#miluda redwolfe

[cfs-melkire]

The Ground Upon Which You Stand, pt. 5

"I came to Eorzea by way of Thavnair, from Radz-at-Han: the place of my birth.”

The gate guard took a few moments to look over the wax seal, and took a few moments more to unfurl the letter. He frowned at the contents, and for good reason. Foreigners were not forbidden access to the city, but it was a rare occasion indeed for an outsider to seek entry when they had no wares to sell, no intention to trade, no family or friends to visit, but were instead looking to visit for the sole purpose of….

Well, the contents weren't clear on the purpose. This was, however, an authentic letter of recommendation. There was no mistaking it, and there was no chance that it was a forgery. It was written in the usual mode, and met all of the long-standing requirements of the Radiant Host for such things.

He looked up to consider again the foreigner in question. Hyuran, on the short side, shoulder length hair, scarred visage. The fellow's garments were strange in that they possessed a passing resemblance to local fashions, but they were obviously of a cut, make, and style from elsewhere; the clothes were a uniform of sorts, perhaps that of a religious institution or monastic order. 

"I must ask, who gave you this?"

"Hari Nurani, known as Horus of the Reeds to his friends."

That name was not familiar to him. "Al-amal al-a'zam?"

Apparently someone had prepared the foreigner, but not well enough. They frowned and said, "No, I don't know that phrase. Kimiya, I was told."

The guard nodded, satisfied. "Very well. You may pass. Behind me is Gajasimha Bridge. You will take this to the Gate of First Sight, and passing through you will come to Alzadaal's Peace, a great fountain. Turn to the right and keep to the wall on a straight path past the aetheryte plaza. You will find there the High Crucible, and the people there to whom you are to be introduced."

The foreigner bowed, placing one fist in the other hand in a gesture that was one part gratitude and one part farewell. The guard stepped aside and watched them go.

“A promising student, my instructors would have told you, with much to teach and so much to learn. There came an opportunity, and so I went abroad. An exchange of ideas. I was not alone; there were many of us, and we were sent to every corner, every city, every realm with their own culture and wisdom to share."

The city was quiet and not at all its usual bustling self. There was a troubled air to the place; people walked the streets, aye, and the stranger marveled at them: men and women of the Matanga, Raen who were not of Sui-no-Sato, and a mixed community of Hyur. They all seemed to get on well, and everyone he spoke with was not only cooperative but inclined to be helpful, if they had the time and energy to spare. Many did not; clearly, the appearance of the tower was taking a toll even here and not just in port towns such as Yedlihmad.

"I was sent to Sharlayan first. Old alliances, you know. There is much knowledge to be found in Sharlayan. Remember Noumenon, if ever you have cause to go. I studied there, for a time, and learned a great deal. Astronomy, astrology, aetherology, and more. But as much as I would have enjoyed spending the rest of my days in that peaceful place, my services were needed elsewhere. So it was that I sailed to Vylbrand, to the great port city of Limsa Lominsa."

Radz-at-Han itself was a marvel. It called to mind Eorzea's Jewel of the Desert, but whereas the majesty and grandeur of that place served to highlight the disparities between the well-off and the have-nots, here in Thavnair those same qualities spoke well of both the populace and their governance. Glittering tiles, colorful fabrics, open courtyards and fountains, an abundance of landscapes… it was not perfect and could not have been expected to be, given the contrast with the coastal villages, but within these walls was a growing society that appeared far more egalitarian than not. It was not even a matter of expense, necessarily: the Thavnairians cultivated joy of life with simple pleasures by surrounding themselves with vibrancy. This was evident even in the markets, and he could not help but smile at the sight.

"Thavnairian alchemists were in great demand when I was young. This is still the case today, but less so. I met some of my fellow exchange students there, and we learned something of arcanima while we plied our trade for the benefit of the three great pirate powers. Our task, you see, was to make ourselves indispensable to foreign peoples. To ingratiate, yes, but more to demonstrate that there was so much mutual benefit to be had in open trade. We were missionaries of a sort, sent out by our elders and with the blessing of our satrap… that is to say, one of our great leaders… to engender good will."

Nuhashir looked up from the unfurled scroll. The stranger looked distracted, and little wonder as to why: this place thrummed with noise. Great apparatus were at work as they boiled, mixed, or otherwise refined various elixirs according to specific formulae. Here, too, was activity on a scale not found elsewhere in the city at present; there was work to be done and a great many people toiling for good cause.

