#Even Ghoa had her limits

[maxikha-ffxiv]

Rp Profile: Maxi Kha

This isn't a LFRP per se, this is much more who my character is, and some detailed information about her and her place in the world

Character Info:

Name: Altani "Maxi" Kha (birth name Altani Dazkar)

Nicknames: Maxi, Hatchet, Stormbringer

Gender: Female (she/her)

Race: Au Ra, Xaela

Age: roughly 32 by end of events of EW

Sexuality: Biromantic Asexual

Height: 5'3"

Patron Diety: Oschon

Hair: Black, teal highlights

Eyes: Electric Blue, teal Limbal Rings

Tattoos: Rogue's tattoo on her right arm/shoulder

Noticeable marks: Freckled face, a very large back scar from a direwolf attack while protecting a child

Noticeable items: Bard's hat (when working as an archer). EB ring on a chain around her neck. Cherry Blossom earrings. Hybrid bow made of parts from a zelkova and a wanderer's bow.

Important NPC's:

Narani Dazkar, now Kha: Maxi's mother, wife to Keiten, humble child of the Dazkar tribe. Daughter of Ghoa, Butterfly of the Dazkar. Fled with mother and child after learning of plot to kill Maxi. Now lives in Radz-at-Han with a portion of the Kha tribe, as a merchant selling Xaela goods

Ghoa Dazkar: Maxi's grandmother. A generational talent in archery, she earned the title "Butterfly of the Dazkar" for how gracefully she could wield a bow. Many Xaela came from all over the step to be taught by her, but she didn't take many students, her best one being her own teenage granddaughter. Killed in a bandit attack by experimental poison

Keiten Kha: Maxi's stepfather, husband to Narani. Member of the Kha that rescued the Dazkar ladies. Fell in love with Narani, officially married when Maxi was 6. Maxi calls him dad, only father she recognizes. Leatherworker by trade, crafted the archery bracers Maxi wears when she's in her usual combat attire

Baatu Dazkar: Birth father of Maxi. She never talks about him. He tried to kill her, twice, all because she's his illegitimate firstborn. Former khan of Dazkar, removed from power by Maxi in a trial of combat.

Traits:

Humble start: Maxi, uninterested in the life of a merchant, left for the lands of Eorzea once of age. Having been trained in Dazkar archery, she set off to join the archers guild in Gridania

Martial prowess: Maxi has 0 aether control, but has been athletically gifted from birth. She's able to pick up and handle any martial weapon with minimal training, having spent time with the various martial guilds before settling on the Archer's/Rogue's and Marauder's guilds to focus on

Shroud archer: Main "job" is working as a scout and ranger in the Black Shroud. Maxi's been able to come to an understanding with the Elementals of the Shroud, and is able to get where she needs for the most part without much issue. Because of this, she tends to get requests from the Twin Adders on scouting missions.

Rogue by any other Name: Maxi's "other job" is her real occupation, whether she likes it or not. She works for the Rogues' Guild as Hatchet, ranged weapons expert and best info broker they've ever had. If it needs knowing, she's learned of it, and if not, her vast network of contacts will figure it out quick

The One True Job (Stone): Maxi wields a single job stone: Dark Knight. She's not exactly sure how she ended up with it, but she got it, can wield the powers of, and has fully embraced the Darkness at times. Although Maxi doesn't use a greatsword, a bloodstained axe given to her is her chosen weapon, she still can perform devastating attacks nonetheless. Fray also makes appearances, either at moments of high emotion, or when she's having a discussion with herself

Dynamis?: There's a reason Maxi sucks at using Aether and makes a good DRK. Turns out she has a high skill with Dynamis usage, although up until recently she didn't even know what it was, let alone how to use it. Her emotions fuel her, the stronger the emotions, the stronger her ability to wield it. Her control of Dynamis is very limited yet, as she is far from mastering it, but there have been flashes

[afreesworn]

3: Scale

“What do you think about this color?”

The cloak was woven in forest green cloth, its edges decorated with rich cream embroidery — almost gold in certain lighting — that caught Nabi’s eye. She smiled wide as Ghoa held it up before her, although the Mankahd wasn’t wasting any time in reaching for another piece of a new wardrobe. When a new set of traveling clothes was suggested by Shael, Ghoa jumped at the opportunity, gleefully appointing herself the expert in this matter.

And Nabi couldn’t refuse, nor would she, for she had always looked up to her for her sense of beauty and fashion.

The point of this new shopping spree was so that none of them would stand out as obvious foreigners for bandits and opportunists to take advantage of. Nabi doubted that Shael nor Anchor would allow such a thing, but the advice was still sound, and Ghoa leaped at the idea of buying new things.

But looking about the busy market stalls of Hawker’s Alley, Nabi didn’t see anyone but vendors give them a second look, and there were truly a myriad of races and people from all over the world mingling freely.

It reminded her of Kugane, as it too was a busy port city, but still, growing up there, it was obvious she did not blend in with everyone around her. Most were hyurs and roegadyn, with a few scattered lalafells and elezens, and those few who bore scales on their skin, it was pale in color, almost blending with the color of their flesh.

That was not so for a Xaela like she and her mother. Their dark obsidian horns marked them as born of the Steppe, and often it drew the gaze of natives and tourists alike.

Certainly there was a scant number of Xaela that visited their stall over the years, but rare enough that she could count them on her fingers.

That is, until Ghoa visited her stall one afternoon.

The Mankhad’s graceful demeanor and her intelligent yet congenial personality immediately struck Nabi with a sense of awe, that she wanted to get to know her. Her exotic air was something Ghoa subtly wore like expensive jewelry, it was natural and beautiful and wholly hers.

It was after that sun that Nabi slowly began to see Xaela traits as not something only unique but something she should be proud of. Something that signified the strength that was inherent in women of the Steppe, like her mother and the Mankhad.

“And this cloth and color should stave off the heat in Thanalan,” Ghoa’s observation brought Nabi’s attention back to the collection of clothing strewn over the counter. Even while the Mankhad was raised in the tribal ways, Nabi firmly believed Ghoa’s ingenuity in fashion could rival anyone in the West.

Nabi nodded and smiled brightly, squeezing the woman’s hand as she returned to studying the items displayed before her. Whether they stood out or not, Nabi no longer cared, for she didn’t feel like an outsider. Not in the present company, not for a long time.

((apologies to @jaliqai-and-company for me nabbing her character for the post!))

[sea-and-storm]

FFXIV WRITE 2020: Crux (#1)

Arukh had wondered no few times during the last few years of his life if there was a limit to how much a man could endure before he could no longer be called a man at all. No few times had he wondered just how far away from that nebulous line he himself lie after nearly four decades of having that which he held to slip through his fingers, no matter how tight his grip.

Such were the thoughts that lingered upon his mind now as he lie back amongst the blankets and furs of his bed, staring up without focus towards the ceiling of the yurt above him. 

He could remember a time before he knew loss's hateful touch. Those early years of his life had been few, but still full of vibrancy and warmth. He could remember clinging to his mother's skirts as she tended the cookfire, the smell of spices filling their home and the soft melody she hummed as she stirred. He could remember his father hoisting him up onto his shoulders as he went about his tasks for the day, tirelessly answering each and every question that had escaped from his inquisitive young mind. He could remember when his parents had explained to him that another would soon be added to their family, and the wonder he felt with his hand pressed against his mother's stomach.

Yet the memories of that time grew fuzzier at the edges with each passing year. He could no longer remember the notes that made his mother's song, nor all the questions he had asked his father much less their answers. Once, he had vividly remembered the sensation of the baby kicking against his tiny hand. Now, he struggled to remember if that had even happened at all or if it were simply a fabrication of nostalgic longing. The rest of his childhood memories had grown similarly fuzzy, if not forgotten at all. 

It wasn't merely the march of time that had robbed him of these glimpses into the past though, of that he was convinced. It wasn't that he had never thought back to them save for fleeting occasions moons or years apart. Rather, they were often on his mind, a safe respite that he had clung to in the storm-tossed sea of his life. He thought of those times when he closed his eyes, and when he slept he dreamt of what they could have become if only things were different. And yet still, as close to heart as he kept them, they too were leaving him.

It was a vexing phenomenon, but not one that defied explanation. If anything, the explanation was painfully simple:  loss, and his was a life marked by it. Cursed by it. 

First, he had lost his family;  not just his baby sister who had been taken from them, but his parents as well. After they had been forced to surrender Ghoa to the gods, they had never been the same. His mother's cheerful hums had been replaced with muffled sobs. His father's endless patience for his questions finally found its end, and he had grown quiet and distant. And of course, the baby sister he had been eagerly awaiting was stolen away from his future for reasons that he was too young to understand --- not that he truly understood them any better as a man grown.

