The Sun, The Moon and The Stars [Closed] - Printable Version +- Hydaelyn Role-Players (https://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/mybb18) +-- Forum: Role-Play (https://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/mybb18/forumdisplay.php?fid=27) +--- Forum: Town Square (IC) (https://ffxiv-roleplayers.com/mybb18/forumdisplay.php?fid=21) +--- Thread: The Sun, The Moon and The Stars [Closed] (/showthread.php?tid=11672)

The Sun, The Moon and The Stars [Closed] - GloryRhodes - 05-18-2015 Four Years Ago The sun pummeled the bodies, and the bodies pummeled the sand.  "Again!"  Water swept up the beach, discoloring the golden ground into a damp wet brown a dozen yalms behind them.  Where the water touched it, the sand cooled, but where they stood the heat of it baked the soles of their feet into blister red calluses. Unlike the other women, bronzed by the unflinching gaze of Azeyma above, the girl's skin was as black as burned flesh.  She fell, gasping, sweat pouring across her uncovered body.  The clothes she was given offered no protection from the elements.  They were there for modesty's sake only, and not much of that.  As he knees hit the sand she cried out in pain, searing grains of the burning beach covering her legs. "Spahro, get up!"  She was blind in the glare of the midday sun reflected up from the sand into her eyes, and she could only see a hazy silhouette shimmering in the heat in front of her.  She didn't see the woman move towards her, but she felt the fingers like claws grab her arm and hoist her back to her feet.  Nails dug into a months old sunburn that never healed, and her eyes filled with tears. "Are you crying?"  She didn't even bother acknowledging the question.  As soon as her legs were underneath her again she began to move once more, repeating the patterns that had been forced into her aching muscle memory for years.  The figure let go of her and backed away.  "For a second I thought you'd injured yourself.  If you're not hurt then keep going.  We have a lot of ground to cover today." The other women ignored her as they always did.  They began to move again, twisting and turning, veils whipping out to lash at the skin of the women around them.  A gauzy flyaway of silk brushed Spahro's face, and she winced as raw, burned nerves howled into her brain. "Wait wait, stop."  The procession halted, and Spahro managed to remain standing with no momentum to keep her going.  Her legs wobbled, and her shoulders shook with every exhausted, heaving breath, but she could still stand.  The salt from the sea filled her nostrils, blotting out the overpowering scent of sweat from the women around her. The figure approached again, and Spahro blinked tears out of her eyes to try and clear her vision.  The figure resolved into a miqote woman with similar dark skin and hair to Spahro's, but she was protected from the sun by a large straw hat that shaded her.  Instead of the tight fitting leather bandeauxs and briefs of Spahro and the others, she wore loose fitting linen garments. She placed her hands on Spahro's shoulders and straightened her back.  "Honestly Spahro, I know you're still growing, but you need to understand the proper movements to accentuate your breasts.  Not having any now isn't an excuse to neglect your training."  The woman shook Spahro's shoulders, and her sunburn screamed.  "Like this when you move.  Men don't care for girls who can't be sexy, dear." "Sorry, mom." The woman took a step back, nodding, "Enough gawking about.  I want this routine perfect for tonight's dinner."  The dancers stood straight once more, arms out, and Swahlo Llorn clapped her hands.  "Again!" Two Years Ago "Pick up the pace!"  In The Twelveswood the trees were the sky, the ground and the air itself.  Moss clinging to the trunk of the tree made her bare foot slip out form under her and she tumbled forward.  She struck her head on a branch and the eternal twilight of the forest erupted into a flashing display of colors and pain. One of the hunters pushed past her, hissing disapproval.  She landed, as agile as any dancer, on the tree branch that Spahro had run into and raised her bow.  The arrow left it with a near inaudible whistle, then she was gone. Spahro pulled herself back up to her feet, but fell again immediately.  The whole world spun around her and a dull, dizzy ache throbbed behind her eyes.  Blood began to leak into her vision, but she wiped it away and forced herself to stand.  The tree trunk provided a place for her to rest while she regained her senses, and she leaned on it heavily. By the time the forest had returned to its drab greens and browns, she was alone.  The chase continued off in the distance, she knew, but for now she was alone in the dark, surrounded by a hundred thousand living things that did not know her, or care. She slid down the tree trunk into the grass and tried to get her breathing under control.  A cry of animal pain signaled the end of the hunt, but it was so faint that there was no hope of Spahro catching up to the party in time. There was no bow in her hand, or quiver on her back.  The hardened leather wraps around her knuckles were wrapped around sharp, twisted thorns from a vicious bush that grew in thick patches around the camp.  They were unstained and unbroken; unused. "I hadn't thought to catch up to your party, Coeurlclaw."  Spahro didn't have the energy to be surprised, and moving her head made her want to vomit, so she turned her eyes to the left, towards the voice. A Moon Keeper in an antelope skin harness stood under the hanging bows of the tree.  He had several small animals hanging from his belt, and a bow across his back.  When he got closer his eyes widened.  "That's a nasty cut on your forehead.  Are you alright?" "Fine," Spahro said, and she tried to stand, but the ground beneath her revolted, and she dropped back down.  The man got closer, moving slowly, one hand out towards her, cautious. "You don't seem fine."  He crouched down next to her and pulled her hair back out of her face.  She realized then that her hair was stuck to her forehead with blood, and as he pulled it back the throbbing pain became sharp and poignant. He whistled and shook his head, "That doesn't look good.  You should see a healer.  Do you need help getting back to your camp?" "Yes."  She held an arm out to him, and he lifted her up, giving her his shoulder for support. "I'm Narah'to Kotosra.  I hunt around here.  What's your name?" She didn't answer him, but pitched forward into a darkness deeper than The Shroud. One Year Ago Ul'Dah's lamps burned so bright even the stars couldn't compete, and the endless tapestry of lights that Spahro had known in Costa del Sol's nights had given way to an empty pitch blackness above her head.  Only the brightest of starts shone through the orange haze. Her boot heels clacked loudly on the cobblestones of The Steps of Nald, and even at this hour dozens of citizens rushed by her or stood around busy in their own business, paying no heed to the young miqote in the second hand clothes. The whole city smelled of filth and spices, like nothing Spahro had ever experiences before.  A few hawkers still shouted, trying to get one more sale before turning in for the night.  To her right she saw a group of lalafell armed with knives holding up a roegadyn against a wall, demanding money. "Excuse me, miss?  I don't mean to bother you."  The beggar seemed to come out of nowhere.  He was a tall, foul smelling highlander with months worth of beard growth and a thick coating of dirt and louses. "Yes, you do," she said, and squared her shoulders to face him.  Her facepaint was still wet, a darker black than even her hair.  "You wouldn't have come up to me otherwise.  If it's money you want, then I don't have any.  If it's anything else, then I don't want any.  Get yourself lost now before you give me lice." The beggar scowled at her, but backed back into the shadows from whence he'd come.  She didn't think about him again, and made her way towards Pearl Lane, a piece of paper clenched tightly in one fist.  The Tonberry's Lantern had an interesting way of advertising openings for writing staff. All along the walls were posted flyers written in an elegant script that simply listed an address with the description, "If you can read this, you're hired."  In her mind, she could still see Narah'to's smile and feel his hands in hers.  She put him out of her mind as quickly as she had the beggar. The dead should stay buried.