#styrnrael malqir

[meguhime]

Remember me, love,

When I'm reborn

[styrnraelmalqir]

Uncharted Waters

Chapters 1-3 of a little thing I’m working on about Styrnrael’s parents! Hoping to continue this soon and maybe even post it on AO3!

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The young cartographer’s fingers gently brushed the cover of a sun-bleached book. Inside its pages, she found several descriptions of the villages she knew well – all written by someone who had only traveled through the vast plains of the Azim Steppe for only a few days. The Namazu working at the bookseller’s booth that day looked sheepishly at the Au Ri woman who lingered. “May I help you?” He asked politely, as if to hurry her along.

“Oh no, you cannot help me. All the maps in this book are,” her voice trailed off.

“Yes-yes?” Gyocho half-heartedly pressed his fins together inquisitively.

“They’re all wrong. Every one of them.” She closed the book.

“Very well.” His voice was heavy with disappointment. He tried another tactic. “We have other wares available. This book about Ul’dah has been quite popular of late – full to the brim with resources for selling and making a profit. You could be rich--”

Before he could finish, the Au Ri woman slammed a handful of gil onto the stall, loud enough to alert some of the Qestiri who were guarding the market in Reunion. “No, I’ll buy this one with the maps.”

She spent the rest of the afternoon picking the book apart, crossing out inaccuracies. At times she laughed out loud to no one in particular.

“I’d like to buy this one.” Sarangerel called out to the Namazu at the end of the week. Seven-hundred seventy-seven blessings that his schedule once again coincided with this tenacious young woman’s. Though he was surprised at her selection – a common, plain, blank notebook bound in dzo leather with subpar bindings and thin parchment – he did not refuse her payment of 714 gil. She left before he could say, “Yes-yes.”

Sarangerel and the others who lived in Malqir Iloh, had moved with the seasons along The One River or Yat Khal. Much like their cousins, the Mol to the north, the Malqir lived in a kind of peace and tranquility. This was all afforded by a glamour prism nested in the river’s rocky bed.

Although hidden, they could come and go as they pleased, but many decided to spend their entire lives along the banks of Yat Khal. Though she was most likely to become the next leader of Malqir Iloh, Sarangerel’s true passion was in the creation of maps. The completion of which would require travel well beyond the Steppe. This was something her mother was becoming increasingly aware of as Sarangerel started to trek further and further away.

 West of Reunion, toward the Tail Mountains that encircled parts of the northern Steppe, Sarangerel searched the horizon on horseback. The landscape transformed the higher she ascended. The stones were larger, their jagged edges reaching higher toward the summit. Colorful flags danced in the winds surrounding a base camp composed of many different Au Ra families. Her horse was tired from the long trek of the day and she led it to water as she silently watched the others. Some were traders, making their way home after visiting the market town below, but most were travelers—adventurers from beyond the inland grasslands. One among the caravan approached her. A handsome Viera man ten summers her senior approached her with an offering of fruit. He used a small blade to cut a piece for her and another for her horse. She returned the gesture with a nod.

“Where are you headed?” He asked, his eyes fixated on her as she gently brushed the black mane of her horse.

“Just a little further.” She answered, suddenly remembering to keep her guard up. She continued walking past the Viera and did not turn around as she waved. “Thank you for the fruit.”

The sun was low in the sky as she reached a trail where stones were stacked like mountains leading up to a tall peak. She took a few flat stones with her as well, determined to start a new mound, perhaps somewhere no one had stepped before. She tied the lead of her horse to a boulder and continued down the narrow path.

The sky was a deep blue as the sun hushed out the last breath of the day. Yet it was just enough light for her to look below and see a glimpse of the sea below her. She stood upon a rock and took out a spyglass. From this point, she could almost see the Bay of Yanxia. There were dark mists in the furthest distance she could see. Names she had only read about – the Knowing Sea, and further on to the Ryakgyr Peninsula, suddenly became shapes in the glass. She sketched quickly. As the last light left the clouds, she stacked the flat stones on the ridge and made her descent, returning to the adventurer’s camp.

