught, even if the tribe could only afford to send fifteen riders to do so. It would soon be time to ride out and face them. Around them, the Oroq are taking down their yurts, loading their sleds, preparing to move to new lands in the event the Adarkim come with a greater force; the women bark orders to those working to break down the camp, while armed Oroq circle the dzo herds, preparing to drive them across the Steppe. It is elegant and organized chaos. 

Bukidai walks up to Baidar, an obvious limp slowing him. His last Nadaam, five years previous, had ended with a wound to the leg that never properly healed, and so he has transitioned from war leader to advisor, an advisor rarely listened to by Bujir. He watches the youth secure the saddle on the stallion, making sure that his spare lances are equally secure. The Oroq will not be able to dismount on the attack, after all; their job is to harry the Adarkim, not fight on the ground. The other riders for the dairalt are a short distance away, surrounding Jadagai, some of them already singing the songs of war of the Oroq and whooping wildly. In contrast, Baidar is quiet, his expression thoughtful. I’d best talk to him, then. Give him the old advice my father gave me on my first ride, he thinks. “Not interested in singing then?” Bukidai asks.

Baidar turns from his preparations and gives his uncle a smile. “You’ve never heard me sing, clearly, Uncle. The last time I tried, Samga told me to stop.”

“What were you singing?”

Baidar thinks on it a moment, then blushes. “A sailor’s song from the Ruby Sea I heard in Reunion. Might have been why she told me to stop.”

Bukidai chuckles. “Likely. So. Your first raid. Your first ride at your brother’s side in battle. Not much like the Nadaam at all.”

“Here to give me advice?” Baidar asks.

“Of course. Whether you listen is up to you. You will need it, for the ride is not like the Nadaam at all. If you are unhorsed, you’re in trouble. Speed is everything. Your allies are shock and sheer speed. Ride into them and make them fear you.” He reaches over and puts a hand on Baidar’s shoulder. “Laugh while you are killing. Make killing into joy, so that they fear you more than they fear failure.” Baidar opens his mouth to speak, but Bukidai shakes his head. “You love the fight. More than any other warrior I have even known. Use that. Laugh as they die, and those that live will remember that.”

Baidar considers this for a moment, then nods and climbs into the saddle. “I’ll see you when we’re done,” he calls, and rides to join his brother and the others. Bukidai watches the youth go, and wonders if the boy is ever going to realize how special he can be.

The Ghimlyt Dark, after the defeat of Ruby Weapon:

“As for you, hero of Eorzea, you’ll pay for what you did to Milisandia, I swear it.”

Baidar watches the Raen leave the field of battle where he fought against the Ruby Weapon, acutely aware of the presence of Gaius van Baelsar beside him. The Garlean is quiet, brooding over the fact that the pilot of Ruby Weapon had called him father, before she had died, her mind overwritten into someone else’s by the Weapon’s systems. Baidar barely understands what had happened-it would be later, speaking with Y’shtola on the First, that he comes to learn just who Nael van Darnas was-but he knows what he has done. A few minutes ago, he had been fighting, his new blade Dragonsong filling him with the power of Nidhogg, overcoming impossible odds against a terrifying war machina. 

And now, here he was, an accomplice to the death of Gaius’ daughter.

He does not think that Gaius will blame him for Milisandia’s death; the VIIth Legion and the monsters in Garlemald that had made the Weapon were the ones to blame. Had any of Gaius’ attempts to halt the Weapon had been as successful as Baidar’s, then Gaius would have wielded the blade that killed her. That does not make Baidar feel any better about what he has done. He damns himself for falling into the joy of battle, the thrill of fighting to the death, living balanced on the edge of life and death, as he’d fought against Ruby Weapon.. Zenos was right about that, he thinks. I am like him in that regard. 

He sighs, deeply, his hand on the hilt of Dragonsong. “Laugh while you are killing.” he whispers.

“I beg your pardon?” Gaius asks, unsure of what this Warrior of Light has just said. 

“Something my uncle once said,” Baidar replies after a moment. “Something he said to inspire a damn fool kid. Something I’m not sure I need anymore.” He sighs again. The Azim Steppe and the fighting between the tribes, the dangers of the hunt, his uncle’s advice-well meaning within the society of the Xaela, but betraying how small his perspective truly was-feels like it was a thousand years ago. The sheer scale of the wars that he has fought, from the Source to the First and back again, is beginning to wear on his soul, the responsibility of being a Warrior of Light weighing more on him with every passing day. That he would have to kill again-to protect Eorzea and his family-is obvious to him. But he is not sure he will ever laugh while killing again. 

He is not sure he ever should have.

[naarehate]

Samga nonchalantly walks up to Nanachi, holds up his index finger, jabs it into his own belly and the act results in a chewtoy esque squeak from the strange Rabbit.

