#miahka mhori

[soulshards-ooc]

#1 ENVOY | FFXIVWRITE2023

• tw: none • words: 2887 (long read) • character: Miahka (@soulshards)

Wind billowed through the valley of the Mountains as they walked. Tensions were high, simmering in unspoken words as Miahka - a younger vision of her, stepped gracefully towards an unknown camp. Fires danced upon torches dug into the ground, bright bloody colours hung from woven wool splayed over the mighty Yurt that lingered in the distance.

She walked with a young man, much taller than he, but their complexions were similar enough. Family. He held the same chestnut hued locks, and those same crystal clear eyes, though he held his gaze with a certain ferocity - where she held worry. They walked in silence, only the sound of earth shifting beneath their feet to be heard.

They had been sent with a proposition, to the Tribe that had moved onto their doorstep. To the Tribe that had threatened the sanctuary of their home, threatened the balance they had catered from this land. They wanted blood, they wanted to take everything and give nothing in return. So, the Mhori tribe came, with one final offer to sow peace among their people. 

A weary gaze was cast over her shoulder, peering a way back up the Valley to where a small group of her clan stood waiting. At the front, the mighty Khan. His head held high with certainty. Beside him, a regal skinned man with horns as black as ink. The man she loved with all her heart.

He was filled with dread.

Fine gold chains hung from her horns and twisted up into her hair, pulled into a long braid down her back. Her best clothes, brightly coloured wools and draped furs hugged her form closely. Beside her, her brother wore his armour and hides. Shined to perfection, and streaks of ash crossed his cheeks.

As they closed in on the threshold of the tribe's land, they were greeted by guards holding weapons. Dented and dull, but held with such ferocity that it mattered not how meek their weapons would be. They could still kill with their strikes. These people were from the Steppe, it seemed. A warring clan perhaps exiled from the plains and forced into the Mountains.

But the Mhori were not like that. They avoided conflict, they advocated peace. They respected their kin and their choices, but a life of seclusion was better than a life of war, in their eyes.

Miahka bowed at the waist upon meeting the guards, with a simple grunt, they turned to lead them to the Yurt upon the centre. The home of their own Khan, their leader, the man in which she had come to offer a bargain. She had been trusted with this information, she had been trusted with the fate of their tribe. A test, no doubt, as she walked the path of succession to the current ailing Sanvaar. The right hand to the Khan, the shaman and star-reader. Her fated role to play for her people - one she would happily do.

So if sealing this deal meant she could make her people proud, she would do whatever it took to do so.

The heat inside the tent was almost too much, the fire burning in the centre pit of the yurt. Behind it sat an ageing Xaela, hair peppered with grey streaks and his face carved deeply with scars. His shoulders were broad, his stature immense even as he sat upon his makeshift throne. 

“Khan Ganbold,” they greeted him in unison with a bow at the waist, even if Osolka was loathsome to the idea of bowing to another. A low rumble left the Khan as the pair entered his home.

“This is the welcome for the Baolak Tribe?” He spoke, venom on his tongue before they had even said their piece. “A petty warrior and a simple girl?”

Upon his ‘greeting’, Miahka raised her head up with a soft smile. Her chin lifted, despite the calm and friendly face she wore, showing she would not be spoken down too in such a way.

“I am Miahka Mhori, and this is Osolka Mhori,” she would motion to her brother at her side. “We are here on behalf of our tribe to see what we can offer you, so that we may live together as neighbours, as family, upon these fair and unforgiving lands.”

A scoff was his reply, shifting in his seat to lean forward. He eyed Miahka up and down, as she spoke her words clearly and with intent, before his gaze snapped to Osolka after his mention. Though the young man lacked the scars to prove his worth, he was equal to the Khan in size and stature. A dark flicker crossed his visage but momentarily, before he craned his head to the side to peer at the man that stood to attention beside him

The spitting image of the Khan, but younger, and a little less desecrated by the scars of war. Though his face held a sharp edge, behind the rough exterior. Miahka’s eyes rested on the man for a moment, crystalline gaze trying to get a sense of what he may be thinking - but stoic features remained unchanging. He stared off towards the back of the tent, even at his fathers scrutinising gaze.

“What do you bring then, little one? More riches, animals or wives? Perhaps this time you will offer us land so we may spread our clan further upon these grim mountains.”

Miahka’s lids slipped closed at his words. She inhaled deeply, shoulders rising as she tried to fight back the every growing worry in her core. The worry that this was all for nothing. The worry that what the stars had whispered to her not so long ago were, in fact, the truth. That the visions she’d seen was their prophecy.

