#aysu of the steppe

[safert0fu]

undefined

Aysu’s Endwalker title screen (ft. Magnai) as per this meme.

the music is Zereglee - Jonon

[talesfromthegameff14]

Once to Hunt, Twice to Mourn, Thrice to Die - Part One

[Writing Music:  https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=3mbBbFH9fAg&feature=share] Ama’Aysu, no Nha’Aysu now, had spent the last several moons at the hunt.  It was the reason she changed her name and her role, no longer serving the Divine Mother in favor of serving the Night Warrior.  Calling the Wild Hunt, three times in one generation, was unheard of in the entire history of the Bhazkaran.  Twice even had never happened, but these were strange times foretold by the fall of Dalamud from the sky.  Anyone with eyes could see that the land wept from the taint of the Calamity still. 

The first Hunt was devastating to the tribe, leaving the ranks depleted greatly.  Then the second was called hot on the heels of the first, leaving only a small group that could heed the cry of duty.  That hunt had only one, minuscule hope for success.  So when the band of warriors, including the new one that held the touch of Nhama in his eyes, left no one expecting them to return.  Which was wise, for they had not.

When word came that Bardam’s Mettle had been corrupted the Oronir had been the first to arrive.  The Bhazkaran crept in behind them under the guise of helping clean up, but something resonated with the place that the Khatuns had felt in their very souls. It was that quiet, desperate plea that had tethered Nha-Aysu back to the place she hated.  It wasn’t for her healing, but her knowledge that they sought.  They wished for the huntress who knew of life outside the Steppes, the source of this beyond most of the tribe’s ken. 

This hunt suited the solitary woman, working from the traces in the Mettle with the strange dedication of beast and guardian alike, to find similar experiences beyond the grasslands.  A few hints here and there, something that feasted upon not just aether, but the very soul of a being.  To be devoured by this abomination was to be torn from the world to never return. 

It could not be allowed to live.

Traces of the beast were shown to her by Nhaama’s eye, gathered close to study and consume, until Nha’Aysu could feel the pull of the beast within her soul by Nhaama’s grace.

The path led many places, but instinct kept bringing her back to one question.  How did the Oronir know before anyone else?  The Uyagir said they found out about the beast from the Dorthal.  The Dorthal said that they didn’t know it went to the mettle and certainly hadn’t spoken to the Oronir about it.  The Humble Ones certainly weren’t going to be listened to by the Oronir if they had spoken to them, which they did not.

So how did they know?

The light of Nhaama led Nha’Aysu back to the Dawn Throne many a time, leaving the healer turned hunter gazing at the monolith in cautious wonder.  What did they know?  It was such a night when a glimmer of moonlight off of something metallic caught her eye.  A single figure walking away from the Throne armed for a hunt.  Nothing unusual, yet it seemed as if motes of moonlight followed him, something she could only see out of the corner of her eye and would disappear when she looked at him. 

Keeping her distance, the huntress watched the man walk away, eyes unfocusing as she sent a silent plea towards the heavens.  What is it you need me to see Mother of the Night?  The aether that showed the soul of the hunter was strong, but not entirely unusual. The Mark of the Beast was concerning, but he wasn’t the first she’d seen with it.

“Deeper”, the Mother whispered.

Stealing her courage, Nha’Aysu slipped into the trance that left her body helpless and stepped sideways into the hands of the Night Mother.  Walking along the silver streams of the Mother’s light she approached the man, leaving only the thinnest of threads to tether her soul to her vacant body.

“Deeper”, was whispered once more.

The unseen mist of the huntress’ soul swirled around the tall Oronir, causing a stirring of something malevolent and ravenous within the solitary hunter. Then it clicked, the similarity in aether patterns from the man that walked away to the echoes of what was left in the Mettle.  The man and Beast submerged within the hunger that her presence tugged at.  Fear propelled her inner-self back into a body where the heart hammered and a cold sweat had broken out along deep red skin. 

Mother Night, she found him. 

Breath racing from between parted lips that whispered a silent call that brought moonlight down upon the unknown figure that was just about out of her sight.  A request from one of the most blessed and cursed of Nhaama’s daughters given form.  The Night Mother saw all on the steppes when she was high in the sky.  When that one moved across the grasses the Bhazkaran would know.