Mild puzzlement is the immediate response to the other’s actions, a raised question preceding the unexpected, albeit... strangely adorable noise. “Naa...? Watcha d-”

A moment of bewilderment, hidden beneath the usual half-smile and unimpressed stare, leading to the muttering of a deadpan “... huh.” Admittedly, a part of her wanted to see if there was some sort of trick to it. Maybe a noise-making relic hidden in his fur?Well, who knows. Only one surefire way to find out!“How’d you do that?”... asking directly, of course. She knew, better than anyone, how annoying it can be to be poked and prodded at without reason.

[a-forlorn-soul]

Prompt #6: The First Horizon

FFXIVWrite2019 @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

Prompt #6: First Step

Rating: SFW

Warnings: None

Timeline: Approx 15 years ago

Light sparkled off the snow covered grown from the morning sun cresting up over the horizon to brighten the small valley with the warmth of a new season. Though the cold remained in the air along with the snow on the ground the sight of the ice flows melting and retreating over the ocean confirmed that winter was at its end. Many times had the young hunter been in this valley this time of year, but this was the first time he was able to look out from the ledge he now stood on. It truly was a wonder to see the large collection of yurts that were huddled near the valley well by the water’s edge.

The sound of footsteps crunching in the snow behind him tore his attention away from the inspiring sight to look for the source. Coming up along the path leading the ledge was a small but well built red skinned xaela woman. Her fiery orange eyes almost resembled a dancing flame in a fire pit from the sheer intensity they gave off. This was bolstered by the way she moved with practiced ease and confidence, not to mention how her hand lazily lay across the thin bone sword she kept at her hip.

<”Good, I see my message reached you Kete and that you arrived quickly,”> the woman stated after coming to a stop next to him.

<”Of course, Khatun. I could not dawdle after receiving a summons from you,”> he told her in the same tongue, a bit formally.

An almost musical laugh escaped her, something that would be odd to an outsider considering the countless bones that adorned her furs. <”Relax Kete, it is nothing that would require such formality from you,” she assured the youth, looking up at him despite needing to crane her neck to do so, <”You have grown quite well, several full heads taller than the other males of the tribe. Yet I still remember when you were only waist high.”>

Kete rolled his eyes as the woman continued to laugh so easily at such a thought. <”So what is it that you wish to see me about Khatun?”> he questioned, hoping beyond hope that she’d not go off on some embarrassing story.

<”I wanted to speak of the future,”> she answered with a shrug after she stopped laughing, <”It is time that I select my Second. The tribe needs to know that they will have a leader should I fall.”>

<”Then should you not have summoned Turbish? The whole tribe speaks of him as your Second.”>

<”The whole tribe speaks too much,”> she retorted in a serious tone, <”Turbish has had the best Trial, but he is not Khan material.”>

<”I do not understand. If not Turbish then who? And what does this have to do with me?”> he went on in a rather confused tone.

A heavy annoyed sigh left the smaller woman as she ran a hand through her black hair, the grey streaks in it standing out even more for some reason. She then slowly gestured to him as if wanting him to get down to her level for a moment. Completely clueless he complied with the gesture and knelt down to be at a near equal height, sealing his fate. The moment his head was in reach her hand whipped out to smack him upside the head with an exasperated growl.

<”Did Nhaama bless you with stones for a mind?”> she asked in a hopeless tone, <”Do not make me regret my decision Kete! My choice for Second is you.”>

The smack had made him wince and rub at the back of his head right up until he heard what she was saying. Freezing in place his eyes went wide while it hit him. <”Me?!”> he responded in an incredulous voice, <”I am not fit to be your second! My Trial was not the best. I only brought in a Mammoth, surely the Baras that Turbish took was worthy of being Second.”>

Once more the woman ran her hand through her hair as if dealing with a moron. <”None have done what you did in a long while. It is true that a Baras takes more strength, but the Mammoth takes wisdom,”> she explained to the youth, <”To lead the tribe you do not just need the strength to fight, but the wisdom to know when to fight. Turbish only possesses strength, not wisdom. You, on the other hand, have demonstrated both.”>

<”I still do not believe I am worthy.”>

<”Kete, I have watched you for many seasons. Not because of your innate strength from your size, but because of your heart. You would do anything to protect your family and do what is best. As Khan the whole tribe will become your family,”> she went on even further, <”I can trust that you would stay your blade and avoid conflict if it was the best for the tribe, where as Turbish would never hesitate to resort to the blade. Not all battles can be won, and not all battles should be fought.”>

Kete went silent at this and turned his gaze out to the huddled yurts, trying to imagine leading the people that lived in them. It seemed far too great of a task for him, and not one he’d ever ask for. Yet at the same time the Khatun was making sense with all that she was saying. He’d do anything possible to protect the lives of those around him, and to ensure they led a life worth living. Taking a deep breath he finally nodded before responding to her.

