#x'rhiri is growing on me so if i ever want to play WHM i guess i know what's up

[starcunning]

Suffer Me to Cherish You: 6 Nov

man if only i could just suplex everyone in authority shit would be so much simpler

Previously: Week One Previously: 4 Nov, 5 Nov

They had left the next morning, on foot, leaving their birds with X’rhinne, along with a linkpearl. During their hike to the Well, Rhinne had called to report the return of the scouts, and X’kher related to her the location of the Amalj’aa encampment where the others were being held. It was cut into the cliffs above Zahar’ak, and X’shasi was glad of her experience as a mountaineer.

Because of the remoteness of the camp and the difficulty of the climb, the Amalj’aa were not expecting them, and Shasi took the lookout by surprise, dropping onto his back from a cliff overhead, sword entering at the neck and exiting at the throat in a spray of too-hot blood. Fray dropped down beside her a moment later, and she got a sense of his amusement from the look in those golden eyes. She did not return his hidden smile, only turned her gaze upon the camp.

How long had it been since the first time she’d done this? Even before Thancred Waters had pulled her up out of the dust and enlisted her aid, as a member of the Immortal Flames it had been her duty long since to quell the threat of Ifrit’s awakening. That peace had been bought in blood, and would be purchased anew this day.

Fray followed like a shadow—apt, perhaps, given all he sought to teach her—as they went deeper into the mountain camp. She could smell the iron on the air, of rust and of blood; could scent the smoke of flames that never went out. She thought of the Bowl of Embers, of the squad mates that had walked into that place with her and never come out.

When they found the cages, they were guarded by a half-dozen Amalj’aa. There was little room for subtlety, and she was not a subtle tool. And never had been, she had to admit to herself. So she walked into their midst, lifted her sword, and challenged them openly.

The lizard-men swarmed her, and she gathered her aether and sent it pulsing outward, rippling through the ground beneath them as though it might swallow them all whole. Most of them were unarmed, but it mattered little—their claws were wicked enough, scraping over her arms and ringing along the length of her blade. It bothered her little. She was used to being outnumbered, though at least now she felt equipped to handle it.

One of them lifted its voice to bellow the alarm. She silenced it a moment too late, arterial spray washing over her face. That was becoming too familiar a sensation, she thought, then shook it off. “Fray,” she called instead, “the cages.”

He shot out from behind her, charging between the lizard-men heedless of the dangers. Aether pooled darkly around him, trailing behind him like a banner of war, murky as ink. Claws and spiked fists cut through the cloud of darkness. Most missed her, giving her the chance to whirl about and deliver an arcing slice. Two more of her opponents fell, the crowd now halved. But that only allowed her to better see what approached.

The chains of silver about his neck announced him as a priest of Ifrit. So too the scepter of bone in his hands. It glowed ember-bright for just a moment, and then she felt the gout of flame blister over her, charring her side.

She should have been afraid. Instead she was determined. One of the pugilists caught her with a punishing blow, the spikes of his knuckles buried in her wounded side. She cried out, and Fray looked back at her. Shaking her head, X’shasi lunged forward and buried her sword in the Amalj’aa’s gut, allowing herself to be invigorated by its death.

“You next,” she declared to one of the remaining Amalj’aa. As though responding to her goading, it stepped in, raking its claws across her. She felt the pain suffuse her, well in her chest like an unvoiced scream, and allowed it to enshroud her. The tip of her sword scored the Amalj’aa’s leathery skin, but did not penetrate, not until she swung around and caught him on the back stroke. Sweat and blood slicked her body, covered her face. She could taste it with every breath, and let it fuel her.

She was shorter than the Amalj’aa. That only made it easier for her to drive her sword upward, beneath the ribs, so that her opponent died on her blade, blood running down. Over the hilt, over her hands, their last desperate breath leaving them without a sound. Like an execution.

One left.

Flame blossomed around her once more, singing her hair, burning bare her tail. Two left, she recalled. Her eyes darted about, looking for Fray. He was still occupied with the cages, and the priest advanced unchecked. The last pugilist struck her across the face, driving her with the force of the blow. She turned the movement into kinetic force, directing her aether with her steps, lashing out to wither him. His next strike was not half so potent, easily batted aside. She drove her blade into his gut, twisting as she pulled back, and then disengaged at a sprint, advancing on the priest.

Flames buffeted her with every step. She could feel the hilt of her sword grow hot in her hands, even through its leather wrapping. She knew how the magic was made. She knew how to unmake it, and steeled herself against the flames.

The priest seemed shock when she shook his next blast off, emerging from the flames to stand before him. She swung her sword. He threw up his arms to intercept the blow with his staff. The bone splintered; the aether channeled through it shattered too, washing over both of them. X’shasi called the darkness to her like a second skin and shrugged off the worst of the explosion of aether. The priest was not so lucky; she could smell his charred flesh. It cracked and crumbled beneath her slashes, crumbling like ash. Still the priest was desperate enough to try and cast without a focus, and still she pressed him. He was fueling his spells with no less than himself, and her last blade stroke was almost perfunctory. Almost a mercy.

When she looked back at the cages, the Lynx tribe captives were still cowering within the bars of iron. X’shasi wiped her sword on a scrap of clothing not already soaked in blood or charred beyond use, and stowed it as she ambled down the hill. With every step, the pain she had ignored during the battle returned to her. Fray met her halfway, holding a hand out to her.