"Welcome to the High Crucible of Al-Kimiya," she said, "which others name alchemy. This is… quite the letter."

"My grandfather is… quite the individual," the stranger replied as he turned back to her. "He sends his apologies; he could not come himself, for he's in convalescence, 'n' so he bade me come in his stead."

"His apologies are welcome, but not necessary. We were not expecting to hear from such a decorated alumnus, as you might call them, especially not after so long," she explained. "But you must forgive me; I am but a record keeper here, and knew not your grandfather. He was before my time. That said, one of his peers is still hard at work here. If you would please follow me, I will take you to him."

He nodded, and she stepped out from behind the table to lead him to the northwest, where they would descend the staircase to the large chamber below.

"We spent a little time in Limsa, but it was a stepping stone. From there, we diverged and spread across Eorzea, across Aldenard. No few of my friends were sent to Ul'dah, and there begat that jewel's own tradition of alchemy. Others were sent north to Ishgard and to Ala Mhigo, but I myself journeyed to Gridania. I need not tell you of the Twelveswood's peoples, but they came to trust me through coming to trust our products. Potions, elixirs, poultices, many such things and more. In return, they taught me much concerning herbs and natural remedies: that is to say practical skills and application, whereas Sharlayan had but given me the theory."

The Matanga leaned forward and squinted at the stranger from behind his spectacles. The beastman, as the stranger was struggling to not think of him as, differed from other members of his race in small but subtle ways. His tusks were perhaps a little longer on average, his worn skin a duller and less vibrant shade that tended more towards grey than blue, the stole hanging over his shoulders an unusual affectation, and he seemed to rely heavily upon his glasses. 

“Yes, I knew your grandfather. We were admitted here at the same time, and we saw each other often during the course of both work and study. My name is Murtaza. I am pleased to meet you…?”

“Osric,” said the stranger, “Osric Melkire.” 

He paused for a moment, and then stuck out a hand. Amused, Murtaza accepted; the Matanga’s thumb and index finger more or less engulfed the Hyur’s hand, but the shake was a gentle one.

“Sorry, not used t’, errr… I’ve been to the Azim Steppe, y’see, and–”

“The Gajasura. You need not say more on the subject; there is an adjustment period, naturally, and while our young men and women might take offense at times, we who have known decades have made peace with that fact. Not every person from outside Thavnair can be expected to have met those of the Arkasodara first. I ask only that you do your best to set aside prejudice and preconception.”

“Of course.”

“Now tell me, how does my old friend fare?”

“None of this has anythin’ t’do with me or with my family. Get to the point. I've half a mind to pick m'arse up off this bank t'give you another thrashing, otherwise.”

“It is context. Please indulge me a little while longer. It matters a great deal. Who I was influenced the decisions that I made.”

Osric reached into his belt pouch and produced an envelope, the prodigious size of which now made a great deal more sense to him. He held it out. “He asked me t’deliver this, and t’assist in whatever manner I could for as long as I wished, should that be acceptable to those in charge.”

Murtaza accepted the envelope, and stared for a few moments at its wax seal. “Horus was never a forgetful one, but I must say, it is impressive that he has not misplaced his stamp after all this time.”

He opened the envelope and withdrew its contents: several sheets of paper. Murtaza held them up to the light and adjusted his spectacles.

“Ahhhhh. Recommendations… ingredients, reagents… much of these look foreign, but Hari my dear, so thoughtful to include a list of local substitutes and equivalents! Very good, very good. More foraging expeditions are in order. There is much to gather before we can send such products to the Great Work. You are welcome to assist, Osric, but I must ask,” he said, looking back down to the midlander, “why he has sent us his grandson when anyone could have delivered this for him. Your help will be appreciated, of course, but would I be mistaken in thinking this is not the only reason for your visit?”

Osric folded his arms and shook his head. “You’ve the right of it. He said that I would be needed ‘ere in his stead and refused t’explain further.”

A few moments passed in silence.

“You sound frustrated with him. So was I, many times when we were young men together. I take it you are… working through some difficulties.”

The midlander barked a laugh. “That’s a pleasant way o’ puttin’ it. We’re… a work in progress, but we’re tryin’.”

Something in the eyes, in the sudden hitch of the ears, and in the general shift of Murtaza’s face suggested he was smiling. “That is good. Welcome, Osric grandson of Hari. There is much to be done.”

Murtaza thanked Nuhashir, who took her leave of them. Then the old Matanga beckoned Osric over to one of the tables nearby and set about explaining the present circumstances.