Now, finally the hunt could be called.  It was a hollow triumph, Nha’Aysu only hoping that enough would survive this to dance for the ones who were gone, so the tales could be told for the tribe to remember. For any that fell in this fight may never walk the steppes again. 

[safert0fu]

little lady of the sun.

there was a wolqotd asking about wolship kids so... shortly after the events of endwalker, aysu & magnai have their first daughter, erdene. (she is depicted here as about 5 years old; in the current timeline, she's still a babby tho).

[safert0fu]

what are you looking at?

[safert0fu]

on the warpath.

[safert0fu]

undefined

[safert0fu]

miss aysu, i miss you. . .

[safert0fu]

i got the Garlond GL-II mount on my main finally so ofc i put my ship on it.

[safert0fu]

come here.

“he’s too tall sometimes, too tall by far.”

[safert0fu]

trifecta

[safert0fu]

friends till the end.

(friends from the beginning.)

[safert0fu]

it’s always summer in costa del sol, baybee—

[talesfromthegameff14]

Prompt #4: Shifting Blame

The sun was rising over the high peaks of the mountains that framed the Steppes.  A wail of rage and pain erupted from a brightly colored yurt, shattering the silence and sending a nearby flock of doves rocketing into the sky. 

“It’s your fault!  If you had been here as is your duty he wouldn’t be DEAD!   He wouldn't be GONE.  You are no friend of mine.  You are gone from my eyes.  Gone and more if it would bring HIM BACK.”  While he was no Nha, Ama-batu still outweighed and out muscled Ama-aysu.  Even if she hadn’t spent her strength on trying to save Tai-tai there wouldn’t have been much she could do to fend off the raging male.  Bodily, he picked her up and tossed her out of the yurt, the cloth ties that held the flap shut tearing from the force behind it, the support pole going slightly askew.  A wail started up from the corner, one of the littles being woken up in the commotion to find one of his beloved fathers dead. 

Aysu rolled across the ground, laying limp in the dirt when the world stopped tumbling about her.  Batu’s raging grief caught the attention of those that rose with the sun, sympathy ringing in their hearts until the cruel, punishing words registered within their horns.  The quickest to react weren’t able to prevent the first crushing blows upon Aysu’s spent form.  More young voices raised in grief and confusion joined the cacophony as several Xaela struggled to pull Batu off of Aysu.  She wasn’t aware of the help, her awareness fading away after the first few punches impacted her body hard enough to break bone, consciousness collapsing within as the little strength she had left gave out.  

It didn’t used to be this way.  Kinder memories of before Nha-Jochi fell and was consumed came to her in flashes like a fever dream.  A soft look, a gift of flowers, sharing a kill over a camp fire with Batu and Tai-Tai.  Back then Batu was the only Nha, but they drug him along on their adventures, the arrogance of youth assuring them that they would never die. 

Jochi was the first one to prove them wrong. Blood, so much blood staining the ground from the fallen hunters, even more from him.  It didn’t flow quickly, instead it oozed out of cuts gone purple at the edges against his verdant skin.  It curdled, falling to the ground in glops as the taint of the creature that he cut down consumed him instead.  She woke up with a scream, trying to sit up but the protest of broken ribs stole her air and kept her prone on the pallet.  Soft words were offered, gentle touches to her shoulder and cheeks, trying to soothe the haunted eyes that stared at the unfamiliar ceiling of the yurt. Those same hands cradled her head, tipping it upward and bringing a cup of liquid to her lips.   Recognizing the scent, Aysu drank deeply of the healing draught.  Sleep would come, maybe even without nightmares, if she was lucky.  Anything to escape... “It wasn’t your fault.” 

Wasn’t it alwa...

