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moonlightpaladin · 2 years ago

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Xaela Tribes

Sourced from here. I wanted to have these in one place to reference.

Adarkim: The largest of the Xaela tribes. While not the most skilled at battle, they overwhelm with numbers, taking losses in stride, knowing that a future victory over a weaker tribe will replenish their ranks.

Angura: A small tribe which keeps mainly to the mountainous region of northeastern Othard. The glare reflected by the everlasting glaciers upon which they travel has rendered this tribe's skin color a deep rusty tone.

Arulaq: A tribe thought lost 200 years ago, only recently discovered once again living in a secluded valley in the mountainous north.

Avagnar: Though defeated and absorbed by the Adarkim, several of the proud tribe's members still secretly use its ancestral name, knowing that it could mean death if they are discovered.

Bairon: A middle-sized tribe of the southern deserts and masters of survival in the driest of climes, the Bairon are all trained from a very young age to collect and drink their own bodily fluids, allowing them the ability to venture deep into places no other tribe will.

Bayaqud: A tribe of the steppe's western edges. Women from the Bayaqud tribe will traditionally take several husbands, as did the tribe's founding matron 2000 years ago.

Bolir: A small tribe that earns its living by collecting the dung of the beastkin herds which roam the steppes. The dung is dried, turned into charcoal in temporary kilns, and sold to other tribes.

Borlaaq: A tribe of all women. While breeding with men from other tribes is allowed, if a male is born into the tribe, he is given up within a year of birth.

Buduga: An all-male tribe which only increases its ranks through battle and kidnapping.

Chaghan: An offshoot of the Qerel tribe, these warriors enter a berserker rage known as the Will of Karash, which they believe to be a blessing from the Dusk Mother. They commit all manner of heinous acts when Karash takes hold, and some would even slay their own kin and claim it in the name of Mother Nhaama.

Dalamiq: One of only a few Xaela tribes which has abandoned the nomadic lifestyle and built a small village on an islet in the middle of a two-malm-wide span of the great inner river. It is said they once worshipped the now-fallen lesser moon.

Dataq: The Dataq cover quite possibly the most area in their migrations, for they rarely stop in one area for longer than a few bells. Sleeping is all done in the saddle, and tents are only used when the rains are heavy and unbearable.

Dazkar: Household duties such as cooking, cleaning, and childrearing are handled by the males of the Dazkar who, other than when on the move, rarely ever leave their family's yurts. Female Dazkar are tasked with hunting, and are known across the steppe as being some of the most accurate archers in the realm.

Dhoro: An elusive tribe that avoids contact with most other tribes. Lookouts are posted all about their camps with orders to flee given the moment an outsider is spotted.

Dotharl: An extremely violent tribe with members who revel in massacre and are taught from a young age not to fear death. While they are quick to attack other tribes, mortality rates are high, ensuring that their numbers never grow too high.

Ejinn: A river tribe that chooses to swim from place to place rather than walk or take boats. It is said that members of the Ejinn can hold their breaths for up to a quarter bell, and will often migrate while almost completely submerged in order to avoid contact with hostile tribes.

Geneq: In addition to the standard language used by most of the Xaela in cross-tribe communication, the Geneq employ a complex system of whistles and clicks which resemble the cloud- and wavekin of the steppe.

Gesi: The Gesi are masters of the slingspear, a mid-sized javelin carved from mammoth bone which, instead of being thrown by hand, is flung with a leather sling to improve range, speed, and killing power.

Gharl: Before each migration, the Gharl will fill a sacred urn with the soil of the place they just camped. This soil is then dumped upon arriving at the next location. This tradition has been carried out for thousands of years, leading people to believe that most the steppe is now all of one soil.

Goro: The Goro believe horses to be perfect beings, and each male and female, upon their coming of age, is married to a horse of the opposite sex. Reproductive mates are chosen by lots.

Haragin: The legends of this coastal tribe tell of a group of their ancestors who crafted a giant ship and sailed out across the endless eastern ocean. The explorers are said to have returned with tales of a terrible island covered in massive grey monoliths and inhabited by fire-breathing steel demons.

Himaa: For reasons unknown, one out of every three pregnancies amongst the Himaa result in twins. As a result, over half the tribe's members have a doppelganger. This can prove an advantage during attacks, as it confuses the enemy into believing the dead have risen.

Horo: To those who live the meager lifestyles of the steppedwellers, being overweight is a symbol of affluence and power. To appear heavier than one in their station, the members of Horo will drink copious amounts of water to bloat their bellies.

Hotgo: A tribe recently massacred by the Dotharl. The only members surviving are those who left the tribe to travel on their own and were not present during the killing. The Hotgo were known for their vibrant face paints which members would constantly change depending on their current mood.

Iriq: A tribe that follows the Borlaaq, taking on any male children given up by the female warriors and raising them as their own.

Jhungid: The second largest Xaela tribe. Mortal enemies with the Kharlu, the Jungid will spend the greater part of the year subjugating smaller tribes to swell their own ranks in preparation for an annual battle with the Kharlu—the winner gaining control over a large part of the eastern coastlands.

Kagon: The Kagon are a nocturnal desert tribe who worship Nhaama, goddess of the moon and mortal enemy of Azim, god of the sun. Instructed by their goddess that to step into the sun is to succumb to the evil of Azim, they spend the daylight hours in their tents, only emerging to hunt and migrate at night. The result is an uncharacteristically pale skin for a group of people living in an almost eternally fair-weather locale.