Without a doubt, the sundering of his family was a deep wound, though perhaps it might have had a chance to properly heal in time had it been the only injury sustained. But his lot was to be born into a tribe for whom loss was an inevitability. Each year, as Arukh turned from child to adolescent to young man, he had stood by and watched as more were taken from him each time the Kharlu came to claim their due. Friends he had grown alongside. Aunts, uncles, cousins that shared his blood. Mentors that molded and shaped him into the capable young man he had become. So many people of significant importance to him had been taken, to serve as little more than battle fodder to soften the Jhungid assault for their newfound Kharlu masters.

And then finally, he too had been chosen, and what did remain to him of home had been ripped away as well.

In its place, Arukh had found himself thrown into what felt to be the deepest pit of the hells. That first year a slave, surrounded by those who treated him with indifference at best, he had gravitated towards those who shared his plight for any scrap of comfort and belonging he could muster. He had been warned against it, of course, but he hadn't listened. Not until after the first battle, at least, when the majority of those whom he had called friends laid slain around him. After that loss, he had grown far more reserved and withdrawn.

Scant few had expected him to survive that first battle. Fewer still, if any, expected him to keep surviving them, year after year. Perhaps it was only natural after he'd thrown all of his time and energy into the honing of his skills rather than the makings of fleeting camaraderie and its inevitable end. But eventually, his capability and his stubborn refusal to die earned him the opportunity to rise above the miserable state of slavehood he'd languished in for what felt like a veritable eternity.

It had seemed like a blessing at first, as such typically do when one still possessed even the slightest bit of hope. He had earned the right to shed the title of slave and worthy of claiming himself as Kharlu, and he had been given the duty to prepare newly captured slaves for the battle ahead of them. Perhaps this was his chance to change things, he had thought. Those who had trained him upon his arrival hadn't even bothered to learn his name, such was their apparent apathy. They had cared not if he lived or died, but he would be different. He would pour all he had into shaping them and preparing them for what was to come. He refused to let them surrender to the hopelessness of their situation ere they ever heard the first bellow of the warhorn. He could do it. He could save them. He had to save them, because that was the only way he could still save himself.

What a naive ideal it had been, he had realized in hindsight as he had walked through the healers' tents set up after the war to tend to the wounded. A few of those he had trained had made it back, but far from a majority. Yet even of those few, almost half of those who had returned had succumbed to their wounds but days later. After all, the best healers and the lion's share of their resources could not be wasted on expendables such as they when there were those more worthy of treatment. 

After that, Arukh had realized just why those who had prepared him for war were so aloof. You had to be, lest the neverending grief drive you mad. No matter what he did, war was war. No matter how hard he trained them, his men and women were little more than living shields for the Kharlu warriors that followed after. For those on the front lines, skill was secondary to sheer luck, and the odds were stacked against them.

In the years that followed, things had eventually become easier. While he still worked diligently to prepare those in his charge for the battles ahead, Arukh no longer cared to learn their names or where they come from. He no longer sat around the cookfire with them, lending shoulders upon which they could rest their woes and worries. And he certainly no longer walked the healer's tents after each battle, hoping each bed held a familiar face come back to him. It had taken time and no small amount of hurt to master, but Arukh had gradually learned how to meet those that came to him and then silently bid them peace and farewell in the same breath.

But he wasn't ignorant of the fact that what had made these endless cycles of loss easier to weather was that each one carved out another piece of him as it passed. With less and less of him left, it was hard to muster up any manner of attachment at all anymore. Keeping everyone around him at arm's length, he had only a handful of acquaintances but none he would call friend. And while most others of his position and age had turned their focus to family, finding a wife and having children had never been thoughts he had even passingly entertained. Even his attachment to life itself was tenuous at best, with only the solemn sense of duty he felt to those in his charge keeping him from letting the chaos of the next battle take him.

One day, Arukh suspected, he would find the point he had long pondered the existence of when there was no more man left to him. When the next loss would become the last loss, because it had stolen away every lingering drop of his ability to feel anything at all. Maybe then he would no longer remember those days of his carefree, happy youth, but neither would he feel swallowed up by darkness and loneliness and hopelessness again. Truthfully, there was a part of him that had begun to yearn for that numbness, even if it meant letting go of what little light he had left to him.

But what if there was another way..?

That was the next question that haunted him now, echoing in his head in the voice of the very woman who had posed it to him but a few suns prior. Chakha had come seeking to recruit him into the small sect of conspirators who aimed to bring the yearly war to an end and thus peace to the coastlands. That she had chosen him for this had surprised him, especially given that he had tried to keep her, too, at a distance. Naturally, his first instinct had been to decline. But something had caused him hesitation. Whether it was the persuasiveness of her words or something long  buried deep inside him, he did not know, but he had finally told her that he would consider it and return his answer to her soon.

Now he stood at a crossroads. A crux that would set the course for the rest of his days:  whether he would reject the idea that the cycle of loss could ever be broken and resign himself to the inevitability of emptiness once there was nothing left to lose, or if he would choose to not only believe that such a miserable fate could yet be changed, not only for himself but for those who came after. 

It was agonizing, this decision. Surrendering was easier, and far more comfortable. He suspected it wouldn't be much longer until he reached that anticipated point of no return should he stay his current course. But to fight was to force himself to feel again, to force himself to hope again. It risked reopening all the ugly wounds that had taken years now to heal, and that to him was far more terrifying than any battlefield he had ever set foot upon. 

But again, he could not stop his mind from going back to those memories of the happy, bright-eyed boy he had once been. He could not stop thinking back to all of those he had lost across the years. Most of all, he could not stop thinking about those who would walk these lands after him and if they would find themselves walking the same miserable path he had forged because he had been too afraid to let himself be hurt again. 

Arukh finally squeezed his eyes shut, softly cursing the watery sting that rose to them -- a sensation he hadn't felt now in years of which he had long since lost track. It felt terrible and great at the same time, that rushing torrent of now unfamiliar emotion. 

And he knew his answer. 

[afreesworn]

20: Anon

“You’re ridiculous.” He had called her that so many times. Ridiculous. But the last time she heard it, it was a soft murmur full of affection. “I’ll be back soon.”

Despite her best efforts to keep Anchor from her thoughts, his voice returned to her unbidden, especially during the lonelier moments when Nabi was left to her solitude. When her eyes grew tired from squinting at the parchment in the dimly lit space, her lids grew heavy, and amongst the shadows within her peripheral vision, she could imagine him sitting there. Small flickering motes of light blinked in the distance, much like the ones she’d watch dance in Kugane’s twilight. 

She could feel the ghostly whisper of the small metal bell brush against her hair, and the gentle press of the butterfly pin just above her horn. Just as he’d placed it there.

These moments, birthed by a desperate wish and weakness of her resolve, made her tremble. How many suns? It hadn’t been many, Nabi reminded herself. But it felt so much longer, as if time was stretched beyond its limits in this confined space. Seconds ticked by slower in the dark, away from the warm touch of sunlight, away from the scents she loved, of grass and flowers and sun-warmed earth. There were no songs to be heard here.

Anchor’s absence was palpable most of all, and every moment she wasn’t focused on something intently, her mind wandered to that empty place in her heart. Where was he? Was he alright? Was he worried? Was he ill? Would she see him again?

It was in these moments that anxiety gave way to regret. What if she never saw him again? She had been so consumed in pursuing a cure, did she miss signs of danger that landed her in her current predicament? Was she too reckless in coming here?

Their last words to each other played over and over in her mind. 

“Yara’æ,” he called her. A small promise of hope in the dark. The name felt like a secret treasure she could keep, all for her.

“I love it.” Her heart swelled when he gifted it to her. As it had, so many times before in all the little things he did for her. 

In all those times, did she ever say those words to him? Did he know how she felt? His life had been absent of petals. So many years devoid of color. Has she done enough? How was it that she had never said those words to him?

In the darkest moments when everything seemed uncertain, these were her greatest regrets. That he may never know how happy she had been, because of him. The profound joy that he had brought into her life. The love that had rooted itself so deeply into her heart, that it ached. The fact that she never told him, and were she never to see him again, that he would never know… that pained her most of all.

Nabi pressed her hands over her eyes, to stop the flow of tears before they began. Had she learned nothing from Anchor? Ghoa? Shael? She knew of the hardships they all endured, and even witnessed them play out before her eyes in that place below the ruins. They were so much stronger than her. She needed to at least try and follow their example.

She could not have regrets here. She has to see them again.

Nabi sniffed behind her hands, pressing firmly one last time to dismiss the sadness from her face. She didn’t want Mister North to see her despair upon his return. He too was trying his very best to comfort her in every way he could, staying with her in a place like this. She reminded herself to thank him upon his return. Then once more, upon their escape.