“We still offer that,” she began once more, her eyes opening as she spoke. “And more. My Khan would offer an alliance.”

Osolka, who had been patient and quiet this whole time letting Miahka do the talking as she was much better at it than he was, almost burst at the seams at the very notion. She could feel the tension creep up beside her as his body tensed up, his gaze dropping down to peer at his sister. He had not been made privy to this offer, for good reason in retrospect, and was a little caught off guard by the idea. These people were brutish, rash, and only out for blood. They did not think before they acted, and aligning themselves with the Baolak tribe would be the doom of their people if this was a serious offer.

His mouth opened, before it snapped shut in a sharp motion. He buried down his bile of words, setting his rage filled gaze back upon the young man that still stood by the Khan. The Khan, who seemed highly amused at the idea of an alliance with the Mhori tribe. His head fell back with a deep chuckle.

“An alliance with you? Please, tell me why I should consider that. My warriors would level your clan before the sun kissed the sky on the morrow. What could you possibly bring to me? I do not need weaklings in my home.”

She stayed silent, for a long while after his words had finished. Her gaze shifted from the Khan, to the man by his side, and back. Her jaw clenched softly, and determination took over her. Not only because he had insulted her, and her people, but the idea that they were weak was simply arrogant.

“Because we know these lands. We know these lands better than any who may visit. We know the routes, we know the best hunting grounds. We know what herbs and plants grow in these regions, and how to make potent salves and serums from them. We have generations of knowledge passed down, skills refined from the best of the best. We know spells and magic you have never seen before. What we may lack in brute strength, we make up for in so much invaluable knowledge. We have survived for many cycles before you and yours shadowed these lands, and we will survive after you are gone.”

Her words came in a clear cut flurry, like sharp spikes pressing against skin. Veiled threats and twisting words she didn’t know she was capable of. But through all this, she spoke proudly of her people and all they had accomplished. She held this belief strong in her heart, that they would overcome this issue, no matter what. She took a step forward, towards the fire. “We wish to share this knowledge with you. You share your prowess with us, and together we can thrive upon these mountains.”

She could sense which way this may go. She knew she could have begged upon her hands and knees, grovelled at his feet, and he might consider her words. She had a hunch, however, that speaking to him firmly and justly may also get through. She hoped, at least, he was a little more reasonable than he may look.

Once she was finished speaking, the Khan pushed himself from his seat. A little slow at first, his body having grown weary from the physical toll of all the battles fought. But once he stood, he was a sight. A towering individual, the rest of his scars sneaking out from the bare skin between his furred garbs. Strong arms, even in his age, came to rest by his side as he took one step closer to her. He stopped, upon reaching the threshold of the fire that sat in the sunken pit, before he merely stepped over the flickering smoke that raised from the flames.

Miahka craned her head up to meet his gaze. She felt like a child, the way he loomed above her. It reminded her of when she was but a babe, when she would peer up at her father as she was just learning to walk. But there was no love or kindness in this man's gaze. She felt so small beneath his massive stature, she felt the threat of his very presence. Her tail went still behind her, shoulders squaring off as her form became just a little tenser than before.

Osolka noticed, uttering her name softly. But before he may be able to speak in full, the snap of finger and thumb caught his attention and the Khan seemingly smiled. A half smile? Or the semblance of one? It was not a genuine smile, this much she was certain.

“You have mettle. That is rare to see in your people. Even your own Khan would not face me in my home,” he gave a vague gesture to the yurt they stood in. “And you came only with one guard. Either you are confident in your offer, or foolish in your actions. Which would it be, little one?”

As he leered down at her, and she felt herself trying to sink back and away, she forced her back to straighten and her shoulders to relax. She breathed in, deeply, her moonlike gaze never shifting from the twisted face of the Khan before her. “You have desecrated our land. Ruined our shrines and places of worship. You have overhunted, overfarmed, and threatened us since you first came here. And still we stand here, unwavering from your actions. We stand here, offering you a hand, so that your people may survive alongside ours. Because my people are nothing but resilient, and though the affairs we may have weathered may differ from your own, we stand just as tall as  you do. So, tell me, Khan Ganbold - why would you refuse such an offer? Taking our alliance would be nothing but a boon, so that we may both prosper.”

Ganbold bent at the waist slightly, so he could level himself with Miahka and stare deeply into her pale gaze. He could see the fire that burned behind them. He could see how deeply she meant her words. He saw how deeply she hoped for her people to survive, and even the sympathy she felt for him and his tribe, for the fate they received. How she did not wish to see them dissolve into nothing, forgotten by time. The smile he held grew a little more genuine, and it seemed he liked what he saw. Another laugh left him as he straightened up.