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast

[talesfromthegameff14]

Prompt #1: Voracious

It was difficult going home.  Impossible for Ama’Aysu to walk through the tribe and not feel the taint of the void as it pooled in the souls of the Nha and Ama alike.  Not all carried the ravenous darkness within their bodies, it was common though.  Nha were often exposed and with how many injured Nha came to accept the grace of the Ama the taint flowed between the two halves of the tribe like water across the Steppes.  It was duty that kept her returning back to where she was born, forcing herself to face the demons of her past.  A touch here, a bloodletting there, a shake of denial elsewhere because the taint had grown too voracious, too greedy, the tendrils too tenacious to snip away without killing the body.  A talent for slowing and sometimes even excising that particular disease was rare even in their tribes long history.  None other had held it since long before the last Wild Hunt, a thing that Aysu had never seen herself and hoped it would stay that way.  “Ama-Aysu? Aysu!” Looking up, Aysu saw the particular brand of desperate hope that often shone in the eyes of those that called her name.  This one?  She knew Ama-Batu, grew up with him and his husband Nha-Chaghatai.  They both, no matter.  She schooled her expression to one every healer knew, patient and empathetic.  It didn’t matter that there was a chill in her eyes behind it, the man would see what was on the surface and take comfort in it. They always did.  Taking her hand he guided her along like one might a child even before pleasantries were exchanged.  The words he spoke went unheard, flowing around her like a gentle breeze.  She didn’t need, or want, to hear what happened.  That the couple found themselves needing her skills at the full of the moon was painful enough without the details.  The cheerfully dyed yurt the men dwelled in came into view quickly enough, she remembered the teasing the first time they put that up.  How it looked like something a child might paint.  They insisted that it would bring them luck and blessings, the blessings of children to a family that wanted so much.   It had drawn the blessings they wanted, she knew that, having met several of the children the couple adopted when their parents fell to the void or the hunt.  Signs of the children were scattered about on the ground, a leather ball dyed bright yellow stood out, a strange reminder of the sun among the Children of the Moon.  Luck had followed the couple just as they said.  But, then it was dark, the air smelled of blood and hunger, a particular combination that Aysu was well acquainted with. That told her everything she needed to know.  Their luck had run out. A gentle smile was plastered to her face, hands reaching to pull the satchel with her tools in it off of her shoulder.  “I am here Tai-tai. You can relax now.  I am here.”  The bedridden xaela looked up at the use of his childhood nickname, laughing weakly.  “You are a sight for sore eyes Aysu.  Batu said you were coming soon, to wait, all I had to do was wait..”  The thin, reedy voice of a once robust man trailed back into the fever dream by the time Aysu knelt next to his pallet.  Nhaama help her, he was so far gone. She didn’t even have to touch him to know that.  The wound given by the voidsent wasn’t healing, that itself testified to the depth of the taint.   Tai-tai...

“I will do everything I can Batu, bring me water and get the fire going higher. I will need both.”  She heard him move off to do as she bid.  Only then did she allow the weariness and fear to weigh upon her shoulders, slouching a bit where she knelt.  This was going to hurt and with no guarantee, but... “For you Jochi.”, she said softly to the unconscious man, reaching out to smooth his matted hair back from his forehead. “For you.”  @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast​

[talesfromthegameff14]

#30: Darkness

[Warning:  Blood, loss of bodily functions, generally gross stuff following.  Custom Xaela tribe head cannons to follow. ]

Nhaama was found in the darkness.  Even when she turned her face away from the steps she was still there, reminding her children of her by the lack of her guiding light in the dark sky.  It was said that she turned her face away to cry for her children that were lost.  Others said that she turned away to show her anger at her children’s sins.  Others, so that she didn’t have to see what Xaela did in her name in the dark.  

The Nha were said to wear that face, the face of the warrior, the crying goddess, the vengeful matron that punished both xaela and outsider alike to keep her children safe. 