Kahkol: A tribe made up of orphans and refugees from tribes defeated or destroyed. Many choose to combine the name of their old tribe with Kahkol.

Kha: Unlike most of the Xaela, the Kha live on the fringes of the Xaela lands, actively seeking contact with non Auri peoples, introducing many aspects of those cultures into their own.

Kharlu: The third largest Xaela tribe. Mortal enemies with the Jungid, the Kharlu will spend the greater part of the year subjugating smaller tribes to swell their own ranks in preparation for an annual battle with the Jungid—the winner gaining control over a large part of the eastern coastlands.

Khatayin: A tribe which largely remains unseen, hunting goats in the mountains for nine moons of the year. The remaining three are spent at the foot of the great north range, where they survive off the dried meat they stocked.

Malagud: One of the only tribes that accepts people of the Raen—those that have been exiled, or those who have fled persecution—into their circle.

Malqir: A western steppe tribe characterized by its unique leader-choosing ritual which, instead of the usual test of brawn, is a game of Kharaqiq—a chess-like game played on a circular board divided into three rings.

Mankhad: A costal tribe which fights with blow-darts made from bones dipped in the poison of the pufferfish. So practiced with the pipes are the tribe, that they can disable a target from 200 paces.

Mierqid: A desert tribe which, over the course of a year, travels between over a hundred secret buried caches of supplies restocked with each annual visit.

Moks: A tribe invisible for the fact that its members are spread out across many different tribes (unbeknownst to those tribes). Communication between its members is done on the rare occasion when two tribes meet, through an ancient set of hand signals only recognizable by those who know what they are looking for.

Mol: A small tribe of devout worshippers of the elder gods, the Mol will consult with their deities (via a shaman conduit) before making any tribe-related decisions, from the direction of their next migration, to the beasts they will hunt each day for food.

Noykin: Master trainers of the wild horses which populate the majority of steppe. It is said that the horsewives of the Noykin can break any beast if given but a week.

Olkund: Selective breeding has seen the average height of the central steppe-dwelling Olkund tribe males reach over two and a half yalms. The females, for whatever reason, remain of an average height.

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

Orl: A tribe that fled Othard in the wake of Garlean occupation. Several of the Orl found their way to the highlands of Coerthas but misconceptions of Au Ra being of Dravanian descent led Ishgardian soldiers to slaughter them indiscriminately. There is only known to be one survivor of this tribe.

Oronir: All members of the Oronir tribe believe themselves to be direct descendants of Azim, the tribe's god of the sun.

Oroq: The Oroq create sleds made of reeds dipped in horse fat to help move their possessions and young children about the inner grasslands.

Qalli: Also known as the songbirds of the steppe, the Qalli communicate through song, attaching a melody to their words to further add emotion to the meaning.

Qerel: The warriors of this tribe all wear complete suits of armor crafted from the bones of steppe tigers which they kill with their own hands upon their coming of age.

Qestir: This tribe refuses to speak, believing that all words are lies, and that a man's actions are the purest form of communication.

Sagahl: A tribe which sees all beastkin as equals with man, therefore refuses to eat or use them as beasts of burden. As a result, the diet of the Sagahl mainly consists of steppe shrubs and vilekin.

Torgud: This desert tribe does not wear any clothes, choosing instead to cover their bodies almost entirely in a white paint created from mud, lime, and bone meal. The paint helps to reflect the relentless desert sun.

Tumet: The children of the Tumet, upon seeing their tenth summer, are tied to a sacred tree while the remainder of the tribe packs up and moves to their next location. Those children who manage to break free from their bonds and catch up with the tribe at that next location, are given a name and allowed into the tribe.

Ugund: When members of this tribe die, their heads are removed from their bodies and placed in a jar of fermented goat milk. Once the liquid has been drunk by the head (in other words, evaporated), the head is then buried under an anthill so that the tiny workers can carry the spirit to the afterlife. The journey is thought to be a terrible one, the road filled with ghosts of the damned, so ensuring the spirit is drunk helps ease the journey.

Ura: This mountain-dwelling tribe is one of the few which instead of hunting, mine the precious ores of the peaks and trade them with the steppe tribes for food.

Urumet: This desert tribe has the queer custom of travelling with their elders carried upon their shoulders. It is believed that in the flat desert, this gives the tribe the advantage of being able to see farther.

Uyagir: One of a handful of Xaela tribes which have given up the nomadic lifestyle. The Uyagir reside in a system of limestone caves on the northern edge of the southern deserts which are believed to have been dug by a race of giant oliphant-like beetles which were placed on the land by the gods to punish the elder tribes that had grown too greedy.

#long post #ffxiv #lore #au ra #xaela #missy rambles #these will be good to reference when i finally write more about Dal's tribe #currently his tribe isn't Weird enough. I need them to be Weirder. need a Quirk

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umbralsound-xiv · 3 years ago

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Prompt #21 - Feckless

Character: Od

The aetheryite glimmers between sturdy, well kept Yurts; the bustle of commerce carrying across the wind despite the silence of those who kept watch.

As a girl of fourteen summers, it was the first time she’d ever seen it.

Regardless, her Mother clutched her hand tightly as though she were a toddler; and judging by Od’s lack of contest, she was more than used to it. A sigh is drawn and heaved from her nose, as she gives a small, testing tug.