And then, most importantly, when she left this place, Nabi needed to let those she loved know just how much they meant to her.

[sea-and-storm]

KJRN, THE CRAFTY CORSAIR

* Here’s the redone version of Kjrn! Ignore the other profile going around!

[ BASIC INFORMATION ]

[FULL NAME]   Kjrn Fythe.

[PRONOUNCED]   Kee-ehrn Faiythe (rhymes with lithe).

[ALIASES]   None at present. At least, none to which she’ll answer.

[GENDER]   Female.

[AGE]  Somewhere in her 80s-90s, but appears approx. early to mid-thirties.

[NAMEDAY]   21st Sun of the Fourth Umbral Moon (8/21).

[RACE]   Rava Viera

[RELIGION]   Non-practicing.

[LANGUAGES]   Common, Dalmascan.

[ACCENT]   Icelandic, by real world standards.

[HANDEDNESS]   Ambidextrous.

[ APPEARANCE ]

[HAIR]   A mid-back length mess of loose brunette waves, generally pulled forward to drape over one shoulder. Soft and silky smooth, its care obviously involved much love and attention – and vanity.Touch at your own risk.

[EARS]   Short-furred, not overly long, and standing straight upright, with the same brown of her hair giving way into some white dappling towards their tips. 

[EYES]   Pale, rosy pink.

[COMPLEXION]   Medium tan with coppery undertones.

[HEIGHT]   6′2″ (before ears)  -  7′0″ (with ears)

[BUILD]   She’s neither muscle-rippling powerhouse nor dramatically curved bombshell, but equal enough between both to boast both a bit of shapeliness as well as being sturdier than one might expect.

[POSTURE]   Upright, cool, and cocksure are all good ways to put it.

[SCARS]   If she has any scars, she goes to great lengths to conceal them and she’s certainly not going to tell you about them.

[MARKINGS]   A set of three white markings almost always don her face, set in patterns of lines and dots. It’s an odd, almost tribal touch to a woman who for all else seems to rebuke her more traditional origins. She doesn’t seem wont to speak of their meaning.

[MANNER OF DRESS]   Kjrn is quite fond of nice clothing that shows off her wealth, and she has somewhat of a weakness for jewelry and gems. It’ll be a cold day in the seventh hell before you catch her willingly garbed in something drab or of low quality make.

[ COMBAT SKILL ]

[COMBAT CLASS]   Gunslinger.

[MELEE PROFICIENCY]   None  |  Low  |  Intermediate  |  High  |  Masterful

[RANGED PROFICIENCY]   None  |  Low  |  Intermediate  |  High  |  Masterful

[MAGICAL PROFICIENCY]   None  |  Low  |  Intermediate  |  High  |  Masterful

[HEALING PROFICIENCY]   None  |  Low  |  Intermediate  |  High  |  Masterful

[ATTRIBUTES] - - -  STRENGTH:   11 (+0) - - -  DEXTERITY:    15 (+2) - - -  CONSTITUTION:   11 (+0) - - -  INTELLIGENCE:   15 (+2) - - -  WISDOM:   13 (+1) - - -  CHARISMA:   14 (+2)

[WEAPONRY]  A 6-shot pepperbox revolver (mid range), single shot rifle (long range), and a thin-bladed estoc (close range) as a final line of defense.

[ARMOR]  Usually not terribly much. She prefers not to be weighed down, so if she’s going to wear armor, it’s usually in the form of leathers.

[COMBAT STRENGTHS]   Excellent aim. Fights well at mid- to long distances. Quick on her feet, both physically and mentally. Resourceful.

[COMBAT WEAKNESSES]  Struggles in close quarters or when in need of a reload. Not the strongest or most durable, physically. Particularly sensitive to magical effects cast upon her;  too much aetheric exposure, even of the positive variety, may trigger a brief berserk state until the excess aether is expended and exhaustion takes over.

[ EARLY YEARS ]

[HOMELAND]   Good luck finding out, because she’s not telling.

[PARENTS]   Mjra Fythe (mother)  -  Father Unknown.

[SIBLINGS]   Aela Fythe (younger sister)

[CLAN ROLE]   Huntress, tracker.

[CLAN STATUS]   Exiled.

[REASON(S) FOR LEAVING]   Kjrn left her homeland not once but twice, and that’s about as much detail as she will willingly impart on anyone without at least a fair few rounds being bought for her first.

[ LATER YEARS ]

[PAST RESIDENCE]   Dalmasca.

[PAST OCCUPATION]   Magitek salvager.

[PAST AFFILIATION]   Dalmascan Resistance.

[PAST FINANCIAL STATUS]   Moderate, comfortable.

[PAST SOCIAL STATUS]   Respected.

[PAST RELATIONSHIPS]   Pria Atoel, wife - deceased.

[PAST FRIENDSHIPS]  A number of friends and allies from the Resistance, as well as other Dalmascan citizens. (Open to background connections!)

[REASON(S) FOR LEAVING]   Left Dalmasca and set herself to wandering aimlessly once her wife, Pria, had passed.

[ PRESENT DAY ]

[RESIDENCE]   The open skies aboard her own small airship, the Fortuneseeker.

[OCCUPATION]   Some would define her lack of qualms about taking anything that isn’t nailed down (and some thing that are, with enough effort) as piracy or flat-out thievery. Kjrn prefers to call herself a simple treasure hunter and merchant of myriad miscellanea.

[AFFILIATIONS]   None actively, but still sympathetic to the Dalmascan Resistance and occasionally will send a bit of extra coin or goods their way through old contacts.

[FINANCIAL STATUS]   Well-off, or that’s what she’d like you to believe. Even when the money isn’t so good, she certainly won’t let on as if she’s broke.

[SOCIAL STATUS]   Hasn’t really stuck around in one place long enough in recent history to establish any roots, but there’s a few places that she may or may not be wanted by local authorities.

[RELATIONSHIP STATUS]   Widowed, shows little interest in courting anyone.

[PRESENT FRIENDSHIPS]   Keeps in touch with a few people from her Resistance days, but not many that she could call a close friend. (Open to connections!)

[VICES]   You can readily find Kjrn drinking, smoking, and even occasionally indulging in some drug use. But her worst vice of all is gambling. She can hardly turn down a good game of chance, especially when there’s betting involved.

[ ROMANCE & SEX ]

[GENDER IDENTITY]   Cisgender Female.

[ROMANTIC ORIENTATION]  Demi-homoromantic.

[EMOTIONAL ROLE]   Submissive  |  Dominant  |  Switch  |  Unsure

[RELATIONSHIP TENDENCIES]   Her biggest tendency is to just not get herself into a relationship, period. Relationships are like anchors that weigh her down from the skies she’s come to love most of all. 

[LOVE LANGUAGE]  Kjrn isn’t much of a verbal lover. She’ll drop an ‘I love you’ every now and then, but her love speaks through things like lavish gifts and pampering.

[SEXUAL ORIENTATION]   Homosexual.

[SEXUAL ROLE]   Submissive  |  Dominant  |  Switch  |  Unsure

[LIBIDO]   Average. She’s not bereft of want, nor is ruled by base physical needs.

[ATTRACTED TO]   Confidence. Wittiness. Ability to hold a good conversation. Thrillseekers. Fellow lovers of the skies. Physical attractiveness. Money.

[TURN OFFS]   Shyness. Indecisiveness. Clinginess. Jealousy. Lack of intelligence. Anyone afraid of heights.

[ PERSONALITY TRAITS ]

Extroverted / In Between / Introverted

Disorganized / In Between / Organized

Close Minded / In Between / Open Minded

Calm / In Between / Anxious

Disagreeable / In Between / Agreeable

Cautious / In Between / Reckless

Patient / In Between / Impatient

Outspoken / In Between / Reserved

Leader / In Between / Follower

Empathetic / In Between / Apathetic

Optimistic / In Between / Pessimistic

Traditional / In Between / Modern

Hard-working / In Between / Lazy

Cultured / In Between / Uncultured

Loyal / In Between / Disloyal

Faithful / In Between / Unfaithful

[ HOOKS ]

TREASURE HUNTER Kjrn presently makes her living by delving into ruins, tombs, and other such places most folk have no business wandering into in search of anything she might turn a profit on. Want some company on a good ol’ dungeon delving? Or your character responds to a posting she’s made seeking assistance? 

SKY PIRATE Annnd sometimes when the more legally palatable treasure hunting jobs are lacking, Kjrn may or may not turn to a bit of piracy to fill the gaps. She’s targeted everything from small Garlean crafts to merchant vessels, usually trying to avoid violence where she can. Maybe your character was on one of these vessels, or has come to seek one of the bounties placed upon her for said crimes? Or maybe – just maybe – your character is interested in signing on with her?