<”I understand Khatun. I accept the task and burden of becoming Second. My only hope is that I can prove myself deserving of such an honor.>

The woman’s smile returned while Kete stood back up to his full height. <”You passed my final test Kete. While you questioned the reasoning, you did not back down from the task knowing it was needed,”> she stated proudly, <”Now my Second, you take the first steps down a new path. Your life is no longer your own for you belong to the Tribe in its entirety.”>

He needed to take another deep breath while now enjoying the sight laid out before him. <”You never change do you Khatun? Always testing us, always watching,”> he mused softly, <”Nhaama guide my steps then if that is the case. Just no more stories in front of the Tribe now Aunt Samga, even mother shows more restraint.”>

As the two stood there now with their paths set Kete could do nothing more than roll his eyes as his Aunt started to cackle. It was going to be a long and trying road, of that there was no doubt.

[two-littlesouls]

Avarice's 'hug' and Xanos' magic secure the beast to the ground. Even if he had planned to move at any point during this attack, he wasn't going to do it now.

That was when everyone moved in to attack, the HELLBENT DETERMINATION in their hearts, be it fledgling or fully-grown. Samga did his best to protect Rhys, but the pull of his infant ferocity was too strong. He charged in as well.

Every attack connected, HELLBENT's body cracking, puncturing and crumbling with every strike. The ruined creature screamed in abject frustration as it tried to break free and counter.

As he failed once more to release himself, he opened his mouth once more to try the laser that was successful back in Snowdin.

As it turned out, his attempt was met with Penny's fist.

The impact and following shockwave made a gigantic cracking noise, which bled into the beast screaming, which bled into a deafening white noise as his body erupted into a flash of white light, filling the area and consuming everything, and everyone, present.

??? Joined the struggle.

What became of the strugglers? Find out under the cut.

As the blinding light of HELLBENT's body exploding began to fade and the struggler's eyes were allowed to adjust, they would quickly realize that they were no longer in Waterfall.

The only sign of life in this new, desolate landscape other than the strugglers themselves was a red flower, slumped over and silent.

But not for long.

THKK! KRRRRRRRRCKKKKKK!!

[GgguuuuuuuAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH...

A few moments and uncomfortably unfitting sounds later, the area illuminated by the light of a curious glowing orb in the air. They had seen this briefly before; it was HELLBENT's soul.

The ground underneath them crunched and shifted underneath them. Like large, sharp chunks of sand.

Only this desert was made entirely of dull, lifeless, orange soul shards.

The flower contorted and shifted into an unnaturally rigid, upright stance.

And spoke in a soft, yet sharp tone.

"Greetings."

"...This is my welcome? Such a rag-tag menagerie. Still, you managed to set me free without the beast annihilating you so I suppose you deserve to be congratulated."

"I imagine you must have questions. I have questions of my own but as I am the intruder here, I shall let you have the honors."

For such a small thing, this scarlet flower exuded a spirit-crushing aura of DETERMINATION and DANGER.

The strugglers proceeded to speak with the flower, desperately trying to gain as much information that they could.

They quickly realized that it was not here to help anyone other than itself, but you will have to ask them, or it, to repeat that information.

"All right. I think that's more than enough pleasantries. Now that I have escaped that empty timeline, I have work to do. And so do you."

"The boy is of little consequence to me now. He is merely a vehicle. However, the detonation of the beast's body appears to have cast fragments of his id across The Underground. You will need to retrieve them before they disperse or, even if you were to get him back, you would be lucky to get even a shadow of the person he was. You would be lucky to get a person at all, for that matter. A non-responsive, useless vegetable would be the far more likely outcome."

The flower's expression did not change. But you were certain that under that hollow smile was really a smirk.

"Besides, I need you out of the way so that I may enact the next step of my plan in peace. In all honesty, the most preferable outcome for me would be if the fragments of his id killed you."

"I live in hope."

"Oh, one more thing. Besmirch, was it? Disavow? Hysteria? I believe you collectively refer to yourselves as 'Besmirched'? Hm. How fittingly arrogant of your progenitor. Anyway, you've probably already realized what I have done, but I shall elucidate anyway. I studied your composition through the sample graciously donated through the boy's hand. And while I did not have time to completely decode it, I have been able to devise a program that will prevent you from drawing upon your source. At least while you remain in this timeline. Additional ink was surplus to requirements, you have more than enough with you to adequately die with."

The SOUL in the center of the area began to glow once more, slowly engulfing the area and returning the strugglers to the white void the explosion had originally sent them to.

[determinedbuns]

You should show that other bunny who's boss and feed him cupcakes

“Just so he could spit them out and waste’em?”