“Od, do not wander far ♪ I need to see where you are ♪”

Her mother’s words were melodic, yet stern. For a Qalli who sang every word that left her lips; and even in rhyming pairs, no less, it might sound even comical to those unused to it. But to Od, it was a warning. Her hand is released, and she keeps close to her Mother’s side as they enter the market.

A wash of colour fills Od’s gaze; the myriad standards and garb of so many different Tribes she’d only heard of, and never met. She had, of course, met precious few when they had opted to visit her people for one reason or another, but never able to speak to them of her own volition.

Od’s mother moves to a waiting woman clad in black and red; lengths of long, braided hair at her shoulders.

Freedom.

The scents and sights were almost overwhelming. Rich stews were being peddled as much as hides and horns of the various animals that roamed the land, as well as weapons, fabric; more than she’d ever seen in her life. As her eyes wander, her feet follow.

The first to some floral, Eastern styled dresses. A Raen woman sits with a needle, embroidering the hem of one yet unfinished, and looks up with a smile. Her horns are long and curved, almost obstructing her vision; she is long aged in years.

“A beautiful dress for a beautiful girl, perhaps? Springs colours would suit you most wonderfully, i do think!”

The aged woman smiles to Od, whose cheeks colour as she gives a small gasp. She was not... Shy. But her lack of interaction outside the Qalli was certainly limited. She beams.

“They look lovely, and beautifully made! ♪ But i am here to visit, and have nothing to trade ♪”

The elder chuckles; amused by the singsong tone of Od’s voice. Her tail gives a slow thump against the rug she sat on, before reaching into a small box filled with small odds and scraps, and offering something out to her.

“Here, girl. Perhaps the next you visit, you will purchase something to match?”

A small flower. It is made from pale blue silk scraps, tiny white beads sewn into the middle to give it some structure. A small metal clasp allows it to be attached to something, to which Od immediately puts it into her hair.

“With your clothes, i am sure to impress! ♪ I will ask my parents for a dress! ♪ ”

She beams, and bows her head in a farewell response, as the woman does in kind. Her wide, dark eyes seek out her next location.

A group of children around her age. Some looked a little older, some younger; but all had weapons. A girl with verdant green hair offers a smile as she approaches.

“You’re new here, aren’t you? What tribe are you from?”

Before Od can respond, one of the boys turns his head. He’s already missing a horn, and at least two teeth.

“Huh? A new face?” He grins, wide and somewhat menacing, a well kept sword that seemed far older than he was at his hip. “Maybe she’ll put up more’ve a challenge than you two!”

Od stares, and pales as he approaches, before a small, fair haired girl steps in with nothing but silence and a scathing glare. Her clothes indicated she was a Qestir; judging by how they matched the colour of the guards.

“Alright, fine! I was only joking!” He replied, with a laugh that indicated he possibly wasn’t.

“You’re scaring her!” Says the first, who regards her with smile, and takes hold of a hand. “What’s your name? I am Enkh, of the Gharl!”

Od finally smiles, and responds with her usual cheer.

“I am Od of the Qalli, it’s nice to meet you all! ♪ Do you often come here to the market stalls? ♪”

There’s a little silence, before the response, as the group of mismatched children look between eachother. The boy is the first to offer his hand.

“I’m Ganbataar! Ganbataar of the Dotharl! And don’t you forget it! One day, i’m gonna be Khan, and i will be the one to sit on the Dawn Throne! I---Ow!”

His tirade is interrupted by a sharp elbow from the Qestiri girl, who simply offers a bow.

“And that’s Dagasi. Her dad is on guard, so we hang out here! Y’can join us, if you want to! We’re gonna go fishing later, wanna come?”

Before Od can even fill her lungs, the sound of her Mother’s voice splits the air.

“Od! Od! Where did you go ♪ Where is my daughter, does anyone know? ♪”

Od labours a sigh, and turns her head over her shoulder.

“I’d love to, but i don’t think i can... ♪ But next time, for sure! We’ll make it a plan! ♪”

Reluctantly, she runs back to her mother. Even if she did want to stay, she knows she’d never be allowed to. Mother never let her out on her own.

She was never allowed anywhere on her own.

#FFxivWrite 2021 #FFxivWrite #Muse: [Od]#FFXIV #IC #Writing

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niraff14 · 3 years ago

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Xaela Elements in Real Life

Some bits on a couple of different Mongolian things since the Xaela were rather inspired by Nomadic Mongolian Culture. Had looked into a bit of the Mongolian Creation Myths out of curiosity to see if they inspired Azim and Nhaama at all, but they don’t seem to of at least at first glance, I did not look into it heavily at all. Though some of the Myths are based on Buddhism.

The Naadam

(Held during Midsummer, modernly has the ‘three games of men’ being Mongolian Wrestling, Horse Racing, and Archery)

The real Naadam doesn’t look like it was ever as violent as the Xaela version of a brawl. Though the Xaela version does include the three games in a way, you have the race to the center to seize the Ovoo(Horse Racing), While fighting other Xaela on the way(Mongolian Wrestling, Archery). And it does begin with a revered Ceremony as the Gharl Tribe spreads the dirt upon sunrise to mark the Ovoo.(Ovoo are Sacred Stone heaps used as Altars or shrines in Mongolian folk religious practice.)