She listened to the stories the travelers shared. Her attention sometimes turned to the stars glimmering above the mountain as she warmed herself by the fire. Covered in a heavy wool, she and her horse waited until the sun rose again to make their return to Malqir Iloh.

 Chapter 2

“Seek it out!” Maral exclaimed and her cane clicked on the slate floor.  

“Is it alright to leave in winter? Will you need the extra hands around here?” Sarangerel said this only halfheartedly, as she was already packing a satchel across the table from her mother.

“Of course, dear! I have things well at hand here.” Maral walked closer to the table and took a seat. “Besides, you will return by the next Tsagaan Sar!”

With this, Sarangerel was silent. Maral took notice of this response or lack there-of.

“Will you not?” Maral asked another way.

“No.” Sarangerel said plainly and closed her book. She looked directly at Maral, her expression a mixture of uncertainty and of an untold anger. “The books are wrong about the Steppe. I think they might be wrong about everything.”

“And so you must find out for yourself the truth of it all. You will not just disprove them, you will make new maps unlike any other.”

They were silent for some time as Sarangerel looked through the other parchments and papers scattered on the table. Some she rolled up and placed in the satchel. Others, she just shook her head at. She smiled at an illustrated guide of the Ruby Sea, which included descriptions of the Kojin and their customs.

“I only ask that you be cautious and make intelligent choices. That you know the consequences of your actions and that you return to us with new knowledge in exchange.”

“You are so eager to see me go.”

“Not at all, my dear. I only know that there will never be another who can best me at a game of Kharaqiq and instead of taking the chief position for herself, choose to seek out her fortune on a much greater game board.”

Sarangerel frowned deeply as her eyes welled with tears. She held her mother closely. Their arms locked around each other for some time. Before another bell passed, Sarangerel got herself ready to leave that night. Under the cover of the moon in winter, she was less likely to be seized by raiders on her way past Reunion, keeping her safe beyond the Steppe, toward the tides of the Ruby Sea.  

 Chapter 3

“Sarangerel,” She said, tipping her head slightly toward the deck of the ship. She slowly lifted her jewel-toned eyes toward the crew.

“Very pleased to meet you.” Maduin, a Roegadyn of eight and twenty stepped closer to her. “I am the chief navigator and pilot. Your maps have already served us well.”

She pursed her lips together into a proud smile.

“Set sail!” A booming voice cut off the formalities. His order cracked through the deck like a thunderclap and broke the stillness of the water. Every person aboard the ship struck into action – dashing from one station to the next. Arms buckled under the weight of heavy trunks of cannonballs and gunpowder. The voice came from an older Roegadyn man at the helm of the ship. His gray hair was tied back with colorful bandanas woven into rows of braided hair. His eyes were a fierce cobalt blue, the same color of the choppy waves beneath him.

The rowdy crew cheered their agreement and began to hoist the sails and lift up the heavy ropes from the sea. Sarangerel followed suit and joined the navigator who was climbing the stairs to the top deck. On a fine wooden stand near the helm, Maduin and Sarangerel searched the horizon. The captain beside them kept one of his strong arms steady on the wheel of the ship. The wind carried them out to the open waters.

The ship was modestly sized, with only one mast and a cargo hull fitted just for day trips only. The small size was made up for with its unmatched speed – particularly in pursuit of imperial vessels twice or three times its size. This was all-too apparent when the sails carried the ship further away from the harbor. A bell passed and they no longer could see the dock, or the land attached to it. It was then that the navigator and cartographer entered the captain’s chambers and set to work.

“Sarangerel, was it?” The navigator smiled up from the papers spread out around the quarters.  

“Yes?” She responded but did return his glance.

“I never told you my name!” Soft lines around his eyes crinkled toward his brows.

“It’s Maduin, is it not?”

“Yes, my name is Maduin.” The Roegadyn man felt disarmed, and his eyes slowly pointed toward the map on the table. He desperately wanted to fill the silence and continue learning about the intriguing cartographer before him. The planks of the floor creaked as the ship crossed a wave.