CAPTAIN OF THE FORTUNESEEKER As mentioned before, Kjrn owns her own small airship by the name of the Fortuneseeker. She claims the title of captain upon her, with a crew of about ten (NPCs) underneath her. Maybe you’re looking to sign onto the crew? Or maybe you just have a more temporary need for someone with an airship to ferry yourself or any goods – legal or otherwise – from one place to the next? The sky’s the limit!

MERCHANT OF MYRIAD MISCELLANEA Naturally, after a victorious venture in dungeoneering or plundering, Kjrn will usually come out of it with a number of items in need of off-loading. She has a particular eye for anything shiny and beautiful like gems and jewelry, but she’s also been known to come back with anything from weapons to magical items to sell to whomsoever is inclined to pay good coin. Come buy something shiny from her!

DALMASCAN RESISTANCE AFFILIATE Kjrn and her wife, Pria, were once fairly respected members of the Resistance, salvaging Garlean magitek to refit and use against them when all was said and done. However, after the former’s passing, Kjrn stepped down from her active position in the Resistance to take on a more auxiliary role by helping support it financially. She still maintains connections to the Resistance to this day, and some still haven’t given up the hope that she might eventually return to the fight.

GAMBLING ADDICT Kjrn’s vice of choice would be a good drink, some good company, and a good game of cards. Or dice. Or anything, really, so long as there are stakes involved. It’s a pretty general and basic hook, but hey! It works!

GOT OTHER IDEAS? Maybe you’ve read through this profile and something other idea than these hooks has sparked your muse? If so, let me know! This isn’t an exhaustive list of hooks, so I’d be excited to hear your ideas!

[ OOC ]

[CALL ME]   Jali, Ghoa, Kjrn.. Anything but weird overly familiar petnames! (She/her)

[I AM…]    A 27-year-old woman who works a full time job and plays multiple tabletop games as well as playing FFXIV, so my schedule can be kinda all over the place. I also love cats and really bad puns and writing drabbles that make people’s hearts hurt.

[AVAILABILITY]    Most weekday evenings from 5PM - 10PM Central. Weekends, pretty much whenever. Not available most Wednesdays, and some Thursdays/Saturdays due to various D&D games! Also please note that Kjrn is an alt character. Meaning I won’t be available for RP on her 24/7! Please be sure you’re okay with this before reaching out!

[IN GAME NAME]   Crafty Corsair.

[SERVER]  Balmung (Crystal), but willing to world-visit for RP!

[PREFERRED RP METHODS]   Discord has quickly become my #1 RP platform because I can post even when I’m busy with something else or when I’m having a slow day at work. I can also do in-game RP, usually so long as we work out a day/time in advance! Sometimes I can do impromptu RP requests, but not often!

[HARD NO’S]  

RP of any sort with real-life minors. Sorry, I just don’t feel comfortable writing with anyone under eighteen!

Characters that are minors ICly are tentatively fine, but I will absolutely not RP any romantic, sexual, mature, dark, or otherwise questionable themes with such a character;  and likewise, I will not RP with anyone whose minor character engages in this sort of RP with others, either.

Fetishistic characters, i.e. “f*ta”, “tr*p”, etc. Actual transgender, agender, genderfluid, etc. characters are 100% fine, but if your character is written not as a fleshed out person but as thinly veiled ERP-bait, I’m not interested.

OOC Romance or possessiveness or clinginess. Just… don’t. I don’t want to date you. I don’t want to sext with you. I don’t want to be up your butt 24/7, and I sure as hell don’t want you up mine. RP partners with reasonable personal space boundaries only need apply, please!

ERP-heavy/only connections.  I’m not opposed to sexual RP coming up, but I ask that it not be the goal of every single or even a good deal of the RP we do. To be entirely honest, I much prefer fade-to-black as opposed to writing out such scenes, anyway. Please respect this! Pressuring for ERP is immediate grounds for ceasing all RP and potentially all contact entirely.

[sea-and-storm]

HEARTBREAK;

This is a real heavy drabble. REAL heavy, to the point that I hesitated in writing it. But it ultimately has plot relevance so here it is. Please take care of yourself and don't read it if you aren't in a good spot mentally to take some serious heavy feels!

[TRIGGER WARNINGS] Rape mention, domestic abuse mention, abortion, and just generally not at all a happy drabble. Take care in reading if you proceed!

(P.S. went back and cleaned up my writing a bit with an edit. :v)

-------

A couple weeks had passed now since Ghoa had slept in her own bed. Ever since the night of the celebration of the Kharlu warparty's return, she'd been able to find no sense of safety except when hidden away in Togene's tent. Even though the other was just another wife to Bayanbataar like herself, the older woman was the closest to a mothering figure that Ghoa would ever get within the Kharlu camp. And she was the only one that the young Mankhad trusted enough to share in what haunted her.

Of course, her odd behavior had begotten questions, most notably from their husband. Bayanbataar had demanded to know why his newest wife was acting so strangely, scarcely leaving Togene's quarters. The fourth wife had assuaged his temper and offense by reassuring him that Ghoa had fallen ill. With her having always been a loyal and loving wife, he hadn't suspected any deception from Togene. So, if not reluctantly, he had allowed her peace and rest 'til the Haragin saw fit.

Even so, Ghoa had known that that reprieve had a time limit. Togene had reminded her of that as well, in her own kind and gentle way. She couldn't stay hidden away forever. Eventually, Bayanbataar would grow impatient -- or worse, suspicious -- and demand her return to routine. She knew that whether she was ready or not, she would have to face her husband again sooner rather than later. Worse yet, she would have to face Tugan again and pretend that nothing had happened, and that was a thought that made her blood run colder than the winter seas.

But even though she knew that returning to her life was as inevitable as it was imminent, that hadn't made the thought cause her body to stop seizing up with fear. It hadn't made the nightmares come any less often, nor cause her to wake up in a cold sweat on any fewer occasions. How was she supposed to return to normal when it felt as if she would never know the feeling of normalcy again? Time was supposed to heal wounds, it seemed that the only thing time had allowed her was to fall deeper into the clutches of despair and fear. Especially now, after this latest and most cruel twist in her time spent amongst the Kharlu.

Togene had been the one to realize it first, naturally. When she had begun to put together a fish stew -- which she knew to be the coast-dwelling woman's favorite meal -- she'd watched as the smell that usually roused her spirits at least for a time caused her stomach to churn. As she'd held back the younger woman's hair, she'd asked her warily when last she bled. Only then had Ghoa realized that in the span of all that had happened, she hadn't realized that it should have since came and went. And that connection had her heaving all over again.

What a sick joke the gods had decided to play on her. When the initial shock of realization had worn off, she had jumped rapidly between fury and betrayal, to sadness and worry, to fear and panic, and right back to anger until she had completely tired herself out.

Togene herself had seemed conflicted as well. She had always told Ghoa that once she became a mother, her life among the Kharlu would become easier and she would finally find contentment with her lot. She hadn't quite meant it like this, Ghoa knew, and she could see that she was grappling with her own emotions. And there was something else besides in her eye. Some manner of concern seemingly not for the younger woman herself, that had her worriedly looking to her own young son cradled against her chest as she held him closer.

When she had woken from her rest, Ghoa's mood had calmed to a dull, numb aching. She awoke knowing that something had to be done. There was no scenario in which she could bring this child into the world. Either it was the offspring of the man who had stolen her from her home and made her his slave-wife, or it was that of the man who had taken her for himself out of envy of the first. Whichever case it was made little difference to her.

The hardest part would be making sure that didn't come to pass, or so she had thought. She would have to have Togene's assistance and she had thought the woman would be hesitant or resistant to her plea for help. It had surprised her when she had asked for the other's help in discreetly bringing to her what herbs and reagents she needed that the woman agreed right away. Was she truly that sympathetic? Or was she simply trying to protect her own family from the inevitable conflict that would arise if word spread that Tugan had done what Bayanbataar could not, whether or not that was true? Either way, she didn't question it for fear of causing the other woman to doubt her choice.

Over the next few days, Togene had quietly gathered what herbs and plants Ghoa had sent her after. She supposed that she had Unegen to silently thank too for her tutelage in herbalism, remembering her strict lessons on exactly which concoctions not to give to expecting mothers. And once all components of the draught were within her hands, it had taken her but a few bells to put it all together into a thoroughly unappetizing but drinkable solution.

But now as she sat there with it ready in her hands, it was not half so easy to lift to her lips as she had thought. Her hands trembled, her eyes stared into the glassy surface of the dark yellow-green liquid inside the earthenware cup she held. Her eyes suddenly blinked rapidly, tears welling up unexpectedly and rolling over her cheeks.