“Wait,” he said. “We could commune, now. We should commune now.” “No,” she told him. “You need to hear the voice! You’ll never find her if you put this off!” “That’s not why I came, Fray. Don’t ask again.” “You’re going to have to make a decision at some point, Shasi. Do you want to be a hero, or do you want to be a dark knight?” “I want to save them,” she said, brushing past him.

Every part of her ached. She had to pant for every breath she took, and each one tasted of blood and ash. She lifted her voice and found it raw. “It’s safe now,” X’shasi declared. “We came to rescue you.” She fumbled for a canteen of water, wanting to wash clean her face. Then, guiltily, she reconsidered it, holding it out in offering to her tribesmen.

It still took a solid minute for the first of them to emerge.

The Well was not so far a diversion on the trail from Zahar’ak to the Lynx camp, and so they made the stop. In any case, X’shasi wasn’t sure she could have made the hike in a single day, nor could the captives. They seemed glad to stop and rest in the oasis—the Well was in truth a mountain spring, and its waters pooled in a pond ringed with trees and leafy bushes. The Lynx tribe miqo’te were exhausted, and it seemed a fine place to camp. Fray offered to take the first watch, and X’shasi—for all her intentions to relieve him—slept clear through until morning. Then she wandered down to the edge of the spring.

The water was blessedly cool against X’shasi’s skin as she knelt on the shore to scrub her face. “You should leave it,” Fray said. “It itches,” she protested. “Let him see it,” Fray said. “He should know the cost of the things he asks from you.” “He didn’t ask.” “No, he simply expected.” “I volunteered,” she countered. “Why?” Fray asked. “You know he’s no father of yours.” X’shasi frowned, struggling with her boot as she pulled it off. “It’s true, I left the tribe and don’t really want to rejoin it,” she said. “But that doesn’t absolve me of all my responsibilities to them. Even if they were strangers—” “They practically are.” “Even so,” she said, raising her voice just slightly. “I would have helped.” “Why?” he repeated. “It’s what I do,” she said, pushing herself to stand. She waded into the water, letting the spring wash away the ash and grime. “This isn’t the hard part. This is what’s easy. This is what’s clear.” “You have a choice.” “Abandoning innocent people to be sacrificed to call a primal, when I could save them? There’s no choice at all.”

Her clothes were still stained, still singed, her wounds still visible. She ran a hand along the gash in her forearm with concern, looking back at the shore. Fray said nothing, but one of the other miqo’te was watching her. “You’re hurt,” she said. X’shasi looked at her—still a girl, though nearly a woman, at least as they counted such things in Ul’dah. “I’ve had worse,” she said. “I could help you,” the girl told her. “I’m Rhiri, Rhinne’s apprentice, I know a bit ...” “What about the others?” X’shasi asked. “I can make it back to camp alright, so don’t worry about me.” Fray scoffed from his place on the bank. X’shasi only looked at him. “I can at least make sure nothing gets infected,” X’rhiri offered. X’shasi shook her head, spraying droplets of clear water from her hair. “Alright,” she assented, wading out of the cool spring.

X’rhiri had some skill as a conjurer, and X’shasi felt her wounds close painlessly, though the flesh was still scabby, not yet healed. She swung her tail about to inspect it and found the flesh pink and hairless, the tuft of white fur at its tip all but burnt away. X’shasi let it go with a sigh, and X’rhiri looked almost apologetic. “I do feel better,” she told the young apprentice. “Good,” she said. “I think the others are ready to set out whenever you are.” “Sure,” X’shasi said. “Just give me a minute.” X’rhiri nodded and withdrew, tracing the banks of the Well to rejoin the others on the far bank. “How come you didn’t do that?” she asked Fray, offering him a hand up. “It’s not as easy as it looks,” Fray told her. His gauntlet was frigid in her own, colder still than the spring water. “And you didn’t ask.” “You’re angry with me,” she said. “About yesterday.” “Yes,” he said flatly. “We’ll deal with that once they’re safe.” “As long as we deal with it.”

When they approached the mesa that sheltered the Lynx camp, X’shasi found herself at the fore of the group, the former captives arrayed behind her. The sun had dried her clothes and hair over the hours of the hike, but effort had slicked her skin with new sweat, and some of her wounds had reopened to gild her with blood. However haggard she felt, there was a grim determination in her core—and in her eyes, perhaps, for among those who came out to see the advancing party stood X’khilo Nunh, and when their eyes met, she saw something like fear upon his face.

She stood on the plateau and addressed the Lynx tribe: “I came here to deliver a single message, and so I tell you now that Ala Mhigo is free; that the mountains of Gyr Abania will welcome you home. But I must tell you also that X’khilo Nunh would have seen you return there without those behind me, including members of your council. Do with that knowledge what you will.” “Is that a challenge?” X’khilo called back. “It is not,” X’shasi said. “I could not take your post from you even if I wanted it. You may fight me, if you like, and you will lose, and it will remain what it is: the truth.” To Fray she said more, in a lower voice. “We’re leaving.” “I thought you might like to stay,” said X’rhiri. “I can’t,” she said. “Give my thanks to your mistress, but I’m leaving tonight.” “Where are you going?” “The Bowl of Embers.”