“Was there something else you wanted to say?” Sarangerel still did not look up from her map.  

“I was going to ask – where are you from?” He hesitated, but his determination to know her better never wavered. A few strands of his dark teal hair loosened and fell across his forehead. He brushed them back behind one ear and noticed she had finally looked up at him, if only for a moment. A sudden warmth touched the tips of his tan cheeks, dimpled by his widening smile. He was nothing if not persistent.

“Here.” She noted, pointing to a sketch of rounded yurts punctuating the Azim Steppe on her hand-drawn map of Othard.

The question of where had piqued her interest, but she did not elaborate. Many of the other crew members carried on with their tall tales or sang jovially. There was almost no quiet, especially when they were underway and out to sea. Her curtness was almost refreshing, and most certainly unexpected.

The cabin rocked and swayed as the sails carried them further away from the coastline. The two of them continued their work in a comfortable quiet. Occasionally, Sarangerel found herself looking up from the maps to think. Maduin would carefully steal a glance at her. Though he had seen many other Au Ri, particularly fellow crew members hailing from Raen settlements, her visage was unlike anyone he had seen before. Her azure skin was covered in indigo scales that ran up her arms, neck, and framing her face. Her hair was a delicate silver that looked like a river illuminated by the moon, the tresses of which just hit below her shoulders. Her beauty was difficult to miss and proved to be a challenge to ignore.

It did not escape Sarangerel’s notice that Maduin was staring at her as often as he was staring at the map. At first, she was annoyed. Her expression softened once she realized how patient he was with the coordinates. She could see him carefully studying her survey of the Ruby Tide. She hoped he could see the care she took to detail the surrounding islands. Traveling between each of them had taken nearly six moons and she felt proud of her work. Once she knew he was going to take her maps seriously, she finally felt at ease in the close quarters of the chamber.

“Your maps are remarkable, Sarangerel. I believe this course you have charted will be best suited for a swift return to Onokoro.” He glanced at her again, but this time she was ready to meet his gaze. A bead of sweat gathered on her temples; she thought it must have been the warmth of the afternoon sun trapped inside the room.

Finally, Sarangerel reached toward Maduin, close enough to embrace him, but then extended her arm past him to pick up a map behind him. “This is the one we need to look at before we travel further north.”

He didn’t realize his mouth had opened as she approached, but he quickly closed it before letting out a sigh. Something that felt like relief and disappointment erupted in his chest as he glanced at the map she had started to unroll. She placed four weighty inkwells at each corner of the map so it could lay flat and smoothed her fingers over the heavy cloth. “The nautical charts from Koshu are not accurate.”

“We are frequently in these waters and have never taken another route. There is no other route.” He gestured toward her, surrendering to his curiosity and confusion. “Is there?”

“The Kojin of the Blue would say otherwise. Besides, it’s well known that no information leaves Koshu unless it is certified by Bukyo. Anyone claiming to have a map from Koshu is either smuggling information or simply making it up. And I’m more inclined to believe the latter.” Sarangerel tapped her chin as she theorized.

“So, this map is from the Kojin? How can we be sure they are to be trusted? The Red will attack us on sight. The Blue are not so different.”

“They can be trusted because I have sailed this myself. I’ve seen where this leads and I’ve added my own notes to it.”

He seriously considered the consequences of a new course while staring into the chart.

“Do you trust me?” She turned toward him and extended an open palm.

“I don’t have any reason to doubt you.” He closed his fingers around hers and shook her hand.

They were still for a moment, holding each other’s hands. The light from the sea and the sky danced across the room, filling the ceiling with bright reflections of waves. Suddenly the ship turned over another wave, shifting their hands apart as they struggled to regain their balance. The pilot then adjusted the rudder and climbed the stairs to the helm of the ship where he explained to the captain the plan to take the Kojin of the Blue route.

Sarangerel could see the captain’s arms swing around Maduin in approval.  He chuckled loudly as he spun the ship’s wheel.