Seeing the emotion swelling, Togene leaned in close, her hands coming to rest over Ghoa's own around the cup to steady them. Her head craned downwards to catch her gaze, and to hold it once she had.

"Oh, sweet girl," she cooed softly. "Would that I could take this pain away from you.. It hurts me to see you hurting." One hand moved from the cup to her cheek, brushing away a tear with her thumb. "You are sure about this, yes?"

Ghoa hesitated at that question. She had been certain of it before that she hadn't really stopped to think about it. Now that the moment had arrived, all those doubts she hadn't considered before had pounced like hungry gedan upon a straggling sheep. Now she had to truly ask herself:  was she really sure?

Togene's advice from moons ago still rang clear in her head. If she was with child, Bayanbataar's hand would still against her. Perhaps even the deep resentment he felt towards his apparently barren, and to him useless wife might disappear or at least fade. She might be able to finally tolerate a life among the Kharlu with his rage calmed and with something -- a child -- to focus her attention on other than her own plight.

But.. could it really be that simple? No, she knew herself better than that. Even if her husband's abuses stopped, she would still have to find means to live with the deep fear Tugan instilled within her. Worse, if the child was his and such came to light, she wasn't sure that her husband would be so willing to believe that a hurt had been committed against her. As tense as their relation was, she couldn't see it as impossible that Bayanbataar might kill her for suspicion of transgression against their marriage -- no, his ownership of her.

Most convincingly all, however, was knowing that no matter the father nor the circumstance, she would never be able to be a good mother to this child. She had been raised having never expected to raise a family, given that the udgan of her people weren't afforded such luxury. Without that expectation, she had grown into a woman out of touch with any sort of mothering instinct. That, combined with the fact that in either case, this child was one borne of violence against her by men she reviled..

All children deserved love, and she knew she would never be able to give it. And it pained her deeply to think she would resign a child to the same loveless raising as she had had herself.

"...yes," she answered, voice quiet and strained but certain. "I'm sure."

"Then you needn't torture yourself, Ghoa," Togene cooed soothingly. "If you are sure, then drink." She leaned in and pressed a kiss her forehead. "I'm right here. I won't leave your side, dear."

The tears began to flow heavier and quicker at that, but all the same, Ghoa finally brought the stoneware to her lips and tipped it back. It was bitter against her tongue, and between it and emotion, it threatened to rise from her stomach again. But she swallowed, and she kept it down, and she collapsed into sobs within the comfort of Togene's embrace and the slow stroking of her hair.

The other had told her but a few weeks ago when this had happened of Sechen, the escaped wife returned. That horrific tale had terrified her out of the thought of running. But now, she knew she had to escape anyway. She didn't know how or when, but she had to escape eventually.

No matter how strong she tried to be, Ghoa couldn't withstand this sort of heartbreak a second time.

[sea-and-storm]

FAVOR :  Ghoa Drabble ;

TW:  Beware all ye who enter, for under the cut lie mentions of death and grieving, vague implication of sexual assault, and all around not great feels. Take care of yourself and pass this one up if this sort of thing will upset you! ♥

Once the door clicked softly shut behind her, Ghoa leaned against it, letting her head tilt backwards and her eyes fall shut. A quiet, drawn out sigh escaped from between her parted lips. The arm from which the bag of foodstuff hung shifted to let it gingerly slide down to rest on the floor by her feet, and then returned upwards to clutch tight around the small box she still held within her grasp.

For a moment, she simply listened intently for any sounds of life present in the apartment. Yet the only sound that reached her was the almost inaudible ticking of a clock hung upon the wall nearby. Her eyes batted open again a moment later to look around, to find the space just as bereft of movement as it was sound.

"Lehko'a..?" the Xaela called softly, uncertainly, and waited.. When a few ticks passed and the silence and stillness continued, she was convinced that the other must have stepped out for a time. And for that, for having the apartment all to herself for a short while, she was relieved.

Ghoa still had secrets of her own, things she hadn't told him. Things she didn't want to tell him, though not for lack of love. There were skeletons in her closet that she didn't care to dwell upon in her thoughts, much less breathe life into all over again by speaking of them aloud. Yet Arasen's prodding but a short while ago had her doing just that very thing, and now she needed some time alone to think, to stuff all the skeletons back into the closet they belonged in.

And she could not do that with Lehko'a about, with how well he could read her even when she was trying her best to put on a front. She couldn't pack everything back into the boxes they had come out of if he was there, worrying over her. Even if he wouldn't push her to tell him what was on her mind, she wouldn't be able to handle the guilt tying her stomach into knots if she once more subjected him to such concern without telling him why. Not when her botched attempt at dealing with the aftermath of the ruins by herself was still such a fresh, barely healed wound between them already already.

Finally pushing away from the door, the petite Xaela grabbed the bag from its resting place by her feet and moved to the small kitchenette, setting it down again alongside the box of reagents atop the table. She would worry about sorting everything away into its rightful place later. Right now, she felt the water -- with all its safety and warmth and comfort -- calling for her.

Hurried footfalls brought Ghoa to the bath, and there she wasted not a single tick in turning the knobs of the ivory tub to get the water going. With the temperature set, she added a healthy pour of bath oils and soaps coax it to life in a fragrant froth. It took but a moment for her to peel off clothing and toss it haphazardly aside, and only once the bath was almost too full did she slowly, carefully step inside and sink into its depths. A soft sound of contentment left her as she leaned back comfortably, until her head came to rest against its edge.

Warm bath water may not have been the same as the cool, refreshing touch of the sea against her skin, but it was a comfort nonetheless, not to mention far more private.

Her head tilted back further still until her eyes, half-lidded, were staring upwards and unfocused towards the ceiling. Her mind began to drift back to the conversation still fresh on her mind. To the request that had been made of her:  convincing Nabi to return with her cousin to the coastlands to avoid the ill fate he had forseen. To convince her that the pain of choosing to leave those she cared for now would be far less than the heartbreak of losing them for good, and knowing that she could have prevented it by leaving them sooner.

Yet somewhere in the back of her mind, a distant little voice tried to coax her to reconsider. 'Haven't you already tried that very thing before, yourself?,' it whispered. 'Don't you remember how poorly that always ends?' Her brows furrowed at the thought, at the uncomfortable memories that those silent words tugged at. 'Don't you remember..?'

But then there was Arasen's voice, following quickly on the heels of that faint flicker of doubt.

"I… sense that you have experienced something similar. You survived. You are a stronger woman," he had told her. "My cousin… she is a delicate thing. I don't know if she would live through this."

He was right, of course. Ghoa had survived Ino's death and all of the guilt that it had laid upon her shoulders, though the process had been far from easy and certainly not pretty.

She had had to flee the memories to another land, spending several moons -- cycles, even -- just barely coping. And there had been no few times then that she had wondered if there would ever come a time that she no longer felt the crushing weight of guilt and sadness upon her. On more than a few occasions had she laid awake at night and wondered if it were even worth trying, if giving up would hurt less in the end. But she had come out of it eventually, even if the scars it had left behind were still tender to this day.

Could Nabi survive that same ordeal? It was hard for Ghoa to imagine. Her stubbornness and ever-present refusal to just lay down and suffer quietly had eventually carried her through it. Yet would Nabi have that same instinct, or would doubt and sadness swallow her whole like it had almost done to her? Somehow, the latter seemed more likely an outcome.

So, Arasen was right again, it would seem. It was best that Nabi go with him, for her own sake. Yet that didn't make the thought of her leaving them any less painful. She was a dear, dear friend;  at this point, she might as well have been family to Ghoa, or the closest she had ever gotten to having one.

And to think that she would be encouraging Nabi not only to leave them, but to go somewhere that she would be right under the nose of two of the men that Ghoa hated and feared most. Men whose cruelty had left her with injuries that, over ten cycles later, still showed no signs of healing completely. What if she encouraged Nabi to go, only for her to befall some similarly foul fate at their hands? The thought of that alone terrified her, making her stomach roil with nausea.

But.. Arasen's plan was a solid one, admittedly. Sow the seeds of anger, suspicion, and humiliation between the two most powerful and influential of the Kharlu, and let the chaos that ensued provide a distraction to keep their eyes upon each other, rather than Nabi's presence.

And the lie -- or, for all she knew, potential truth -- that Ghoa had given him to use to instigate the conflict was a solid one. The likelihood that it would work was high, she felt. And though she herself had never really lusted for vengeance or justice from either of them, it was still oddly cathartic to think of the possibility:  to weaponize the hurts they had inflicted upon her to not only put them at odds with one another, but if all went to plan, indirectly leading to their downfall once the yearly war was ended and peace reigned. But most important of all, without a doubt, was ensuring that Nabi was safe and protected.