“I took to conjury like a swan to water. To the Padjali and to those at Stillglade Fane, I owe a great debt for the introduction. Magic was like a new language to me, and conjury yet another tool for healing, another means by which the lives of others could be improved and safeguarded. Walking the Twelveswood brought me greater understanding, better control, and more strength with each passing sun. I might have remained there for the rest of my days, but a missive came to me from Gyr Abania: one of my fellow students, Jamshid, stood accused of a crime, and I was needed to speak to his character.”

The foraging expeditions were a welcome change from his usual jobs. The work was easy, he learned a great deal, and the alchemists were a social bunch, eager to exchange not just ideas but stories. He was not much help in the actual foraging at first, but they found in him a competent escort: he often stood guard against the local wildlife while others saw to the gathering of his grandfather's recommended herbs and reagents.

They paid him well, too, but that was something he marvelled at only in the late hours of the night, when he could not muster the anima for another round trip home and stayed instead at Murtaza's. The old Matanga was insistent, and he was a gracious host: tea was ever-flowing, so too biscuits, and Osric did not want for anything while he was a guest there, save only the warmth and the smile of his wife.

“You met my grandmother there.”

“Yes, I did. Miluda Redwolfe was her name, and she was the love of my life. But we stood apart at first; her father had levied the accusations against my colleague, and I was a stranger in a strange land. It took time to argue our case, and a great deal of misadventure. By the time my associate was cleared of the charges, we were well-respected in Ala Mhigo and we had come in turn to respect them and their ways. Miluda and I had become fast friends, though her parents disapproved. They did not care for their daughter's dalliance with a sorcerer of the woods, you see, and would have preferred her to show interest in another of their order."

Not everyone could make themselves understood to him, so Osric took on the task of learning Hannish, or as much as he could of it during his stay. It was a daunting task but he applied himself and made steady, if slow, progress. His best assistants in this regard were his two most frequent companions, Firouzeh and Sudarshan. As alchemists of the High Crucible, they were tasked with the foraging, with taking inventory, and with preparing for the eventual deliveries. 

He did his best to follow their conversation; once they noticed him listening, Firouzeh took it upon herself to translate. In this way he learned the numbers and numerals, and also many basic words not just for their work but also for common use: greetings, questions for necessities, and the like. There was plenty of opportunity to practice in Radz-at-Han, and out at Palaka’s Stand, too.

Sudarshan, for his part, taught Osric place names. The Shroud of The Samgha, where Osric made his keep; they visited Agama Temple in the north and Purusa in the south. Vanaspati, the sacred jungle to the north of Radz-at-Han, was also a wilderness which demanded caution, no matter the pockets of civilization that were its villages and temples. There was the Perfumed Rise, too, less dangerous save only for the pisacas which roamed there. Kadjaya’s Footsteps in particular fascinated the monk, and Sudarshan struggled to answer the man’s questions as quickly as they came.

"Their order?"

"They were of the warrior-priests. Do not look so surprised; they were not so rare in those days. Your grandmother was not so ascetic as they, and joined the ranks of Ala Mhigan cavalry at an early age rather than remain a studious fixture of the temples. That was how she came to chance upon Jamshid who was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time, and how her father came to accuse him of wrongdoing."

It was some time before the reason behind Horace’s insistence became evident. The foreigner went from being a stranger to becoming a fixture. He was not always available; he visited home as often as he could, given the circumstances. He embraced the work, though, and would not have risen to taunts of “errand boy” had there been anyone so rude and tactless to hurl them his way. Radz-at-Han… and Thavnair in general… was a pleasant place, marred only by the trepidation that came with the ever looming presence of the tower. Trade floundered and, while those within the city were less impacted than the people without, the effects were pernicious. Still, the men and women of the High Crucible, of Ruveydah’s Fibers, of Nilopala Nourishments, and of Mehryde’s Meyhane were always pleased to see him.

He was at Balshahn Bazaar when it happened. 

"... go on."

"We were happy. Jamshid returned to Thavnair, and I sent my findings and reports with him. Miluda and I were bonded, and we took the name Windwhistle: for me, because the wind ever rose at my beck and call; for her, because Ala Mhigan cavalry were griffin riders, and she had such a passion for flying through the skies. She rose through the ranks, and I… I was recognized for my insights, for knowledge beyond most men, and for remedies, so it was only natural that I soon became a fixture at court."

"What went wrong?"

"...I did."