The boat ride to Othard was quiet enough, especially once Gogonji found a secluded little corner below-decks to squirrel himself into. The two mobile Awakeners - which he had finally given the name "Rouser" after several parchments' worth of scratched-out ideas, both in Eorzean and Doman - were hidden under the sleeves of his jacket, the cool metallic devices pressed against the bare flesh beneath. He had enough problems with the Ironworks' goons asking insipid questions, he didn't need it from the unwashed masses as well.
Wanting to avoid such mind-degrading conversation was also the reasoning behind leaving Ezra un-summoned, as much as the Dunesfolk would have appreciated her company amongst the rabble. He instead immersed himself in either the memories of the two Soul Crystals housed in his Rousers - which he took to as one might go to see a play - or going over notes and formulae in his tome. His latest quandary was how to precisely present his discoveries in such a way that his stubborn father couldn't help but accept and praise him for his foresight. It was surprisingly difficult, mostly due to the fact that it had been years since he had seen his bullheaded father and, even if he had remained mostly the same, even the slightest changes could throw off his predictions.
Of course, his father was not the only thing he was eager to see - he also thought of little Chachanji, the youngest of the three Gegenji children. The little popoto would always follow him around, tugging at his pants leg and asking him to come play. And more than once the elder brother had made excuses for the younger, either to get his kin out of trouble or to slip away for a moment's freedom from the burden of his relentless conditioning and training. He had been expected to take over the family business once his father grew too frail to continue, after all, which meant there were decidedly few moments that weren't spent either in front of a forge or learning how to read market trends. So what rare escapes he had, he had grasped onto dearly.
And when he was unable to make such getaways, he would instead live vicariously through little Chachanji. One of his favorite pastimes before his abrupt departure was to ask his little brother to tell him of what heroic adventures he had gone on that day, since the youngest Gegenji's workload was so much lighter than his own. In return, he'd be regaled with fanciful stories of battling demons and dragons and other such monsters within the absolute safety of their backyard. They were simple, childish tales, but Gogonji always enjoyed hearing every one, even if his dour expressions failed to properly convey it. As the ship pulled into port, the eldest Gegenji found himself wondering how many such tales his little brother might have saved up for him in the interim.
So eager was he to go and see his family that Gogonji failed to notice the worried looks and exclamations from those who saw the direction in which he was headed. They were just common-folk, after all, so why would he care about their opinions when he had family and a bright future waiting for him in Doma? It was only as he passed more and more people fleeing in the opposite direction that the situation pierced through his halcyon haze and a chilling sense of dread began to creep into the Lalafell's very being.
Something was wrong.
Something was horribly wrong.
He spurred his horse more earnestly, hoping that the sight of his homeland would quell the worries that started to gnaw ever more fiercely on his soul. The stallion's nostrils flared and his hooves dug deep into the dirt roads as the Dunesfolk urged him on, kicking up clods of earth and grass in his wake. Such was his rush that those still fleeing from his destination were forced to dive out of the horse's way of risk being trampled. He heard their cries of alarm, for the ears that had ignored the chatter before now listened all too closely.
He needed to know more. What had happened. When it happened. Why it happened. He needed more information, and it came in bits and pieces carried along the wind.
Garlemald. Attack. Doma. Razed. Fire.
Fire.
Fire.
"No..."
Fire is what greeted Gogonji when he finally arrived to his home. Or the remnants of a much larger fire, at least, with little smaller smouldering patches scattered amongst ash and the skeletal remains of houses that jutted out of them. Even though it had been years, fear and desperation brought the way back home back to vivid focus. In under half a bell, the Lalafell was home... or what was left of it.
"No." He repeated. "No no no..."
He slid off his horse, promptly forgot he had even ridden in on one. The charred ruins of his home encompassed his everything. He took a step forward, then another, and then he was stumbling and rushing towards the smouldering heap. His violet eyes darted from familiar spot to familiar spot - where his bedroom used to be, to the blackened forge that even now stood like a gravestone marker amongst the rest of the debris. Looking for some sign, any sign that his family had survived the fire. But there was ever so much rubble to get through, and he was only one small Lalafell.
"This... this wasn't supposed to..." he found himself murmuring, as if his words alone could change the truth before him. "This... this can't..."
Gogonji wasn't sure how long he had dug, his hands blackened in soot and covered in cuts and scrapes. All he knew what that he finally uncovered something - the tattered remains of his brother's Chocobo pajamas. Little Chachanji had always loved the idea of the horsebirds native to their mother's homeland of Eorzea. Gogonji could still hear the squeal of joy when the little tyke received the pajamas as a Namesday gift - pulling them on almost as soon as they were out of the wrapping. He was the oddest looking thing then, looking like some squat little man-bird with his dopey little smiling face atop it...
... And now all that was left was blackened tatters held tightly in blackened fingers.
"Hey, looks like we got us a straggler," came a laugh from behind. "Whassamatter? Lost something?"
Garlean. He could tell by the accent alone, familiar enough with it thanks to the years of his father selling his wares to them. At reduced rates, no less, in order to appease them and avoid any conflict. Finely crafted Doman weapons and armors purchased to be little more than talking pieces or hamfistedly swung about by their oppressors as war trophies. Oppressors that had just burned his home down.
The nervousness and anxiety, the tension and fear in his mind had been like a bowstring pulled taut ever since he had goaded his horse into a full gallop. It was an intense pressure at the back of his mind that refused to relent. At the sound of the voice, though, at the footsteps as they drew closer and steel was drawn... at the laughter...
It just... snapped.
"Now, howsabout you stand up and turn around, nice and slow," the Garlean stated, waggling his saber his emphasis. "I want to see your fa--"
What was next out of his mouth was not words, but blood. His blue eyes looked down in shock at the cheap blade that now pierced his stomach, his gaze trailing along its length to the hunched figure of the Lalafell that was wielding it. It had been masterfully placed - giving the man just enough time to realize what exactly had happened before he went into shock and slumped forward. The blade retracted with a hiss - though if it was from the blade or the attacker, it was hard to say - and Gogonji sidestepped the corpse as it fell.
The Garlean wasn't stupid, of course, and had not come alone. Or perhaps he was - for he had done little more than lead more lambs to the slaughter. And like lambs they were as Gogonji's gaze slowly rose to look at them, the two Rousers burning brightly beneath his sleeves. Almost as brightly as the complete and utter hate burning in those violet orbs for the pieces of disgusting chaff that stood before him.
"Stop hi--!"
The order to attack never completed, the Garlean soldier's throat seizing and choking on the deathly contagion that engulfed him before being spread amongst the rest like a pestilent cloud. The Dunesfolk wasn't unobliging as he snapped his tome shut, however, and closed the gap for them. Gogonji had two souls who knew well the ways of war at his disposal, locked away in his psyche and desperate to be released, and he was more than willing to let them come to the fore and aid him in slaughtering every...
Single.
Last.
ONE OF THEM.