The trip took 3 bells shorter than their normal route – and was far less treacherous overall. Their target was a small fleet of smugglers who had stolen from the neighboring village of Isari. The smugglers proved to be no match for those employed under the banner of the Ruby Tide. Not only was the cargo recovered, but the smugglers soon found themselves marooned without their ships. With Sarangerel’s map, they had come out of the scuffle unscathed, and far richer for it.

After returning their stolen goods, the fishermen of Isari shared nearly half of it to the privateers they had hired to steal it back. Once Maduin, Sarangerel, and the rest of the crew had returned to Crick, on the island of Onokoro, they began to remove trunk after trunk of the bounty collected from the day’s work.

[sladez]

Au Ra April 2024

II. Weathering the Storm

The summer sun warmed Seishin’s skin and glowed orange against his eyelids as he sat in the soft grass and breathed. His hair, untied, blew gently in the cooling breeze. He focused on the bubbling sound of Yat Khaal flowing over rocks and against its banks to his right, whispering secrets in its ancient tongue. But rather than the calming wind and water around him, in his head there was only fire.

His thoughts were so far elsewhere that he didn’t hear the footsteps approaching, or maybe the one they belonged to stepped lightly as a matter of course. It wasn’t like him to be so deeply lost. He opened his eyes slowly as Styrnrael’s grandmother Maral plopped a low wooden table down in front of him.

“You’ve been out here all morning. Trouble sleeping?” Maral placed a deep blue cushion down and sat on it cross-legged, across the table from Seishin. Her knees popped audibly as she sank into a comfortable position.

He smiled weakly at her. “I’m sorry if I’ve troubled you. It’s a habit of mine to wake with the sun. But yes, there’s been much and more on my mind recently.”

Maral wordlessly pulled from around her a lacquered rosewood box and set it on the table. The edges had a deep patina that spoke of its age and reverence. She opened it by the side hinges and pulled out a large circular board. A kharaqiq board, Seishin recognized, and an extremely well made one at that. She finally looked up at him after placing it on the surface.

“I’ve seen the storm raging behind your eyes since the day you arrived at our iloh. Styrnrael’s as well, and all of the companions she has brought home with her. Whatever is troubling you may not be quelled in a single morning, but perhaps a game might help you weather some of it?”

“I don’t know that this will help,” Seishin laughed softly and waved his hand in front of his nose.

“Well, the Naadam is but suns from now. As the Steppe chooses its leader in this season, so too does every tribe their khan. The Malqir are no different. And I’m going to need the practice if I am to retain my title.”

“If you need to train, why don’t you take Bertram as an opponent? He is far more skilled at this game than I.”

“It is a wise warrior that learns from many teachers, is it not?”

Seishin smiled and bowed his head. “Words deftly spoken. All right then. I will gladly accept your challenge.”

Maral began removing the game pieces from the box and grabbed the light and dark horse pieces, one of bleached and carved dzo bone and the other of a deeply blue azurite, richer by far than the dark stone of other boards Seishin had seen. She took one in each hand and shuffled them behind her back. Seishin considered a moment, then pointed to her left and she held out her hand to reveal the light piece. “The bone horse. Fitting; it matches your horns. It seems I will play earth, from which we came and to which we will all one day return.”

Seishin looked away. His eyes clouded as his vision was filled with an image of Meffrid’s face, anger and shock and sadness veiled behind blood and unfulfilled promise; and the kinslayer, her rage—at what? the world?—twisting her face into an infinite snarl as she shook his blood from her blade. The first visit to his homeland since he was a child, full of naught but betrayal and death. The cold rain of that night felt as real as the sunlight on his arms in the now. Seishin shook his head to clear it. Maral stared at him, curiosity playing in her wrinkled eyes, as he reached for the piece and began arranging the bone side of the board. As he did, Styrnrael’s brother Siban, with his long dark hair behind his ebony horns, came out of a yurt with a tray of tea. He placed the cups before them and poured it, followed by a quick spot of dzo milk, which furrowed in the amber liquid like mist spreading on a fallow field. The smell was strong and pleasant, and Seishin’s mind felt a little calmer. They thanked Siban before he bowed to Seishin and squeezed Maral’s shoulder and departed, leaving the kettle on the side of the table.

