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thecat-inthehat · 3 years ago

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3. Scale

A sequel to this. Content warning for insinuations of child abuse, and canonical Buduga actions. Set approx 8 years before the events of Stormblood.

(2155 words) [Masterpost]

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Sometimes Daidukul Buduga hated his life. He hated the orders of Kete Khan, he hated the way the sun beat down on him, he hated how his feet ached as he walked into Reunion. He especially hated how everyone, even the Qestir, sneered at him as he walked in. They would not bar him, nor would they start a fight, but the Buduga were not well liked.

And for good reason. Kete’s raids on the other tribes--capturing boys, men, supplies, and herds for their own--earned them the ire of most of the Steppe. The Dazkar especially hated them with a passion, as their men were considered homemakers and precious. The Qesi, the Horo, the Dataq, the Dotharl… all despised them. The Buduga had earned the ire of the Steppe, and Daidukul wondered how much longer it could last them.

Based on how the merchants in Reunion looked at him, not long. He only had a few meager supplies for bartering, little and less Doman coin that might be of use, and little physical skill to trade. He needed bandages for one of the new boys, rope for tents, and a whole other assorted list of items. Kete had loathed to let Daidukul go, wanting to keep him close at hand in intimidation, but even he knew that attempting to walk into Reunion would be a death sentence. Reunion might be a place of neutrality, but enough tribes wanted him dead that it would be overlooked.

And now Daidukul was in Reunion, alone, trying to ignore the daggers being glared at his back while doing some shopping.

“And what do you want?” The Goro merchant asked, glaring at him suspiciously as she petted her husband’s mane.

“Rope, if you have any. Some of our yurts were destroyed by the spring storm.” Daidukul said, pulling out a sack of fruits gathered from their last raid. “I’m willing to trade a batch of apples for a few yalms…?”

The woman was about to protest, but her husband at her side knickered at the word “apple”, and she sighed. “Yes, yes, my love, I know you want them. Where did you get them?” She asked, her eyes narrowing.

Daidukul knew better than to lie. But he could imply his discomfort. “Kete ordered a raid on one of the Adarkim septs.” Add a grimace of distaste here, a swish of his tail… Spinning the truth into a way that she could accept and maybe even feel sympathy for him, not unlike how he plied Kete with buttered words to protect himself or the younger brothers.

The Goro’s lips pursed, and she idly pet her husband’s mane as she considered. “Well. If it was the Adarkim… How much did you need?”

Dai felt some of the tension drain out of his shoulders, and he smiled gratefully.

On and on it went, talking to various merchants, trading stories, and being careful with his words. Some still drove up the price regardless, but a few had learned to recognize him and his distinctive hair, and were cautiously willing to let him barter. He had come to Reunion enough times in recent years to be at least somewhat known, despite his green clothes, and a few were treating him fairly. He didn’t see the Ura colors, which was a shame -- Khuril was always more than happy to trade what they needed, among other things.

Azim was turning in the sky, casting Reunion in a warm golden glow that made his scales feel hot. It wasn’t unwelcome really, as it helped get his mind off of how his feet hurt and loosened some of the muscles around his neck and shoulders. If he could just get what he needed and went home, then maybe he could avoid being pulled for guard duty that night.

A glint caught his eye, and he couldn’t help but look up, shading his eyes against Azim’s light. An Oronir stood on the top of the overlook, gazing down at Reunion. A strange weapon was strapped to their back, and every so often it gleamed with golden light.

“... Magnai?” Daidukul murmured, squinting at the figure. He could spot the golden braids, the broad shoulders. That had to be him. The damn brat was going to make him climb the overlook to talk to him, wasn’t he… With a sigh Daidukul headed for the north of the village to start heading up the hill. What in the hells was he even doing here, the Oronir were to the east this time of year, tending to their sheep herds.

By the time he got to the top, his feet were aching, and a lance of pain was traveling up his left calf. He had to pause to let himself breathe and move his aether around, giving himself a second wind as he attempted to make the ascent. Normally his feet didn’t ache this much, but with the raid only a few days ago, and then working hard on Kete’s orders afterwards… if his feet had just healed properly when he was a boy, this wouldn’t have been such a problem, but of course not. Kete had to make sure none of the new brothers ran away, didn’t he?

“You,” he groused as a way of greeting, “are a son of a bitch.”

Magnai turned to face him, and his solemn expression dropped into one of concern. “Daidukul, what-- Damn it, he sent you out again, didn’t he?”

Daidukul leaned on his knees briefly to catch his breath, and felt the second wind start to push back the pain. A hand touched his shoulder, and a burst of Magnai’s sunbright-aether flooded his senses, and the pain receded even more. He let out a shaky gasp, and felt his knees almost give out from under him in sheer relief. So he just decided to sit down in the grass and let himself rest for a moment.

Magnai knelt down next to him, his brow furrowed in worry. “It’s nice to see you as well, Daidukul. My apologies, I didn’t realize you were down below.”

“It’s alright,” Daidukul said, waving off Magnai’s hand. “What are you even doing here, the Oronir aren’t due this way for another several moons.”

The young man let out a sigh and decided to sit as well, dragging a hand over his face. On his back the … weapon? Glinted again, and Daidukul could see what looked like a pulse of aether moving about the stone. It looked vaguely in the shape of an axe, Magnai’s preferred weapon, but what was it? He cast out his senses just a bit, and Magnai’s own aether was nearly eclipsed by how strong the weapon seemed.