“They should have sent you from the beginning, little one,” he spoke with bemusement. “I agree to this alliance with one final condition.”

Osolka’s brow furrowed before the terms were even spoken. And the young man, who had stayed silent and still this whole time, finally shifted his eyes to stare at the Khan. “You will be promised to my pride and joy, my son,” he raised his arm as he turned to the side, motioning to the figure who had not been introduced. The young man's face remained unmoving, despite his fathers demands. Miahka could not see whether this was a shock to him or otherwise. She could not tell if this was an agreement they had both come up with, or simply the whimsey of a father.

Either way, her heart shattered at the very words. She could feel a small piece of herself fall away, a crack beneath the surface, as she stared up at Ganbold and his conditions. Small hands slipped into fists as they remained tucked into her sleeves. “Ganbaatar is unwed. You would become his mate. I have a brave and mighty daughter the son of your Khan may have in return. Blood for blood.”

Before Miahka could even formulate a reply, Osolka stepped forward, half shielding his sister from the Khan and his words, and the very idea that she may become bargaining material. “She is already mated to another,” he stated firmly, his anger barely contained in his words as it had bubbled beneath the surface through this whole meeting. The Khan shook his head to her brother as he stepped forward. “And?” He grunted out, shifting his weight forward to stand squarely before Osolka.

Miahka slowly reached out to her brother, tugging on his hand softly, silently asking him to stand down.

“We have many lovely women in our tribe,” she’d began, forcing the words out of her tightening throat. “He could meet with them, and they would be overjoyed to join your clan and become one with your so-”

“No,” he said, firm and resounding. The word rattled in her brain a little. She swallowed back that anxious feeling that grew and grew in her stomach, as her gaze sought out Ganbaatar. His expression was cemented in place, unchanging, even as he met her wandering gaze. He was unreadable. She hated it. Not a flicker of emotion to be seen behind his eyes despite the situation they had found themselves in.

“My son only deserves the best. You are clearly important to your people, and you are smart, little one. My son has yet to sire me an heir, and you would give me kin I could be proud of. Smart and strong. I do not care if you are promised to another. You will join my son, or we have no alliance. This is what you will tell your Khan.”

Osolka took just one more step forward, his fists clenched at his sides and the fury building evermore in his gaze. “You cannot ask her to leave her partner for your son. They have already made their promises under Nhaama and Azim! To break that bond is - is unthinkable! You don’t know what you are asking of her!” He barked out his fury as he came inches away from the Ganbold, who smirked in response, squaring up to the challenge with ease.

“I get what I want, whelp, in the end.” The threat echoed around the yurt, as the guards shadowed the exit of the home. Miahka stayed quiet for a long moment. She finally gave a small, tepid nod to the Khan and said no more, as she gave her brothers hand another tug. A little firmer, this time. She wanted to leave. Now. And even though she knew fine well that her brother was unmovable when he did not want to be, she was thankful that he turned away when she did.

The guards stepped to the side as the pair left, and Osolka seethed quietly as they walked further away from their territory. Faint shouting could be heard behind them, though most of the words were unintelligible to her horns. She was too swept up in the… fear… she felt. The confusion. The anger. The pain.

She could feel another piece of herself crumble away with each step she took, the little shards of herself that she knew she would lose over time, should she be asked to follow through with the proposal.

And she knew she would say yes, if her Khan asked it of her. She knew she would do anything to keep the people she loved the most safe, even if it meant leaving the person who meant the world to her. Even if she would never be able to feel his embrace again. She would do anything to ensure he would stay alive. Even if she had to lose a part of herself in the process.

Osolka knew this, too. He knew this as they walked back towards their kin in the valley, waiting impatiently to hear the news of how the meeting went. Worry etched upon their features as the solemn expressions of the pair were the first thing they saw.

He knew he had to stop this, even if it meant war.

[huntress-of-the-unknown]

I am still doing them, thank you in advance! And have your own! - 6. a  kiss  as  a  warning.

Oh, how much did she love that part of the city.

The high, pale spires, sinking in the night sky like fangs. Herself, gliding and jumping, running and stalking the rooftops… Free, in her own forgotten dominion. A thief no more… Mostly. But still, a creature of night, someone robed in simple dark clothes and enamored only of her own pair of daggers and money. Surely. Mostly… Probably.