Still, as she lingered upon the thought, the frown she wore began to tug the corners of her lips further downward. Her brow knitted, and after a moment, there was a faint trembling to her bottom lip. The hurt was beginning to blossom anew in her chest, even keener than before.

All of this was too much. Arasen might have complimented her strength earlier, but even Ghoa had her limits. Now that she was alone with everything -- the pain of a loss that had not happened yet, the uncertainty of what it would bring, and the sickening phantom feeling of hands upon her body -- she could feel that defensive wall quickly beginning to crack under pressure.

Yet before Lehko'a made it home, she would be sure to put that back together, too. And then, come the next day, she would find the strength to do what needed to be done.

[sea-and-storm]

COMFORT ;  Drabble (Ghoa)

[TRIGGER WARNING]  Gonna just.. go ahead and slap one of these bad boys up here. This is a heavy drabble, and there’s a lot of elements of ptsd / trauma, alcoholism and other really questionable coping mechanisms. (Also vague implication of sex, but nothing explicit on that front.)

If that’s not your thing, then please take care of yourself and avoid this drabble, and just suffice to say that ya’ girl Ghoa has been having a really not great time after coming back from the ruins. (Thank you, Dice Gods, for that lovely ‘2′ that you gave me on the ‘How fucked up is Ghoa gonna be?’ roll.)

Ghoa's eyelids squeezed stubbornly shut against the sunlight filtering in through the openings in the blinds, a soft noise of irritation leaving the back of her throat as she turned her head to bury her face in the soft pillow beneath her. Yet try as she might to stall the inevitable, the damage was already done. Within moments, the Xaela was letting loose a frustrated whine as she turned her head out to face the window again, fixing the intruding light with a bleary, half-lidded glare for all the good it did. No matter how withering her stare, the first proud rays of Azim's dawning light would not be dissuaded.

Knowing then that a return to sleep would be unlikely, Ghoa rolled onto her back and directed her eyes towards the ceiling above. Her stomach churned uneasily with the motion, and so too did her head begin to throb and spin. She set her eyes on some indistinct pattern in the woodwork above her, trying to bring her mind to a focus through the pain and discomfort. And slowly but surely, she started to remember.

Or not remember, as it were.

Ever since she had finally returned home from their venture to those gods-be-damned ruins, Ghoa's slumbering had come in short and fitful bouts. No matter how exhausted she was -- and gods, was she exhausted -- she could only pass a few short bells in sleep at a time before the ever-present nightmares wrenched her harshly away from any semblance of meaningful rest. And once she was awake, powerless to stop the replay of awful thoughts that the dreams put into her head, it would be bells more before she finally calmed enough to try, however fruitlessly, again.

But now as she lie there staring up at the ceiling, no memories of awful dreams came back to the front of her mind to haunt her. Even when she tried to recall them, they refused to heed her. She remembered nothing but the deep, inky blackness of a dreamless sleep. And for the first time in weeks, despite her aches, Ghoa felt genuine relief.

For a time, she just lie there basking in the feeling of a somewhat restful night of sleep. A feeling that she had taken for granted all her life, but had recently missed all too dearly. A real smile, the first in countless suns, pulled at the corners of her lips. Things were getting better. Whatever horrors the ruins had imprinted upon her in their wake, it seemed, were finally beginning to pass.

Even the persistent discomfort and sickness lingering over her like a shroud wasn't enough to bring her down from her oddly buoyant mood. Both could easily be whisked away by a curative and some warm tea once she managed to roll herself out of bed. But before that, there was another she had to rouse awake.

The smile still resting on her lips, Ghoa turned the rest of the way to face the other side of the bed. Lehko'a would undoubtedly be relieved to see that she had finally gotten some real rest, and that she hadn't awoken into the same distant malaise that had plagued her since her return.

But as she finished turning, the only thing greeting her on the bed's other side was a cold, empty expanse of crumbled sheets and blankets. The signs that someone had been there at some point in the night, but no longer. Her smile instantly faltered, at first replaced by a look of furrowed brows and confusion. Then, slowly but surely, the sickening worry began to steadily creep back into her mind. Was something wrong? Had something happened? Was Lehko'a alright?

The Xaela quickly pushed herself up into a sitting position atop the bed, instantly regretting the jarring movement. A sharp pain shot through her head in protest, and the whole world around her seemed to shift and move as if someone had spun it like a globe. One hand moved to splay atop the covers to steady herself, while the other pressed to her face. Her eyes squeezed tightly shut and a steady stream of curses, half in her mother tongue and half not, fell like a waterfall from between her lips. Panic rose like bile -- or maybe it was bile? -- in the back of her throat, silently pleading for the pain and dizziness to go away quickly so that she could go find him.

And sure enough, they slowly subsided enough for her to drop her hand away from her face and for her eyes to open again. Yet when they did, when she finally was able to look around the room, she found herself briefly frozen in confusion.

This room wasn't her own, nor could she readily recall having ever stepped foot in it before. Empty bottles dotted the room, some turned over in the floor and others lingering half-empty on tables and counters. Joining the former, her clothes were strewn in haphazard heaps across the floor, scattered as if they had been tugged off in a hurry. In the very back of her mind, however, some distant voice told her something was missing. But what was--

No sooner had the question begun to form in the haze of her mind than did the answers all come flooding back to her at once, a raging deluge of memory washing over her. Once again her eyes squeezed tightly shut and her hands rose to clutch tightly at her head, and a soft gasp of distress tore from her raw, tight throat.

Suddenly she was elsewhere, not only in place but in time, shortly after midday at the rented suite that she and Lehko'a had been sharing. Her smile was hollow as she grasped at his hands and tried to give them a reassuring squeeze, placing a kiss on his cheek.

'Nabi needs my help with something at the clinic,' she'd told him. It was an excuse that she had used a lot since coming home. She used it when her head became so loud with dark thoughts that she needed to get away to calm her heart and clear her mind. When even just looking at Lehko'a for any length of time hurt her like a knife turned slowly in her gut, and she needed space just to be able to breathe again.

'It'll likely be late before we're done,' she had told him. 'I'll just sleep there, so don't wait up for me.'

'Don't worry about me,' she had told him when she saw his concern. 'I'm fine, I promise.'

'I love you,' she had told him when she saw the doubt and the hurt and the sadness on his face, and she had meant it. Out of it all, that she would never lie about. She just needed some time and some space to figure out how to put herself back together again.

The memories skipped ahead, and she was long gone from their temporary home. Yet nor was she at the clinic like she had assured the Keeper. In truth, not even one of the times that she had told him that that was where she was going did the Xaela actually end up at the House of Sparrows. After all, she was trying to avoid the others just as much as she was trying to avoid him. It all hurt the same.

Just as she had done each time prior, Ghoa had instead wandered her way back to Kugane, to the back alleys of Sanjo Hanamachi where drinks were plentiful and questions were few.

Wine and liquor helped, though perhaps not in the most constructive of ways. After a few glasses, she could feel the sharpest edges of the pain and fear begin to dull to a level that was almost manageable. Usually, she stopped there. Last night, she hadn't.

Try as she might to figure out how to pull herself together again, she knew it was only getting worse. Turning off the awful emotions with drink during the day only did so much, and she knew that artificial numbness wasn't a real, tenable solution. That she felt the need to hide it from those she cared about, out of both shame of her own weakness and a desire not to cause them concern, was proof enough of that. But even if she was aware of it, it still made it no easier for her to come up with a better alternative.

She had been several drinks into trying to puzzle it out when she had found her solitude suddenly interrupted. As she recalled it now, Ghoa could no longer remember what the man looked like in any explicit detail. A hyur, or maybe an elezen? Passably handsome, she thought, but that may have been either the alcohol or wishful thinking talking. She could certainly no longer recall his name but she did remember, however vaguely, that he had been a sailor of some sort. Not that that was hard to remember, considering that was seemingly half the city's population at any given time.

Ghoa remembered being wary of being joined in her drinking at first. After all, it was far from her first time in a bar;  she knew exactly what a smooth-talking fellow approaching a lady in her cups was angling for. At first, she had only endured the conversation to be polite, trying to find a way to weasel out of it without incensing him. In this part of town, it was best to err on the side of caution.

Yet the longer he stayed, the more comfortable she found herself becoming. Whereas she had spent the last few days trying to avoid direct eye contact with Lehko'a and forcing herself to endure conversation despite the aching in her chest, both came easily and naturally to her with this stranger. He was charming, and he didn't pry into why she was there drinking alone. Rather, he fed her drunken wonder with stories of his time abroad and had her in tears of laughter with the tales of his misadventures, all while making sure that neither of their cups ever went empty for more than a tick during the bells they had spent just talking about nothing.