“I’m glad I don’t have to explain the rules to you,” Maral chuckled as she finished setting up the earth pieces on her side of the board. “Do you play Kharaqiq much where you’re from in Eorzea?”

“No; honestly, I had never heard of it before Styrn taught me on the day we met.”

Maral nodded. “The girl has a talent for the game. She is still raw and a little unrefined, like her mother was. But I’m beginning to see the glint of a gem in there.” Seishin could have sworn he saw her wink. “Well then, shall we begin?”

Maral immediately moved a Bardam pawn into position to take one of the contested territories in the right center board, and Seishin did the same on the opposite side, rather than fighting her for the same space. When he did take the territory he had sought, Maral was right there ready to snatch it back from him, and so on the game went, the clattering of stone and bone joining the river’s steady susurrus in the undersong of the summer morning. She forced him on the defensive early on, and try as he might, he struggled to protect his pieces from her. She was a true master, hers on another level from any other game he had played; every exposed position was full of traps. After his gambit to defend a segment of his territory with a Khun Chuluu piece failed as she found an easy way around it, Seishin put his hands in his lap and breathed deeply. The anger that had simmered in him the last several weeks before arriving in Othard was beginning to bubble back up as frustration, and he tried to push that down, to starve it of oxygen. He had left his patience lying in the mud of Rhalgr’s Reach, crushed under Zenos’ boot, and he struggled for it now. Maral watched him closely as he tentatively made another defensive move.

“You are wiser than your years let on. You approach this game with the eyes of a philosopher, rather than a general. And that is why you will lose to me today.” The beads on her indigo coat jangled as she moved the prized red horse around the edge of the board, surrounding his last bastion. Like taming an impetuous stallion, the red horse could be taken over by a player and quickly turn the tides of battle.

Seishin considered her words for a moment and rubbed the ivory scales on his chin. “But the Malqir tribe uses Kharaqiq as a way of making decisions, do you not? If there’s a metaphor to be had, wouldn’t it be helpful to think of it as a game of philosophy?”

“Oh, the two are not mutually exclusive. But in playing to think, rather than to win, you are holding yourself back from both.” Maral put her hands on her knees and looked deep into Seishin’s face. “You have much anger in your eyes, in your muscles, in your fingers, in your very tendons. But I don’t see it in your play. It’s as if you are damming it in your mind rather than feeling it, letting it flow. Anger is not a force to be feared, son of Azim. Stoked as a fire it can accomplish great things.”

“But what if it burns too hot? If you scald yourself and those close to you?” Seishin closed his eyes and thought again of Fordola and her wrath, incinerating everyone around her, and his jaw and fists tensed.

Maral gestured to the center of the iloh, and Seishin followed her arm to the large firepit in the common space between the yurts, where in the distance Bertram was helping others from the Asterians stack fresh wood from Reunion to keep the flames going. “A fire properly kept burns without raging. It warms us in its violence, and we must be careful of it and never lose control, but if we close ourselves off or smother it, we will grow colder in its absence. There; I believe that’s checkmate.”

Maral cleared a space in the center of the board and lined up one of each dark piece from the earth side. “I have something to show you, Seishin. As you have said, Kharaqiq is a deep game. It speaks to us through the language of time. And each piece is as a part of our souls.” She slid the large Khun Chuluu piece toward Seishin. “What does this one mean to you?”

Seishin thought a moment, reflecting on the face in the center of the large flat piece. “This is a defensive piece. It protects not only a segment of the board, but other pieces as well. It does not move far and doesn’t have much ability to attack, but it blocks the most mobile of your opponent’s pieces. Its purpose is to keep its allies safe.”

Maral nodded sagely, sliding the piece back to the ranks and replacing it with a Yol, its feathers of intricately carved azurite. “And this?”