She thought at first it was a marble statue. Nearly impossible, because she knew all of them by heart… And no ishgardian sculptor was good enough to have made her. The drapes of her white dress, the ivory skin glistening under the moonlight… The inky scales, framing her face like a lace veil, pulled apart. Something was so wrong with that. With her. Because she dressed like a noble, because she had the poise and the gravitas of one… But still, was like her, an au ra. Because she was one of them… And still, whispered between the archways near the cathedral, next to a faceless rat from the Brume. Coin and rumours were exchanged, information that would become a weapon… Soon to be lodged into some rival’s throat. But not before those piercing white eyes, mirrors of her own… Pierced her, through the gloom of that night. Nissa thought she had been careful, as silent as ever. And she had. But curiosity and fascination are a dangerous couple… And she had been caught staring. Staring, and with a gold necklace strapped in her belt, shiny and precious and stolen.

She might as well own her mistake, then. She bowed, a playful display of fake courtesy… And disappeared, her own aether hiding her body while she made her escape.

Some weeks passed, but she didn’t forget. How, even after being accepted in that holy and bloody city… She still felt eyes on her back, voices murmuring prayers warding against monsters like her. How then, had she done it? How could she reign, with such tranquility… And why would she dirty her hands with that kind of person? Perplexity and concern (for her… Safety?) danced, hand by hand in her mind… To the tune of something else. Of something more, hidden in the glimmer of those moon eyes.

…

Eventually, the former won that battle. Not by virtue of her disquiet being less… But because nothing else could have surprised Nissa more, than her next patron: Baron Samdon de Davaront, and his respectable wife. Wife who stood there, across the room, clad in black silk and the aroma of mystery. Thank the Goddess, she knew her contract beforehand, because the Baron could have been speaking Hingan and the au ra wouldn’t have noticed. Not until he concluded by introducing her… To the baroness herself. Miahka.

The bow that evening was the same. But, this time… The dark-haired woman would be able to see the small, devilish smile that her recently hired hunter would wear. A smile crowned with two small fangs, that only grew when the late thief lowered herself to kiss her hand.

“It’s a true pleasure meeting you… Again.” Improper? Maybe. But she couldn’t resist the irony, the twist and turn. And the baron was already preoccupied with something else, anyways. However it was… That kiss by cold, soft lips, sealed a secret between them. A warning… Of not betraying that, in order to not be betrayed.

Yay, first rp ask-thing!

Dear God, this was long. But hey, I   enjoyed writing it, and I hope you like reading it. I tried to do Mia   justice, in all her mysterious, femme-fataleness. Thank you very much   for sending the ask! 🖤

[huntress-of-the-unknown]

Aaaaw. Look at them, being sweet and tragic. I really like your writing, I think you captured very well Nissa's manner of being affectionate.

Thank you for the lovely kiss 🖤

Hi! If you are still doing the kiss ask game... What about 19: A kiss with tears?

Ishgard was cold. But, somewhere in between... they had found warmth. A commonality. The Thief and the Baroness, hands brushed by one another as they walked through the snow fallen streets, under the light of dusk as the sun had already begun to dip behind the horizon.

They could not deny how similar the two were, coming from a past so torn with tragedy, but they had forked different paths somewhere along the way. Nissa wished to know how she had done it, and… Miahka wanted someone she could perhaps confide in. Someone who would understand, because - no matter how other people tried being an Au Ra in Ishgard had a myriad of problems that no one else could experience, not that she would ever condemn them to such a fate. Even she was not that cruel.

But Miahka was the moon; it pierced through her eyes, it was captivating - beautiful. A reflection of Nissa’s own crystal white orbs. They had sat upon a bench in the chill of the night, tails curled around their own waists. A heaviness to the air as they each spoke of their pasts, but she couldn’t help but stare. The dusk skinned Au Ra saw something in Miahka that she did not see in herself, it seemed.

Though it was never an easy thing, to bear yourself open like that. To open your heart and let another perceive your pain in an attempt to understand. But they both understood. They had lost it all, their whole tribes. Everything that they held dear, their families, their beliefs - gone.

“I’m sorry,” they both spoke. An apology, while it was meant, they both understood that it would change naught. It meant naught. They were just words you said to one another when they were sad, when they had lost something, someone.

A pain like that was not easy to keep down. Miahka could not help the first few beads of tears that dared to drip from her chin. She had not cried for her kin in so long, and not in the presence of another at all. But she couldn’t help that ache, the crippling feeling in her chest, and told her to spill her tears for just a short while. A hand, not her own, reached up to brush them away.