The rest of the memories only came in disjointed fragments of limited recollection and phantom sensation with large gaps of time missing between them. Stumbling back to where the man was staying, and and both of them breaking down into laughter when she realized she had lost a shoe somewhere along the way. Her back pressed against the wooden door, breathlessly watching as the man tried to open it as fast as his drink-addled hands would let him. Almost tripping over her clothes in her hasty attempts to rid him of his between kisses steeped in desperation and longing.

But the very last thing she could recall -- and in disturbingly vivid memory compared to the rest -- was the feeling of peace that had settled over her like a blanket as she had curled in against him and rested her head on his chest. Of closing her eyes without fear of the nightmares that now lived behind her eyelids. Of the soft smile that had lingered on her flushed face as she drifted off to sleep.

Now, she had been released by the onslaught of memories and was left to sit there, dumbfounded in the present. Her eyes once again stared at the clothes strewn about the room, realizing now that what was missing was her nameless and faceless bedmate.

And when that realization dawned upon her, a tidal wave of loneliness broke over her with it. Loneliness that brought her back to other, more distant memories. A childhood spent largely alone, wishing only for the company of friends and family that the other children her age didn't know how lucky they were to have. Years later, a night of peculiar joy that had turned to unexpected horror, afterward spent curled up in a ball in the back of a dark yurt longing for the almost motherly presence of Togene, her only friend among the Kharlu. Years later still, and she was right back at the days spent in the cramped and claustrophobic dark, with dried blood caked under her fingernails from hours spent desperately trying to pry her way free and her voice hoarse from screaming in hopes that someone, anyone, would hear her.

It was then that the realization hit Ghoa that the only thing that brought her any relief from the pain she was feeling -- the only thing that she had ever wanted in such times -- was the company of others. To not be alone. For someone to hold her and calm her fears and tell her that she was alright. Yet at the same time, she realized that the people that she should have longed to turn to for comfort the most -- Lehko'a, Nabi, Batuhan, and even Anchor and Shael in their own strange way -- weren't the ones that she was wishing for now.

It was the man from last night, whose name nor face she could not remember and would most likely never see again. A man who knew nothing about her, who cared nothing about her, but because of that, one whose company it didn't pain her to share.

Her stomach rolled violently with sickness at the thought, and hurriedly the Xaela scrambled to disentangle herself from the sheets. Her head was pounding in protest as she rose to her feet, unsteady steps causing her to trip over discarded clothes and to bounce gracelessly off of the door frame as she all but ran for the bathroom. No sooner had she set her blurred, tear-stained sights on the wastebin did she collapse with a hard thump onto the floor in front of it, her whole body heaving with sickness as she emptied the contents of her stomach.

Monster, the voice that had been ever present in her head since her encounter with Otsuyu whispered from the recesses of her mind. Monster, it chanted as its voice grew louder and angrier and more insistent. M̸͓͐Ŏ̶͍̤̆N̶̛̙͝S̷̱͔̎̚Ṯ̴̡̋̋Ë̶͔̿ͅR̴͔̅, it all but shouted at her, now an eerie, distorted chorus of all the accusing voices of loved ones that always came to her in her nightmares.

Another heave came, and another, until there was nothing left but sour, burning bile left in the woman's stomach. She swiped the back of a shaking hand across her mouth as she leaned away from the waste bin. After a moment, drawing in a shaking breath, she all but crawled across the cold floor to the shower. Unsteady hands turned the knobs until water, almost scalding hot, began to spray from the nozzle. But she didn't seem to mind as she crawled inside, even as the heat caused her skin to flush red.

"What's wrong with me?" she wailed to no one but herself, curling into a ball on the tiles below. "What's wrong with me…?"

And though she stayed there, wracked with sobs, until the hot water had turned icy cold, no answer came.

[sea-and-storm]

Prompt #16 - Bond ;  (Make-up)

                                                [ MANY YEARS AGO ]

Ibakha could remember when she was but a youngling when time seemed to move as quick as a startled hare. Each turn of the season would see the Shuurga moving onto their next camp, and she had spent many of those days with her siblings and friends exploring as far past their camp as their wary parents would allow them;  sometimes further beyond still when their backs were turned. Everything back then was new and exciting and an adventure just waiting to unfold. Though they never quite seemed to unearth all the secrets of the land before it was time to move along again, leaving them to pick up their search in the following year upon their return.

But as she had gotten older, time had gradually begun to slow. With each year that passed, the novelty and excitement of exploration had faded more and more. By the time she was a young teen, Ibakha had memorized the lay of the lands that they called home like the back of her hand. The bright-eyed excitement of childhood was giving way to the hum-drum mundanity of adulthood looming on the horizon.

Then she was a young woman with all the responsibilities such entailed. There was no longer any time for the adventuring of her childhood, but even so, the busy days still crawled along. Almost maddeningly so. Day in and day out, there were always the same tasks to be done. Weaving and repairing the nets. Walking the coastline in search of the plants their healers and poison-makers requested. Cleaning and cooking the day's catch. So on, and so on. A seemingly endless list of chores and tasks for the good of the clan's whole.

When naught seemed to change any longer and each day seemed more-or-less a repeat of the last, Ibakha had begun to feel as if time had stopped altogether. She had spent no few evenings staring out over the sea on the horizon, wondering what laid beyond. What new lands were there? What strange creatures and people? That thought had ignited within her a longing for something new and interesting to break up the monotony.

Perhaps she would have followed that yearning and curiosity, if it hadn't been for Ambaghai. She had known him first as the boy who had accompanied her on many of her girlhood adventures, taking on the self-imposed duty of making sure the she and the other younger children kept from harm. It seemed then only natural that as he had grown into a man that he would take up a protector's role for their people. It seemed more natural still, given their early childhood bond, that Ibakha would eventually come to call him her husband.

Life had changed and once again, it seemed as if time had resumed its forward march. It came quicker still when she learned that she was carrying their first child. And if it weren't already moving quickly enough, the days had started to positively fly by once she had actually brought their son, Arukh, into the world. The monotonous feeling of each day being the same that she had once felt was long gone then, but was instead new and exciting -- a feeling she hadn’t felt since her own youth -- as she watched her beloved son learn and grow.

When the gods saw it fit to bless them with a second some years later, Ibakha had been ecstatic at the thought of adding yet another to their family. Motherhood very much suited her, and she was all too eager for the chance to bring another life into this world and marvel with pride as she watched them come into their own.

But she had never once anticipated that when this child came, the selfsame gods that had blessed them with her would just as quickly lay their claim upon her and steal her away.

Ibakha had known what it felt like for moons to pass in the blink of an eye, and for days to drag along at a snail's pace. Somehow, this last year of her life -- knowing what was to come at its end -- had done both simultaneously. Each day that she held her daughter in her arms felt as if she had been hers for an eternity, and the love she felt for the tiny babe had only grown exponentially as such. Yet still, as she laid abed of an evening, Ibakha wept as she thought of how each coming of dusk meant that she was yet another sun closer to having to say her good-byes.

Now, as she sat across their yurt watching Arukh and Ghoa happily playing with figures of steppe creatures their father had carved for them, Ibakha couldn't shake the thought of this being their last evening together as a whole family from her head. Shortly after first light of the following morning, Elder Unegen would come and leave with the toddler in tow, to be raised by the udgan of their clan not as the daughter of Ibakha and Ambaghai, but as a daughter of the gods.

"How do we explain this to him..?" she asked in a quiet, almost broken whisper. "Arukh will be heartbroken."

Neither she nor her husband had had it within them to try and keep Arukh away from his younger sibling. Already the spitting image of his father in temperament, the young Xaela had resolved from the moment he had laid eyes on his sister to take care of her. In the beginning, Ibakha had wanted him to be able to have these precious memories to cherish, yet now she couldn't help but wonder if it had been a terrible mistake. He had bonded with her more deeply than she had anticipated. They all had.

At first, Ambaghai said nothing, not even looking up from the bone darts that he was carving. He had always been a man of few words, but they had become even more scarce in recent moons. She hadn't once seen her husband weep in all the years she had known him, but all the same, she knew that his heart hurt just as deeply as her own. He was trying to be strong for her sake, and she loved him for it, but she knew that even he must have been reaching the limits of the hurt he could carry in silence by now.

"He will be," he finally sighed as he put down his whittling, tired silver eyes rising first to his wife and then to the younglings by the fire pit as they burst into happy peals of laughter. A hint of a smile tugged onto his face at the sight, the barest twitch of his lips and the softening of his sharp features alone enough to speak volumes of the love and pride that he felt -- and when they disappeared again but a tick later, it spoke volumes of his sadness as well. "We all will be," he continued in a softer voice, one reserved only for her. "But we will learn how to live with that hurt. We must."