Naadam is the most widely watched festival among Mongols and is believed to have existed for centuries in one fashion or another. It has its origin in the activities, such as military parades and sporting competitions such as archery, horse riding and wrestling, that followed the celebration of various occasions, including weddings or spiritual gatherings. It later served as a way to train soldiers for battle and was also connected to Mongols' nomadic lifestyle. Mongolians practice their unwritten holiday rules that include a long song to start the holiday, then a Biyelgee dance. Traditional cuisine, or Khuushuur, is served around the Sports Stadium along with a special drink made of horse milk (airag). The three games of wrestling, horse racing, and archery are recorded in the 13th-century book The Secret History of the Mongols. During the Qing dynasty's rule, Naadam became a festival officially held by sums.

Morin Khuur

This instrument is seen in various settlements in the Steppe(Ingame), and is also known as a Horse Fiddle.

(Sambuugiin Pürevjav of Altai Khairkhan performing in Paris in 2005)

Buuz

And of course everyone remembers the Buuz lady in Reunion, she has the freshest Buuz you’ve ever tasted! This is ofcourse a type of Mongolian Steamed Dumpling that is filled with meat. The filling is similar to another Mongolian Dumpling, Khuushuur, however Khuushuur is fried. Main ingredients are Dough, Mutton, or beef

Yurt(Ger in Mongolian)

Tents that are favored by those living on the steppe in Mongolia. They are fairly light and fast to assemble and apparently rather wind resistant. The background of this image also reminds me of the Azim Steppe in the game.

#Mongolia #Xaela #Game Inspiration #FF14

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wellextrudemeprincess · 3 years ago

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Sitting here in nostalgia hell thinking about how my old PGMD OCs would fit into FFXIV setting simply because I miss them and I’m currently obsessed lmaooo

I already have Naira as a Xaela Au ra from the Azim Steppe, part of the Gharl clan (the tiny tidbit of clan lore we get for them fits for her with the bonus of Gharl being very similar to Gorral) She still has the bad history with Besnik but uh, things ended earlier and not near as tragically so she’s only bitter about the betrayal, and not the whole. Loss of the baby thing too.

Aubrey would absolutely be an Ishgardian Elezen, son of some minor noble house that is just high enough in society for there to be a good bit of gossip when word gets out he ran off to join his bastard half-breed cousin as an adventurer, completely dropping his training to join the clergy. And then coming back with a foreign commoner that he announces he is formally courting. Likely headed straight to Limsa Lominsa because the Arcanist guild sounds like a good fit to build on the skills he has, and it being a port city means that if he decides the area isn’t a good fit, he has access to many other options.

Oliver would be that bastard half-breed cousin. Lominsan born, and likely only as acceptable as he was amongst Ishgardian “polite” society because it got out he spent a lot of his time before being brought to Ishgard running errands and doing work for a convent (lmao). Aubrey’s father kept him around out of love for his younger sister and a desire to keep some part of her alive, and because his late wife adored her nephew. He would have known the truth about the “convent” and desperately wished the boy had been less an influence on his sickly son (even if Oliver was actually the one tagging along for the ride.)

Maggie and Adri would both definitely be Viera, likely sticking together when Maggie spots this young AF boy dressed in garb like that of the village she left behind so long ago, who is...distressingly naive and about to get scammed out of what little gil he has, and she ends up intervening and then taking him under her wing, maybe even helping him pick out his new name.

Solita is ????? I’m not sure but there’s a part of me that is torn between her being a Raen Au ra for looks alone, moonkeeper miqo’te who was part of a very secluded, now mostly extinct tribe, or possibly part of that one Xaela tribe that worshipped Dalamud. She is still a big sad and might be carrying around her brother and mother’s bones still. Might be extra haunted. Might be dabbling in necromancy.

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orghanabolir · 3 years ago

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Magical Performances!

This has been a busy week indeed. In addition to school, I had multiple performances to participate in. I had much anxiety that I had taken on more than I should have, but I seem to have emerged if not unscathed, at least only slightly scathed.

First, there was an event for the Rising. I was only around 13 summers when the last calamity happened, and my home was not truly affected by the devastation elsewhere. But I have some sympathy for the loss involved, if not on the same scale, for fighting is known to all tribes on the Steppes, even the Bolir. My songs seemed to be well-received, so I was pleased, even though I felt slightly out of step in places.

Last night, I had several performances as part of the Fantasia concert. I was part of an opening pre-show, and then of course as part of the song where I was the "Swooning Woman." No one in the audience called out "I do not believe that girl is actually swooning," so in this sense I believe my performance was a success.

I performed later in the evening, and Mr. Jolieto assisted me to portray a puppet that I was trying to bring to life.

In this song, I had magical fairy abilities that would allow me to do this thing.

I believe that the audience enjoyed my song, even though I made a mistake at the end: I had a special effect arranged where I would disappear at the end, much like I appeared at the beginning, but it did not go off! And so, I had to just walk off the stage, which was far less magical. But hopefully the audience did not realize that I made a mistake. I am finding out, as I do more of these "acting" types of performances, that if you pretend what you just did was intentional, the audience does not know any better! This is most illuminating.

youtube

(Video kindly recorded by "that weird Allagan and his node")

I think I like this acting. I think perhaps I will see if there are any other acting opportunities at Silvergrace. It is perhaps selfish of me to spend time on such things, knowing that I should be concentrating on things which will benefit my tribe, as my parents intended. I should be focused on learning marketing and business, and not on these frivolous things that bring happiness only to me. Perhaps . . . perhaps the Dusk Mother's will has gone awry in some way where I am concerned. Perhaps I should have been born to one of the more spiritual tribes, like the Gharl, where my skills might have been more useful. The longer I stay in Eorzea, the more conflicted I become, and no one seems to understand. Though to be fair, I have not had the opportunity to speak with many on the subject. There is always so much to do, and seemingly in so little time. So many more important matters are taking place, after all, so what do the misgivings of one small Xaela matter?