“I went on pilgrimage.” Magnai said, glancing back at the weapon. When he looked back at Daidukul, the gold of his irises seemed to perfectly match the aether that pulsed through the axe. “I found a…”

Dai waited for him to continue, and when he didn’t, he looked at the weapon again. There was something niggling in the back of his mind again, and Daidukul felt his mouth drop open.

“You… You found it? The Scale of the Father?” He demanded, staring at it.

Magnai huffed a small laugh, and ran a hand through his hair and didn’t meet Daidukul’s eyes. The youth was arrogant like all Oronir, but this was the first time Daidukul had seen him be meek. “Aye. I’ve spent over a year searching for it, and Father finally showed me the way.”

Daidukul didn’t ascribe to the Father as much -- the Buduga tended to call themselves Nhaama’s spear, and prayed to Her more often than not. The Oronir, by contrast, were fiercely devout in their worship to the Father, believing themselves to be directly descended from Him. Any conversation with Magnai was always peppered by his beliefs and that confidence that the Sun flowed through his veins -- a confidence that he backed up by his sheer prowess on the battlefield. And now with a sign of the Father’s ironclad favor, surely he should have been strutting around like a preening yol, declaring his superiority for all that would listen.

Except Magnai seemed… settled. Thoughtful, quieter, and less of a dire need to prove himself.

“... He really did, didn’t He?” Daidukul asked softly.

Magnai sat his arms on his knees, leaning forward to rest his chin on his hands, and stared at the flowers in the grass before them. He didn’t speak immediately, letting the wind and the sun wash over them as the reality of what exactly he had accomplished crashed over them. What must it be like, Daidukul wondered, to be shown such favor by a Father that loved you, guided you into claiming His personal favor? To be cherished like a beloved son? He was a man of six and twenty, and yet he craved the confidence that this boy of nineteen summers had, he craved the easy acceptance and celebration of his ability. To be loved, unconditionally, by a Father that cared.

“When I said to you that I would become Khan, I did not think it would be like this,” Magnai said softly, and his golden eyes flickered up at him. “Not with Father’s favor, and His eyes, watching my every move. But… we’ve talked for so long about what changes need to be made, how the Steppe has faltered and run themselves aground. This has to be a sign that we are on the right path.”

“Magnai, this is--” Daidukul himself off, looking away. Sure, saying all of that was well and good, but…

“You saw it, didn’t you?” Magnai continued on, relentless. “There are less merchants in Reunion this year, and even less will come next. Tribes have been lost, the winds grow stagnant as the Ironmen occupy the south. They will come for us, sooner rather than later.”

“I know, but what chance do we actually have?” Daidukul murmured, and ripped up a blade of grass, shredding it anxiously between his fingers.

“Isn’t this a sign, my friend?” Magnai asked softly, and it struck Daidukul how uncertain his voice sounded. “That we are on the right path? That Father has seen what I planned to do, what you told me of your own tribe, and granted us favor?”

“Where’s that sunbright confidence, Oronir? Have you suddenly stuck your tail between your legs?” Daidukul asked, eyes narrowing slightly.

Magnai didn’t meet his eyes, and instead unhooked the axe from its strap on his back and laid it across his knees. He ran his claws over it, and took a breath. “I climbed Skypiercer with naught but my fists and nerve. I found the tomb of Enkhtuyaa Khatun and her love, and read their story. Every time this weapon has been found, it is because change must come to the Oronir tribe, that the Father wishes our course to be corrected. I am not merely a brother to them now, I am the Eldest. I have to--”

His voice cracked, and he bit his lip. Daidukul reached out and gently laid his hand over Magnai’s, giving it a small squeeze.

“We have a duty, now, and the weight is heavier than the mountains. We must be what Father wishes, Daidukul. And I … I don’t know if I can do this alone. I can’t do this alone.”

“You know I don’t worship the Father like you,” Daidukul said softly, running his thumb over the scales on Magnai’s fingers. There were some new there, scarred over from the cuts he must’ve gotten climbing the highest mountain in the Steppe.

“I know. I have never claimed otherwise,” Magnai said, glancing up at him. “But… we’ve been friends for years now, and He has kept watch over us, even guiding us to meet. Surely that means something.”

“It does. It does,” he murmured, and took his hand back to drag it through his hair. He let out a sigh, and glanced to the Dawn throne, where his tribe was camping just north of it. “So now I suppose that our plans have to become solid, not just… words on the wind.”

Magnai nodded slowly, and let out a sigh. “Whatever it is, whatever you need of me, I will help. You believed in me when naught else did, Daidukul.”

Daidkul inhaled, letting his lungs fill as he took in the scents from the wind and Reunion down below. This was … so much. He had talked with Magnai before about steering the Buduga on a better course, but it had always seemed so impossible, Kete’s reach too far to do anything about it. Every little act of rebellion he had tried seemed to make life worse, or worse for the brothers that were not in Kete’s favor. Maybe he didn’t have the Father’s favor, or even the Mother’s, but … Magnai did. And they would work together.

“... I need to overthrow Kete.”

#ffxivwrite2021 #Daidukul Buduga #Magnai Oronir #Scale of the Father #how do these keep getting longer and longer #magnai oronir propaganda

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