Ibakha bobbed her head in a slow, reluctant nod at his words. She knew he was right, for there was no other choice. They had already discussed it once, not long after they had learned of Ghoa's choosing. Refusing to allow it to come to pass would only see them all facing exile, Arukh included, and their daughter would be wrested from them regardless.

They had also talked of taking their family and escaping in secret, but both she and her husband knew it was no real option. Without the protection of their clan, meager as it was, they would be easy pickings for capture by either the Kharlu or Jhungid. That was, if some other hungering steppe beast didn't set upon them first. There was no life for them beyond the Shuurga's territory, and especially not with young children in tow.

At least by cooperating, both Ghoa and Arukh would be safe. As much as she hated the situation, as much as she had wracked her brain trying to figure out any possible way to avoid giving up her child, Ibakha knew as a mother that that was what was most important.

Still, it made it no easier to swallow, and the longer she sat there and thought on it, the more a frustrated, helpless anger began to bloom in her chest. How cruel of a tradition it was, to not only take a babe from their parents but to do so only after their first year of life. After giving them such and long-yet-short time to form a bond that would take the breaking of hearts to sever. She knew that, logically, it was because none of the childless shamans would be able to care for a child before its weaning. But right now, her heart wasn't thinking with logic.

"I don't know if I can, Ambaghai.." Ibakha whispered hoarsely. Her hands curled into white-knuckled fists, her lip quivered, and her eyes stung with the beginnings of tears. She had done such a good job to hide her grief from her children all these moons, always rising and hiding away from their eyes when it became too much to suppress. But now that they were down to the very last of their time together, she couldn't bring herself to let Ghoa leave her sight for even a single tick.

Seeing the impending breakdown about to occur, Ambaghai rose from his seat to kneel in front of her own. So very carefully, he pulled the much smaller woman in close, one hand rising to stroke her hair. Beneath her, she could feel a slight tremble in her husband's form, and but a moment later the telltale dripping of moisture onto her bare shoulder. Only then did the sobs begin to wrack her body in earnest, mercifully muffled against his chest.

Only fulms away, both Ghoa and Arukh continued to be engrossed in their playing, blissfully unaware of their parents' hearts breaking for them.

[afreesworn]

Beyond Tomorrow

Nabi curled her fingers, her hand sinking into the softness of the blanket.

She had all the comforts that a wealthy Doman lord could provide. A mattress beneath her that hugged her form, so soft it felt as if she was floating on clouds, and a pillow that nestled her horn and head, delicate as freshly spun silk. The guest bedroom within the Musa estate was far warmer than the cell she had been in for the last many suns within that mountain. The shoji doors lent soft lighting, diffusing the lantern illumination from the outside, and elaborately painted fusuma walls depicted tranquil scenes of waterfalls and koi swimming about, designed to allow the guests within to feel at ease.

And yet Nabi felt colder and more alone than ever.

She wanted to run back to that mountain, to the cell that she and Anchor had shared for the last many suns. With its single wooden table in the corner where she was allowed to do some alchemy work, concocting balms and crude recipes to help Anchor’s recovery. She could imagine that table in the corner of this empty vast room, and she saw herself sitting on the cot that Anchor had pulled up to the table for makeshift chair. She saw herself smiling even, as she worked to mix another bowl of gruel, and Anchor reaching over and feeding her a small bite of fish with his own hand.

Anchor would call her daft for wanting to return to that place. But that single room within the mountain---sparse of any comforts other than a cot, a fur pelt, a hearth, and a table---was still the space that she and Anchor had shared, enduring everything that was thrown at them. Nei Uzuka had forced Anchor into acts of cruelty against her and Myuto, Elam Grave had demanded that she too wear that cursed collar around her neck, and the Curator had forced Anchor to use his gruesome enhancement to drain her blood and aether for his own experimentation.

Nabi closed her hand into a fist, her eyes going to the arm that was still bandaged. She had nearly broken, twice, beneath the weight of the darkness within that mountain. She had willingly entered its depths to save Anchor’s life, anyway she could. But when faced with so much cruelty, she found that her resolve had limits. She had a flash of panic every time she tried to swallow through that ungiving metal circlet around her throat. After her aether was drained, she struggled to remain standing for long periods of time. Her arm ached whenever she tried to use her hand, and any time Grave visited her, he made her shudder from the depths of her bones with fear.

But each time she felt herself failing in her determination, Anchor was there to help pick herself back up again. He challenged her the first time, asking if she was only going to last a few bells after entering the mountain. Nabi had felt guilty, ashamed that her courage had failed her so quickly, especially after realizing that she negated his suffering so she could satisfy her own need to see him.

The second time he was so much more gentle. She had curled up into a ball, crying upon that cot. Her body was in pain and trembling uncontrollably; she was weak and drained, and wasn’t sure if she could keep going for either's sake.

“Jus’ a tad longer,” Anchor had murmured softly. “Then it’s over. No more o’ this. No more.” He had climbed into the cot with her, pulling her tight against him, cocooning her with his body and the bear pelt to lend her his body heat. “There now. Stop your bloody shivering, aye?” Nabi could almost hear his tender whisper brush by her ear.

Nabi pressed her lips tighter, slowly exhaling to calm the stirring within. No matter how silky and smooth Lord Musa’s bedding was, she found no rest here. There was no safety and peace that she felt within that pelt, as her shivering slowly came to a stop within Anchor’s embrace. When her crying finally had ceased, they had murmured softly to each other, her mind and spirit regaining some of its composure and strength again.

“I was supposed to save you,” she had confessed, her cheeks flushed with shame at her weakness.

Anchor snorted softly, although without any real derision. He paused thoughtfully, before he murmured, “...You ‘ave.” He brushed aside some of her locks, before he leaned in, lightly pressing his nose into the space between her horn and the back of her head.

“Nabi,” he whispered her name, for the first time since they had met. “Before you left then, what did the sky look like?”

Nabi felt her chest tighten as she recalled that question, the same way it had then under the pelt. He had been there, beneath that sunless and starless mountain, so much longer than she. And he was the one that was trying to pick her up as she struggled.

“It was misty when I left Kugane,” Nabi answered him, trying to imagine as much details as she could of that last sun before arriving at the arena. “The air was moist, as if it wanted to rain. The sky was covered with clouds. Not the voluminous white billows that took fantastic shapes, but the ones that were smooth and spread even, like fine woven cloth. Although no rays of sunlight broke through, you could still see the soft glow where it waited just beyond.” She shifted where she laid, to gaze upon him. And his eyes remained steady on her, didn’t dart away as they usually did.

“I’m certain it will be waiting for us when we leave this place,” she told him. “We will see it soon. I know it.”

Nabi still felt that certainty, rooted deep within. It had come to her when she had bathed, upon the insistence of the Curator, that she be presentable for Lord Musa when his men came to fetch her. Only after the blood loss and aether drain, the heat of the bath nearly made her faint in the tub. That’s when Anchor held her, yet once again. She just gripped herself and the tub for balance, while he ran the washcloth over her, gently wiping away dirt, blood, and sweat of the last few suns. They didn’t need to exchange words. She trusted him implicitly. And in that moment, as warm water trickled down her back, and she could feel his breaths as he leaned in and gingerly ran that cloth over her skin, that she knew this wouldn’t, couldn’t be their last sun.

Nabi was more certain than ever, that Anchor would win that final match on the morrow. That they would escape, with the help of Shael, Tserende, Myuto, and Ghoa. She didn’t know how, or what the plan was, only that she trusted them to carry it out. As much as she would do her part.

As she lay in the guest bed of Lord Musa’s estate, she knew she was ready. She would attend the match tomorrow, sit on that dais next to the Doman warlord as his “guest”, and watch Anchor face an opponent that had yet to suffer defeat. Grave wanted to see her wither, but Nabi would defy the Highlander, no matter how much he terrified her. Uzuka wanted to own and control Anchor, but he would slip through her fingers and find freedom. Musa wanted to use her and Anchor to manipulate the power upon the dais, but it would all come tumbling down tomorrow.

The dais, their machinations, their hold over Anchor and herself. They'd be gone from their lives.

As Nabi's gaze drifted about the details of the paintings of the fusama that decorated the room, her eyes landed on the picture of a lone samurai facing off against a fearsome dragon. And just as that warrior would stand against unimaginable odds, so would Anchor, and herself as well, with an unwavering faith in those she implicitly trusted. Anchor would win that fight. Shael and Tserende would be there to help them escape. Ghoa would manipulate what strings she could, and Myuto, even that little slave boy, would lend his strength and guide them out of that mountain.

With everyone doing their part, how could she not?

Nabi closed her eyes and forced herself to sleep. She had to rest. She needed all the strength she could muster for tomorrow.

Tomorrow they would determine their fates.