“The Yol can move diagonally and fly over other pieces until it’s ready to strike. It exercises patience and foresight.” His mind wandered to his own Yol, with its deeply iridescent wings, which he and his fellow Asterians had tamed only days before, a prerequisite to participating in the Naadam.

Maral slid another piece in its place. “The dzo?”

“Stubborn and obstinate. It represents determination.”

Maral surprised him by skipping over the tiger piece to the earth horse with its deep blue mane, azurite of the same color as her skin. She held it up and raised an eyebrow, and in her expression he saw Styrnrael, that first night on the shores of Thanalan: The horse can move as far as it wants in any one direction, she had told him. It’s free, like the spirit of the Steppe, and that we all have inside us. Satisfied, Maral replaced it, and picked up the tiger swiping the air with its claw. “The Baras pounces in its movement; it represents speed and agility,” Seishin said.

Maral cocked her head and smirked. “You have to look deeper than that, my boy,” she chastened. “The Baras does not move straight; it lurks, it prowls. It waits. The Baras is quick, yes; but what it represents is opportunity. Brute force only works against us in many ways. It’s often better to lie in wait for the perfect opening to strike.” She brought the piece back with a force that clacked loudly on the table. “But make no mistake: there is a difference between patience and hesitation. And missing those opportunities is often worse than trying and failing. If the Yol represents foresight, the Baras is the taking of those opportunities that foresight yields to us.”

Seishin was silent a long time as he stared at the pieces on the board. Finally he said, “There is so much I have yet to learn. Every time I face Styrnrael or Bertram in this game I glean something new from it, as I have against you today.”

Maral laughed and crossed her arms. “Full glad am I to hear that, my child. I can see understanding dawning in your eyes. The Malqir do not believe that playing Kharaqiq itself makes you wise, but it is the wisdom that you bring to the table that is mixed into the flow of time. When you play a new opponent you take some of their wisdom into your own life, and you in turn impart it to others. I meet my ancestors in every turn on the game board.

“But there is still one piece we have yet to discuss.” She picked up a pawn, a Bardam piece, chiseled in the shape of a Xaela warrior. “I’m sure you have guessed that this piece represents the people, not just of the Steppe, but of the Star. It has the slowest movement, but it is the most plentiful, and all major pieces can promote to it. This is because in numbers are we strong. We can accomplish great things, but only together. Look at this world,” she said, sweeping her arms out and around her, her beads rattling noisily, and Seishin looked up at the azure sky and over the sweeping verdant plains of the Sea of Blades, towards the towering Dawn Throne, further to the distant ilohs dotting the horizon and the base of the mountains with vibrant spots of color, at the bustling crowds of Reunion in the distance. He turned with her in the other direction, toward Malqir Iloh, as farmers robed in deep dyed indigo tended flocks of sheep and dzo, balanced stones from the quarries of the Fanged Crescent, sat in the common area around Kharaqiq boards, preparing to test their mettles during the Naadam. And in the center of the common area, he watched Styrnrael leave a yurt in a coat of her tribe’s indigo colors and wander over the fire and place a hand on Bertram’s shoulder before sitting next to him on a log, their backs turned to Seishin in quiet dialogue, listening to the soft drone of a morin khuur. He felt Maral’s eyes on him as his gaze lingered on the two of them. She cleared her throat.

“Our clan makes a habit of not interfering with the other tribes of the Steppe, and as a matter of course we do not compete in the Naadam. My granddaughter will compete in it in the coming days, and for a second time at that. And the crazy part is, I think she can win. But she cannot do it alone.” Maral turned and placed her hands over Seishin’s. They were small on his and felt like soft leather. “I love Styrnrael deeply. I know you have come far and accomplished much and more together. Now it is your turn to protect her. You and Bertram both, as you all have thus far. You are weathering your own storm right now, as she is hers, as Bertram his. But only together can all of you succeed. Only together can you keep each other safe, no matter the outcome of the contest.”

Seishin shifted his hands to take hers and squeezed them gently, nodding at her as she did him. “I promise,” he said, and for the first time since leaving Ala Mhigo did his voice resonate with his usual resolve. Maral smiled and patted his hand.