The other performers all excelled last night as well. I must allow that even that empty-headed ninny (Dusk Mother forgive me for my harsh thoughts) did well, once she got her costume on (how hard is it to operate a zipper? If she spent less time combing her hair, she would have learned this skill). I enjoyed all of the songs and dances! I felt humbled to be on the same stage as these others who have so much talent.

I gathered Lambchop from the yard and left the theater, and this morning I greeted the sun as it rose for a new day, though who knows what it holds in store?

#ffxir rp #ffxiv #balmung rp #balmung #orghanabolir #crystal rp #silvergrace-academy #crystal data center #Youtube

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fistsoflightning · 4 years ago

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10: words will not suffice

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

word count: 2111

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, but you—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite #ffxivwrite2020 #magnai oronir #sadu dotharl #hien rijin #oktai qestir #my writing #elie's ffxivwrite2020 #tales from the blue #i like hien's personality! i fucking hate that he keeps taking advantage of the entire steppe and their beliefs!!!#i Really Wanted to Punch Him and Gosetsu during the naadam!!!! i am not sorry #anyways: elie rants via fic the ffxivwrite fill #watch out naadam MSQ im coming to rewrite you and dump my steppe headcanons onto everyone sdfnsndfnsd #s: solar eclipse #f...for magnai/oktai..

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paintedscales · 1 year ago

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018. Gharl

Fueled by obsession. Obsession with freedom. Obsession with protection. Obsession with getting strong. Obsession with hatred. Obsession with enacting revenge. It claws and claws and claws till it bursts.

Word Count: 4,030

Steppe by Steppe Chapter List

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Arrows were fired out, aimed up to rain down upon the Kharlu upon their descent. However, Nomin hesitated on her release, instead looking more at the backs of those that were riding out to meet the rival tribe. She loosed her arrow a tad later than most, withdrawing another one quickly to get it prepped for the second wave before she were to be noticed by anyone that may point her out.

'Not my fight…' were the words that settled in Nomin’s mind as she scanned the area. Once weapons came into contact with one another, Nomin locked her attention onto one of the Jhungid she recognized as being high up on the list of who to cross out immediately.

Several waves of arrows were fired before horns of war rang out to signal a pressed attack from the spear and axe wielding frontliners. Waiting till the sixth wave of arrows went out, Nomin fired and watched her arrow sail through the air before it pierced straight through Alagh Yid's chest. So embroiled in combat were others that her slipping off her horse and onto the ground was just a part of the war. She was not the ideal first target, but she was the one that Nomin could make out right away and pick off.

Though Nomin had to act smart so as not to get caught. Her next arrow was aimed up and let loose with the eighth wave of arrows to rain down upon the Kharlu that still had yet to fully make their way to the combat meet. She repeated this process until the archers were urged forward to meet with the remnants within the conflict. Though, Nomin acted the part of riding into battle before she quickly scanned the area for any other familiar persons.

Obsessed.

She had to be. It was necessary.

Another one of Terbish’s trusted heads: Battsetseg.

Obsessed.

It was a matter of freeing herself. Freeing the other Sagahl.

Without missing a beat, Nomin took another shot, her arrow catching Battsetseg in the head right as she was about to strike down a Kharlu warrior with her own hands.

That was two down.

Obsessed.

Slowing her horse, Nomin glanced behind her. Riders were still galloping past her. This is when she took her opportunity. Guiding her horse around, she urged it forward, galloping back toward the Jhungid orda. Most of the warriors would be too enraged by the enemy at this point -- especially if they were pureblooded Jhungid. It was now or never.

Obsessed.

If anyone saw her, there were no attempts to ride after her. Not that Nomin knew. All for the better, really.

Digging her heels into her horse, Nomin rode forward with purpose. The cries and shouts of battle rang behind her, as did the singing of steel, and the cries of pain or even death.

‘Not my fight.’

Nomin rode for what felt like an eternity. Maybe it was the rush of adrenaline. Maybe it was the conviction of her task. Whatever the case, sometimes it felt like her horse was merely galloping in place as her mind reeled at the fact that she was committing to this. This thing that felt like a fantasy that played over and over and over in her head.

Obsessed.

“Please work…” Nomin muttered, taking her arrow and drawing it back once the tops of the sand-colored ger finally came into view. “Flames of rage burn like the sun / Leave the Jhungid nigh undone!” Nomin spat, remembering how her dabbling in magic seemed to produce some results after that dream she had. Though it had never been strong by any means, it was the application by which it was used that was the important thing here.

Obsessed. Obsessed. Obsessed.

Her arrow erupted into flame, and a manic grin spread across Nomin’s face, delighting in how . Letting the arrow fly loose, it sailed through the air and hit the largest ger there was -- the ger that belonged to khatun Silun Gorgelji.

Obsessed.

The flames did not take long to catch, eating away at the fabrics and then the leathers. Black smoke trailed into the air, crackles of embers soon accompanying it.

Another arrow, another incantation that danced across Nomin’s lips. Another flaming arrow that was fired at one of the larger ger.

O b s e s s e d.