Silence - silence was all they needed. Silence said all the things they could not. Crystal eyes came to bear those white-ringed orbs of Nissa, as the Thief leaned forward to press her lips to a scaled cheek and taste those salty tears, in a soft an affectionate moment to ease the heart of her new companion, even if she just wished to do the same.

Not as long as yours, but I enjoyed writing it all the same!! I hope you like it and thanks for the ask @huntress-of-the-unknown! (I'm always doing kiss memes come smooch my OC's okay) I'm really enjoying the idea of their dynamic!

[soulshards]

What did they dream of doing when they grew up? How and why did it change, if it did?

"I was not destined for Ishgard... I was destined for so, so much more. But even Fate can get it wrong sometimes."

This goes back to the aforementioned lore on the Mhori tribe in a way. Miahka dreamed of fighting, of running, of moving through the tree's as an unseen blur. She wished to be agile, to be a huntress, a predator. She wanted to feel that thrill of battle and the adrenaline that comes with it.

But it was not what was destined of her; quite the opposite, in fact. She was destined to be the next Sanvaar in her Tribe, a Mage, a Seer, a Seeker, a reader of the stars. It is what fate bestowed upon her, and as such, it became her duty. Her chosen 'job' within the tribe. She had a gift and it was to be used. Her focus was Seeing; and she saw their downfall.

External forces changed her dreams; the traditions of her clan and a person being Fated onto a path, an unstoppable force in their eyes.

Thank you for the ask, @kri-babe!

[soulshards]

03. SNOW BEING SHOVED DOWN THE BACK OF YOUR COAT

The Mhori tribe were semi-migratory, having created many settlements along their home in which they moved from year by year, depending on their needs. They would head further north to the Tail Mountains, or south to the Fanged Crest. Or they might stay where they are for a season or two if resources were plentiful. Regardless, they very rarely came out from their sheltered lives and into the grasslands of the Azim Steppe. The Mhori tribe were unknown even to most Xaela.

This winter they were nestled within the peaks of the Fanged Crescent, in homes carved from stone by axe and hand. Hearths would warm these caves and quarters, shielding them from the harsh winds that whistled through the tips.

While snow would flutter from the heavens frequently, it was rare it came to settle in anything more than a fine mist that would melt within the hour. The climate was never quite right for a thick blanket to envelope the surroundings. On the uncommon occasion that it did lay, it would only last the day. So of course, the children would make the most of these moments when the clouds rolled in and those white snowflakes sank to the ground. Winter coats were wrapped around eager forms, as they forgo their lessons for the day and indulge in some moments of pure joy.

The main courtyard of the tribe, a large clearing where tables and chairs were placed for their evening meals - a fire in the centre burning away into the evening, sending smoke plumes into the sky - was covered in a soft white blanket. Cries of laughter and joy as the children, and adults, would chase each other around. Building figures in the snow, piling up snowballs to throw at one another.

A young Miahka was happy to be a part of this enjoyment, running around with friends. They would stumble and fall into the snow, wrestling one another, simply just enjoying this moment for as long as it would last - or at least until it was time for their meal. The young Xaela was hunched over a project, a figure in the snow, patting and piling the white dust with her small hands as she started to create what she thought a masterpiece.

Osolka, her elder brother, had different plans however. The mischievous boy - even in his youth, his height had him rivalling many of the elders, came creeping up behind his sister. A handful of snow that was starting to melt between his warm grip, a wicked glint to his eye. Before she could even react the hood of her coat was yanked down and the snow rammed down the back of her warm furs.

She could only scream, a high-pitched echoing cry as the cold snow touched her skin and she jolted upright. Osolka rumbled a deep laugh, hand on his belly as he’d not only scared his sister but sent an awful chill down her spine.

While she may have been small, and much much smaller than her dearest brother, she turned to glare at him. A wicked, thinned look to her eyes that would hold promise of his impending doom. She scooped up a handful of snow, crunching in her palm as she packed it into a tight ball. Osolka opened his eyes to see that gaze, a gaze he knew all too well when his sister was planning on being an unforgiving fiend and chase him down. So, with a quick turn on his heel he moved to sprint away - though the snow beneath his feet made that much harder as he slipped, stumbled and landed face first into the snow with a chuckle. “Mia, no - no don’t! I’m sorry!” The boy pleaded for his life. Miahka pounced, intent on getting her revenge and then some. She landed atop her brother's back and started stuffing the snowball shed made down the back of his neck, before scooping up more and more to shove down his winter coat in turn.

Osolka could easily have thrown her off, she had no strength over him. But he would endure, even if it was only to hear her laugh as she tormented her older brother, and he’d laugh along with her.