“Well, the day is getting on,” she said, leaning back and pulling back her Kharaqiq pieces. “But I think I have one more match in me before lunchtime. What about you?”

[meguhime]

A Gift from The Redbills

This started as a sketch done while waiting at the doctor’s office, but I’ve had this idea rolling around in my head for a few weeks now after finishing Tataru’s Grand Endeavor. The Redbills have come to mean so much to me -- I’m glad I was able to do this quest with Jon, and so many moments had us jumping up from our computers and running around the house screaming! The writing is absolutely AMAZING. So I was inspired to ask the question: What if we had taken up Leofard’s offer to bestow a gift at the end of the quest. (In the quest, we politely asked for something for Tataru, but you can tell Leofard is pretty annoyed with this answer and wants you to be selfish for once!) I think what Seishin (and Styrnrael) would want would be a portrait from Duremert. That idea was ringing in my head ever since so this week I finally had a chance to bring that vision to life!  There are SO many tiny details in this so please zoom in! Probably my favorite element is the wanted poster (which is pinned to the wall with a tiny missile dart a la Howl’s Moving Castle style.) Process shots -- One note about these is that Tataru was the missing ingredient. I love how she came out in the final piece and how each character kind of evolved throughout the process. 

[styrnraelmalqir]

[meguhime]

“Your map and my ship -- just think about it, Styrnrael... 

If I asked you to stay and join the Redbills, would you?”

“No thanks!”

-- I just recently did the Void Ark series for the first time ever and I literally can’t stop thinking about the story. This is one of the few quests were Styrn fit *so* well. She could have been an NPC easily in this story. 

In my head canon, Styrn is doing this as part of the “new adventure” in the 6.x patches -- so she’s a lot more open to pirates and sharing her past. Once Leofard finds out who she is -- who her parents were, too-- he starts to open up to her. He can just be himself around her and the two of them are almost like mirror images of one another. His mother couldn’t see the world so she told him stories about it -- her mother traveled the world and brought back stories from her maps. Leofard falls in love with Styrn. (This is literally the first time I’ve ever felt like any NPC would hahaha!)  The two of them remain very close friends, but Leofard is a bit sad she won’t join his crew.

[meguhime]

Maybe someday, but not this Pocky Day

I feel very proud of the MNK themed puns on the box hehe

[meguhime]

“I told you his name so you would not forget it. For Maduin lives within this flag, in this story, in me, and now in you.” Sarangerel gently and carefully moved the magicked flame across the tapestry. “He was not your father in blood. He made a promise to me when you were about to be born. This star,” she pointed, “is you. And below that, a sword cutting through the air. That is the fight he was lost in. And the ship here is carrying his soul to the temple below the waves.”

[styrnraelmalqir]