Once a commotion had broken out amongst those that had stayed within the orda, Nomin had ridden her horse through the panic and disorder that started to ensue. She had a mission in mind, and she had come too far to be stopped now. Digging her heels into her horse once more, Nomin urged him to press on till she saw the collection of ger that she and the other non-pure-blooded Jhungid were made to sleep.

Quickly jumping from her horse, Nomin went to the ger where Checheyigen and Chotan were -- they were not recognized as warriors just yet to have been made to fight their endless conflict. Though they were there, Nomin urged them to collect their things before going and grabbing one of her bags filled with a myriad of items she had accumulated in the last five years already. She helped Che and Chotan gather what they could before they ran out.

“Is this an attack from the Kharlu?” Checheyigen asked, clutching her bag tightly to herself as she followed hurriedly after Nomin.

“No,” was the quick and curt response from Nomin. She looked and shoved things off of beds and other surfaces, looking for anything that was important in some capacity as she situated her own belongings. Thread, cloth, leather scraps, ink… things that had not been properly put away that should have been.

“This… this was you, wasn’t it?” Chotan asked, watching Nomin. She walked forward somewhat indignantly, reaching out and grabbing the former Tumet’s wrist to stop her from walking past to the exit of the ger. “This was your ‘stupid’ plan?”

Pulling her arm away and looking at her friends, Nomin’s expression had not changed from the determined and fury-ridden way it had been settled since her time on the fields. She then looked squarely at Chotan, who seemed to scoff in disbelief that she more than had the answer when Nomin said nothing in response. Shaking her head, Chotan motioned to Checheyigen to follow along after her before looking again at the blue-haired auri.

“This is insane, Nomin,” Chotan finally said. “What were you thinking?”

“What was I thinking?” Nomin repeated with a scoff of her own. “I was thinking that today’s our day to leave this damned place.”

“You’ll have all of the Jhungid after you when they find out--”

“I don’t care. I hate this place. You hate this place. There are so many of us who hate this place. This is an opportunity, and we need to take it,” Nomin dug her heels in defensively over her actions. Where their eyes stayed locked together, Chotan finally broke her stare with a frustrated sigh before looking at Checheyigen.

“We won’t have another opportunity like this again if we don’t act now…” Checheyigen reasoned when she met Chotan’s gaze. “And who knows what the Jhungid will do once they’re back anyway! I’m with Nomin. I don’t want to stay here anymore. I don’t want to be made to fight! We do not roam the Steppe seeking out glory in battle, nor to prove ourselves superior to other tribes! If we have this opportunity… Chotan, I’m going to reach for it.”

Chotan's expression became riddled with unexpected surprise before she looked down and then looked at Nomin once more. She hesitated, tightening her grip on her belongings. Pursing her lips, she finally gave a nod of acknowledgement as she furrowed her brow; "... fine. Okay. Nomin, we follow after you. Lead the way."

"Of course," Nomin assured before exiting the ger with both teens close at her heels. She hurried along past people who were running for safety, or running to save their loved ones and belongings.

“Turakina! Turakina!” Nomin shouted. In her search, she furrowed her brow and pointed a determined look in both Chotan and Che’s direction. Pointing toward the path that led toward the other ger, Nomin quickly urged them, “go get Khulan and get horses. Now! Just go!”

“Horses? But that is not our wa--” Chotan was about to protest.

“Nothing here was ever our way! Go!” Nomin snapped.

Deciding it best not to argue, the girls did as they were told while Nomin ran through the orda. She had grabbed the reins of her horse as she did, needing the quick getaway if things got any worse. Hard as she looked, however, Nomin was turning up with no results as she danced between panicking orda members, and those that were trying to put out the fire before it spread any further.

Cursing, Nomin changed her course so that she was looking for the other Sagahli teens. Again, she weaved through the chaos that was forming within the orda until she had found the others. Khulan was wide-eyed and confused, and the girls looked at Nomin for guidance once they realized she was there. Looking between them, Nomin looked around to make sure there were no other Jhungid that were on her trail or wanting to stop her from what she was doing.

Making sure the coast was clear in that regard, Nomin pointed toward the stables.

“Che, you’ve been helping with the horses. Get them saddled. Two of them. Khulan will ride with one of you since he’s still small enough for it,” Nomin commanded, laying out whatever plans she had flying in her head for the girls. Looking at Chotan, Nomin went on: “Chotan, find food. Rations that can keep all of you. Bread, jerked fish or vilekin -- stuff I know you will all eat. Grab waterskins, too.”

“What should I do, Nomin?” Khulan asked, gazing at her with curiosity and fear.

“Go with Che. Should anything happen while she’s saddling the horses, you are to ride immediately away. Get as far from here as you can,” Nomin said, tightening her hold on her horse’s reins. “And Khulan… be brave. A lot of scary stuff is probably going to happen. Just think about returning to the Sagahl. You'll get to see your mother and father again.”

Bayarmaa was held firm in the back of Nomin’s mind. Esenaij might have met his end when the Jhungid attacked, but Turakina telling Nomin that Bayarmaa escaped with the other Saghal allowed that glimmer of hope to hold. It was always there, keeping her grounded -- reminding her that there was a reason to temper herself. There were just a lot of things that Nomin had that she never said, and things she thought about that she felt should be said. She just hoped she could see Bayarmaa again to say all those things.

“Go…I’ll be right behind you,” Nomin said, parting from the others to see if she could find Turakina and others from the Sagahl tribe once more. The fire was spreading, and there were people hurriedly chasing dzo or sheep that had gotten loose. Horses were panicking from their stables that Nomin could hear, and she hoped that Che would not have trouble with getting two of them ready.