Ama were the face of the full moon, those that tended the warriors, served the tribe, healed what needed healing.   Yet, this time, it was one of the Ama who sought out the dark Goddess.  Ama’Aysu sitting cross legged on one of the highest points of the Steppes.  Her eyes couldn’t see the outline of the Dawn Throne or the crumbled remains of the Dusk Throne or any other features as even the stars were hidden from view by the storm that was rolling in.  Rain didn’t fall yet, but wind teased tendrils of hair from her bun, the white wisps tickling her nose.  A snort of frustration at the annoyance then a puff of air to clear them away.  Futile, because another gust of wind blows them in her face again.  She could feel the void in her veins, the taint that she’d managed to pull from Tai-tai before his body failed from the strain.  Aysu had given her all, for nothing.  But, she still had to pay the price.   It was time for the bloodletting.  An iron basin was on the ground before her.  The circle drawn in quicksilver on the rock to contain what was within.  A flint knife, impossible to see in the all encompassing night.  Kumis, sour and rotten in a skin near her.  Aether was channeled, the kumis poured into the cauldron as she chanted softly the words of the Dark Matron whisked away by the mistral of the coming tempest.  The jagged rock knife cut across her arms, the cuts deep enough to bleed freely.  The blood flowed sluggishly despite the viciousness of slices that parted skin and muscle down to bone.  Gold rimmed eyes burned in the dark, the only light in the area until lightning danced in the clouds above her.  Aysu’s breath came faster, labored as muscles cramped and spasmed.  Her heart struggled in her chest to pump the void thickened blood through her veins.  A soft plorp broke the silence, a clot of something fell into the kumis, sizzling with the stench of corruption.  It caused her to gag, slumping forward grip the edges of the cauldron, cuts down so the sluggish flow of taint could leave her body. Tears already flowed down the woman’s cheeks, whispers echoing in her horns. It doesn’t have to be this way little sister.  Join us dark one.  You wouldn’t have to hurt anymore.  They don’t appreciate your suffering, they almost tried to kill you.   We’d keep you safe.   Join us... jOin us.  JOIN US! Aysu screamed from the agony that wracked her slim form.  The scream was cut off as her stomach clenched and rebelled, bile and void being violently expelled from her body in anyway that was possible.  Every bit of her burned and shudders from the knife’s edge of cold that consumed her.   Burning, freezing, retching, dying... Everything was lost to her in the moment, time, sight, even control.  Her bowels emptied the foul scent of what was expelled driving off the baras that had crept closer in a moment of hopefulness for an easy kill.  The xaela held onto the rim of the basin with every last bit of will she had, Aysu’s only connection with the living.   The denial was lost in the sobs pulled from her raw throat, a single whisper of defiance that saved her this time, like it did every other.  “No.” And then it was done.  She was reborn to the Goddess, helpless as a babe under Nhaama’s hidden gaze. 

[talesfromthegameff14]

#28: Attune

[Warning: Reference to violence and death, nothing detailed or bloody.]

Nha’Aysu had come back from The Hunt deeply scarred, shivering and blind to the consolation of others.  “He is dead.”, she muttered over and over to herself.  Her mind’s eye only able to see how the void consumed Nha’Jochi.  It wasn’t the beasts claws that haunted her, it was the flow of inky aether that devoured the man she adored from the inside out, a voracious hunger that she could see clearly as day.  How it didn’t only feast upon the body, but how it imbibed upon the soul tainting the very core of Jochi and ingesting it until there was nothing left. How could a soul go to Nhaama when there was nothing left of it?

The healers tended to Aysu’s physical wounds.  Her mother and sister tried to tend to the heart ones, doing their best to coax the young woman to eat, to sleep, to tend to herself, to live.  When little worked they brought her to the Udgan.  The old woman took the shattered soul into her yurt, rheumy eyes able to see what the others could not.  Nhaama’s touch was spoken of in soft tones, when spoken at all.  Those who were blessed, and cursed, with gifts from the goddess.  LIke everything Nhaama did, it was a double edged sword.  Where she was kind, she was also cruel and this was no exception.   At first, Aysu raged.  If she could do this, purge the taint from others, why couldn’t she save Jochi? Why hadn’t the hunters left her to stem the tide and instead dragged her away from Jochi’s embrace just as she had almost figured it out?  It had stopped with her hands upon his chest, body sorely tainted, but his heart?  It had been pure, held off by her will, only to rush in to annihilate his being the moment her fingers left his skin.   Then it was pride as the Udgan showed her how to control and use this gift.  How to attune herself to the void so the march forward could be slowed and even sometimes purged. Though that came at a price of losing a piece of the Self to the ravenous Void.  The adults, they knew and understood what the fight cost them.  For them, she slowed, gave them more time to fight and walk upon the Steppes.  It was the children though, the rare times the Void touched innocence that she paid the price in full. 

Now? Now Ama’Aysu couldn’t look at any member in the tribe without seeing their end of days.  Knowing which ones needed to become a quiet whisper in Nhaama’s ear sooner than later before they risked being swept into the eternal darkness never to shine again.  Only the children gave her any joy, but even then she could see the silver scythes hanging over their heads.  Nha or Ama?  It didn’t matter, all would fall for Nhaama’s grace.  

Especially her.