about styrnrael

♔ Forename. Styrnrael is a Roegadyn name, meaning "star doe."  Her first name does not carry much meaning to her and at times it feels like a reminder of being different than some of her cousins. In truth, she is of Roegadyn and Xeala origins. Her father was a Sea Wolf who left shortly after Styrnrael was born. Her name was the only thing he ever gave her. ♕ Surname. Styrnrael was raised by her mother, grandmother, older brother, and several cousins among the Malqir, who value intellect and games over fighting. She grew to be a wise, critical thinker like her foremothers, but something, ever shifting like the trade winds, kept calling her to battle. Much of her understanding of the world was shaped by her matrilineal upbringing and very little is known of her Sea Wolf father. However, having both Au Ra and Roegadyn lineage, she took to the sword easily. In her young adolescence, she trained with a wooden sword while honing her skill at Khraqiq until she was old enough to help with provisional quests among the tradespeople. ♚ After the Calamity. One day, during the annual gathering of Xaela, Styrnrael enters a combat tournament, and bests one of the strongest warriors. He is visibly furious, as are his brethren. In exchange for her agreeing to forfeit quietly in the last round of their bout, thus helping him save face, he would teach her everything he knows. Knowing that he could teach her the ways of the sword, a skill she always longed to know more about, she agreed. He was known simply as her mentor, though he has carried many names, and wielded many swords. And like many of the nomadic people of the Xaela, he was well-traveled, too. Having survived the Calamity, he had many stories to tell. ♛ Before the Adventure. During her training, her mentor tells of the Coliseum of Ul’dah. He weaves a story for her, telling of the city’s immense wealth, the intricate relationships among its people, and of the king’s ransoms awaiting eager sellswords. Her mentor paints a picture of just how easy this scheme is: he and other of his brethren fight for a season, make a fortune of gil, and leave before getting involved in any of the Syndicate's dealings. He called it his trade. His enthusiasm is infectious. Hearing this, Styrnrael asks for her foremothers’ blessings to set off in search of the Coliseum. However, her mother proposes that a game of Khraqiq will help them decide. Her mother is a formidable opponent, having spent most of her years studying the techniques of Astrologians and Scholars, though never fully mastering either of their skills. She is a jack of all trades. Her wit, instead, is agile, able to bound across the board with ease, almost making Styrnrael’s head spin. The game is set -- her mother is ahead-- but the outcome? A tie. Styrnrael begins to forfeit this game, as she knows her mentor would want her to save face, explaining that she could find some other work to do around the Steppe. “Winning the game was not the wager,” her mother says with a wink. She bestows Styrnrael with a map that is etched with the handwritten notes of a well-studied scholar. “These were my notes, and what I ask dear child is that you continue them. Use them well to think of home, no matter how far you roam.” The stories her mothers had heard of were echoes of stories from traders, passed down through generations. 

[styrnraelmalqir]

Upon reaching Thal's respite, Styrnrael paused inside the chamber. She lit a brazier and knelt before the altar. Until now, she had only half-heartedly pledged her sword to Ul'dah, but somewhere along the way had come to realize what that truly meant: she must needs some way to unite people across differences. Did not the merchants look at her scaly visage with the same fear they reserved for Amal'jaa? And did not those same junkmongers look down upon the refugees just outside the city gates, abandoning their own kind? Those sworn to protect the Sultana could turn around tomorrow for the highest bidder. The gaps between the tiers of castes were ever more present here than in all Eorzea. She gazed upon the statue in reverence but was overcome with an earthly question, "Who are the monsters and who are the men? Only Thal knows." She thought quietly before extinguishing the flame.

[styrnraelmalqir]

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[styrnraelmalqir]

Dawn in Ishgard was little different than the night. An opaque sheet of fog blanketed the snowcapped banks, limiting Styrnrael’s visibility even with the blessings of the echo. Twice had she seen such dense fog. The first time was when she was little more than a babe, but the mist cleared as quickly as it came, taking the Sea Wolf and his men with it. The second time, the Malqir stood as tall as her foremothers. The fog was thick with shame. 

She cared not for the cold. And even worse yet, the misunderstandings that the clear light of day might encourage. At the behest of Lady Yugiri, the Au Ra arrived in Camp Dragonshead in disguise. The hood did not cover everything, but Yugiri was sure it may do well to protect her from the disarmingly polite Elezens. It was enough to mask her appearance that, to the average isolated Ishgardian, would in plain sight be all too draconic. 

On her arrival, the kindest of hosts reassured her. “Would that I knew how you felt. I assure you that Who am I to judge? would be the common opinion on the matter of your... visage.” the head of House Fortemps explained. His agreeable nature was rare here. Even he knew that.  She knew, however kind his welcome was, her allies were limited among the archbishop’s followers. Though many in Ishgard had heard stories of the defender of Eorzea, their absence from the alliance tables was humbling. Her deeds were less than empty echoes, unworthy of songs for their great halls. Lady Yugiri was justified to hide her features, even in the great accepting shores of the Eorzean Alliance. Here, it was more than discrimination to be wary of, here it could be persecution or worse at the hands of inquisitors.  Styrnrael cursed the thick fog, for it did not hide enough. For if they truly saw her indigo complexion contrasted in the light of the gleaming white snow, night would fall before she ever reached the Holy See.