“Turakina!” Nomin called out again, gritting her teeth. Smoke was starting to waft thickly around the orda.

“Nomin?” came Turakina’s familiar voice.

Nomin’s heart leapt for joy hearing her, and she ran toward it as fast as she could. Her horse trotted along behind her, and she soon came across Turakina, who had been helping the other members of the Sagahl. Nomin recognized a couple of them, but she was more happy just seeing Turakina.

“I’m so glad you’re okay. Che, Chotan, and Khulan are heading toward the stables and getting food. Please, go and do the same,” Nomin pleaded.

“Nomin… you…?” Turakina started, her mouth hanging agape in surprise. "What do you…are we to escape?"

“Yes!” Nomin felt that swell in her chest. She was proud of herself. "I rode free of the battle and came here as fast as I could. This was part of my plan to run and rejoin the rest of the Sagahl."

“... Why? They’re going to kill you if they ever find out it was you…!” Turakina exclaimed. “Why did you do this, Nomin?”

“I… I did this for you--! I did this for all of the Sagahl!” Nomin was taken aback and hurt that Turakina was expressing hesitation or disappointment, and was not overcome with some sense of relief, or kick to her survival instinct. “Please…just… They’re at war with the Kharlu, this is the perfect opportunity to run!”

Turakina pursed her lips, her fun-loving nature and personality having melted away in the years that she had to serve under the Jhungid colors. However, she considered Nomin’s plan and sighed with a furrow to her brow. Nodding, she looked at the other Sagahl.

“You’re right…even if we weren’t the ones to instigate this, we’ll be punished either way…” Turakina relented. “I’ll see what I can do, Nomin…”

Nomin gave a curt nod of acknowledgement and started to mount her horse. They would have to discuss this all more when things were calmer.

“Oh, and Nomin…” Turakina said, looking over her shoulder. The younger Xaela paused, looking down at Turakina curiously. “This was very stupid.”

A scoff left Nomin’s mouth. “Don’t worry, I’m well aware.”

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Thunder rumbled as magically manipulated or conjured rainclouds started to form. Spellcasters of the Jhungid that were back from the fight with the Kharlu were on the scene, it appeared. Though much too late for Nomin to care. After all, she had managed to get the other Sagahl prepped and ready to go before the others had gotten back from their conflict.

Ensuring that the Sagahl were saddled up and fleeing from the scene, Nomin stayed back in case she had to provide another distraction apart from the orda going up in smoke. However, her quick scan of the area saw that too many people were in a panic, and she, too, took her leave of the area, urging her horse out of the orda.

A smile grew on Nomin’s lips. She had done it. She had freed the Sagahl! Now that was left was to free the other tribes that had been--

Pain seared through Nomin’s shoulder as an arrow shot straight through it, lodging itself within.

Crying out, Nomin grit her teeth and dug her heels into the sides of her horse, urging it faster. Another searing pain, this time through her side as she rode.

More arrows flew past, attempting to strike Nomin down.

Nomin gripped the reins with what strength she had, fueled only by the adrenaline that had been present since before the fight with the Kharlu. She needed to ride with everything she had till she was far away. Even if the pain burned and would be something to deal with later, it was better than continuing to be merely a war pawn for the Jhungid.

Further and further she went. Nomin had only suffered the two arrows shot into her, and she cursed them with everything she had. However, she held fast to the thought that she had succeeded in what she vowed to do.

Bleariness started to settle in Nomin’s vision, her breath started to shorten, and her strength was slipping away the more she rode. Even if her mind was in protest, her body could not comply. Eventually… she slipped from her horse and rolled across the grass as her horse continued on. Reaching out, Nomin tried to call for her horse, but the words would not come.

Everything went dark.

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Someone was humming a soft and gentle tune, and a cool cloth was felt upon the skin of her face. Struggling to open her eyes, Nomin saw light filtering in through the top of the ger that she was in.

Panic hit her almost immediately as she sat up quickly. That was when pain coursed through her body; she winced and sharply sucked in air through her teeth to cope. Hitting a fist to the bedroll, Nomin gasped, keeping her guard up as best she could.

“Calm, child,” the humming woman spoke. She had been kneeling at the side of the bedroll that Nomin had been laying on. She reached out again and dabbed the damp, cool cloth against Nomin’s skin. “No one here is going to hurt you. We have been awaiting your wake.”

Bringing a hand to her shoulder, Nomin felt the bandages that were there, but she also felt the soreness of the wound that had been left behind. The same was true for the shot made to her abdomen.

“You suffered some nasty wounds. Not a true member of the Jhungid, are you…” the woman spoke, putting the damp cloth away and looking at Nomin. She was met by a shake of the teen’s head, which prompted a small smile from the woman. “You need not worry. The Gharl hold no allegiance to any one tribe. We will not be returning you to them -- we have even collected your horse. We found it grazing not that far from you when we were foraging.”

“Soil bearers?” Nomin managed, wincing again after she spoke. “I’m… relieved. What of the other Sagahl?”

“Ah…” The Gharl woman appeared to have her thoughts click into place. “We did see other riders on our journey. They kept riding in the direction of the Ceol Aen. Will you be joining them when you can walk?”

“That’s the plan…” Nomin confirmed. She furrowed her brow in thought before looking at the Gharli woman. “What’s your name?”

“Seruuntungalag,” the woman replied, pushing herself back up into a standing position. “But I understand it is quite long, and sometimes hard for others to say consistently. You may simply call me Seruun should it please you.”

A soft scoff left Nomin’s lips. “A pleasure to meet you. Wish it were under--” she winced as another searing bolt of pain hit with her minor adjustments, “--under better circumstances. My name’s Nomin.”

“It is good to meet you, Nomin,” Seruuntungalag replied, smiling warmly. “Though we are collecting earth in preparation for our next migration, it will be some time before we start. You should be well enough to walk and resume your way of life well before then. In the meantime, may you treat our iloh as your own.” Nomin looked up at Seruun, a little surprised. Truly, the Gharl were some of the most elegant and gracious of the Xaela that roamed the steppe. It was almost as if they had to be, as they were the ones, after all, who marked the start of the Naadam and the end of the Tsaagan Sar. Their role was vital, and their presence commanded respect just as much as the Qestir or the Saghal.

They were largely non-combatants, as it were. As a people who united the lands in their own way, it was not often they went out of their way to spill blood. That was what Nomin remembered as a vague recollection somewhere in the back of her mind.

“The Gharl are very kind, Seruun…” Nomin replied, getting a feel for the Gharli woman's name in her mouth while breathing slowly so as not to agitate her abdominal wound. “I hope not to overstay my welcome, though. You can be assured--” she winced again. “--a-assured that I will be gone as soon as I can walk. You have my utmost thanks for your hospitality.”

A thought crossed Nomin’s mind, and she then pursed her lips. It was a thought that uneased her.

“What…what if the Jhungid come to you looking for me and want to instigate conflict?” Nomin asked, concerned not only for herself, but for the Gharl as well.

“They will see no mercy from Azim nor Nhaama. It seems that they suffered no mercy from the Saghal, either from what we have seen and have been told,” Seruun replied, a sly smile upon her lips as she looked back at Nomin. “I don’t know how long it took, how long you and the other Saghal endured…but it seems that the Gods deemed it right to see the Saghal freed.”

“If you say so,” Nomin replied with a bit of a wry smile in response. She laid back down on her bedroll, focusing on her breathing to keep her mind off the dull aches and pains. She did not believe the Gods had anything to do with her plan nor it coming to a head. Nomin believed that it was purely spite and good timing on her part.

Closing her eyes, Nomin continued to focus on her breathing while attempting to also keep her mind occupied with other scenes and scenarios. All she could focus on and hold onto for now was the image of the other Sagahl riding free across the grasslands. She hoped they made it somewhere safe. Somewhere where they could recuperate and get back to the main tribe.

Seruuntungalag was heard pouring a liquid into a container of one kind or another. A cup, Nomin figured, and she was right when she peeked over and saw Seruun return to her side with the proffered receptacle. Tentatively, Nomin took up the cup and was aided in her motion to sit up, if only slightly to drink of its contents.

The liquid started sweet before its bitter aftertaste clawed itself down Nomin's tongue and nearly made her wretch on the spot. She held her own, gagging at best before putting the cup down.

"By night's goo--ough--good graces, what the hell is in that!?" Nomin exclaimed, desperately dragging and scraping her tongue against her teeth to rid herself of the flavor and sensation that has blossomed throughout her mouth.

"That is typically the response one has when first taking that," Seruun giggled, taking the cup back while keeping Nomin upright. "It is unfortunate that the sweetness of the alyssum goes so far and only makes the initial imbibement tolerable."

"It tastes of yol piss and old sweaty smallclothes," Nomin complained, scrunching her nose.

"Yes, well…" Seruun started, getting Nomin laid back down. "I'll fetch you some water and aaruul to help with the taste. But the concoction you just drank should aid with your internal healing. It will wear you down and make you tired. It wouldn't be a surprise if you find yourself sleeping for bells upon bells as your body mends itself."

There was truth to the words. Nomin could already feel the weight of slumber pressing down upon her, but her body felt pleasant and warm. The aches of her wounds were an afterthought, light bruises that were only a minor inconvenience to the floating feeling that was starting to cushion her mind and body. It was intoxicating.

Her head felt weightless as she let it flop to the side as she watched Seruun put the cup away to fill another with water. Nomin was in a daze, her eyes locked on Seruun's tail until she turned around, and Nomin readjusted her dazed attention onto the shining brass baubles that glittered in the dim lighting that filtered through the ger's top.

"Here, your water…" Seruun said, bringing the cup to Nomin’s lips and sitting there to aid her.

"... Thanks…" Nomin said, tipping her head back into Seruuntungalag’s other hand and letting her help. It was an unusual experience to say the least -- that was what Nomin though, anyway. Especially as the cool water was perceived and felt going down her throat in this fog of weightlessness and feeling like her body was not fully in her control.

"Better?" Seruun asked after Nomin had finished half of her cup.

"Sleepy…water piss…" Nomin muttered, the pull of sleep being too great. Her eyes closed gradually and while she had little murmurings, those little indecipherable words gave way to deep breaths indicating slumber. Left with Nomin’s limp form, Seruun had put the cup down and laid her to rest more comfortably with a sheepish smile on her face.

#ffxiv #ffxiv writing #my writing #ffxiv oc #oc: nomin tal kheeriin #oc: chotan sagahl #oc: checheyigen sagahl #oc: khulan sagahl #oc: turakina sagahl #oc: seruuntungalag gharl #NTK:Chronicles #au ra xaela #xaela #xaela headcanons #xaela gharl

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