Nero

I imagine Au Ra horns to function similar to narwhal tusks: innervated sensory organs with nerve endings that connect stimuli to the brain. Following this, then other than hearing (which is the detection of vibrations made in the air) an Au Ra would be able to use these organs to sense changes in humidity and temperature, to a limited extent. Being more sensitive to sound in addition to sensing fluctuations in the air would be in line with the lore blurb that described Auri horns as giving them "enhanced spacial recognition". At the same time, I also imagine that the functions besides hearing are mostly vestigial for most Au Ra. Certainly, Au Ra who, for example, lived in extremely low-light environments would have enhanced senses and thus their horns would be much more sensitive at detecting things like body heat or the movement of air caused by external motion, but unless the Au Ra's environment demanded such functions be necessary in terms of natural selection--for example, freezing ice is often fatal to large groups of narwhals, therefore narwhal tusks are sensitive to changes in salinity to detect whether ice is beginning to form--I doubt that the aforementioned "enhanced spacial recognition" really received that much development evolutionarily. As far as the surface, I think it'd be...well, matching their scales in texture. Tough, rough, and somewhat chitinous. These are large and prominent appendages, in sharp contrast to human ears which are small in relation to the head and typically flat. Au Ra horns by necessity would have to be hardened and reasonably durable, perhaps encased in a layer of hollow but tough bone or something similar.

I enjoy Guild Wars 2 quite a bit; waiting for Heart of Thorns to drop and have the tomes ready to dash all the way to 80. I appreciate that I can pick it up and drop it whenever I want, and while the PvP occasionally has its issues (Skyhammer....) I never feel like it's unfair and I always enjoy when a game has a good PvP component. I also like the Barbie Dressup progression - horizontal progression where the only thing that separates the gear is the type of stats you want on it as opposed to the number of stats and what the gear looks like. There's no real treadmill outside of putting outfits together and trying out different builds. I don't think it'll take over FFXIV as my main MMO for some time - for one, I don't roleplay on Guild Wars 2 at all and I basically have no friends on there (though that's okay because GW2 is hugely friendly to solo play) but it's a very nice option to have. Gonna get that Revenant!

It was momentary, but it was enough. With the stalemate dispersed, the tall Xaela practically tackled his way through the stumbling formation of knights, greatsword in hand. Once he'd broken through the foremost line of armoured warriors, the blued steel began to whistle in the frigid night air with its swinging. Oddly, Kasrjin did not swing his blade directly at the aevis; instead, he was swinging the blade diagonally. With his first swing, the Xaela leaned forward as the sword made a slash from near his right foot until it was level with his left shoulder. Using the momentum of the first swing, he would then twist the blade so that the next diagonal swing went upward from the left side of his waist up to his right shoulder. The force behind each whistling whirl carried into the next, and as he continued the motion, the speed of Kasrjin's sword increased in its alternating upward strikes. It was a tactic typical for fighting in narrow mountain corridors, and if his mind were not occupied with battle, he might have even found the relevance of his tactics amusing. Now faced with an intimidating whirlwind of steel, the aevis now found themselves backing away. One would attempt to beat its heavy wings to stagger him, but the Xaela's surefootedness and the heavy length of the weapon were little dissuaded. Strikes from their tails were narrowly manoeuvred around or batted away by the sword, though the sheer violence with which weapon met appendage sent near debilitating shocks through the Au Ra's arm and threatened to send the weapon, cumbersome as it was, spinning away from his hand. Even so, he continued his advance. One of the aevis impulsively made another spinning swing of its tail. An opening. Having finished one strike from left to right, Kasrjin very narrowly avoided the appendage--the hardened scales practically brushed against his nose--and, muscles burning from the sudden exertions, savagely swept the blade from right to left. The awkward angle with which the sword was swung didn't make it a clean sever, but nonetheless the momentum managed to smash through skin and scale and bit deep into the aevis' tail. The Dravanian roared, and its fellows were caught in a brief moment of rage. And that was what the knights needed. Unfazed by the dragonkiller and by the Au Ra suddenly wading into a line of aevis, the knights quickly reformed their formation and smashed into the dragons from the other side of the battlement. Now in range, the spears and swords made practised, hardened thrusts, aimed at weakened joints and gaps between adamantine. Though the soldiers held their formation, the fight quickly dissolved into a quick, frenzied brawl as they hacked down the last of the dragons. Dragon blood now splashed the azure rock and its brass housings, both of which drifted serenely in stark contrast to the bloodied skirmish that had just taken place beneath it. When the knights had jumped into the fray, Kasrjin ceased the swinging of his sword and practically leapt off of the battlement on the side, landing with a roll onto the snow below. He glanced at the dragonkiller that had provided the distraction, and though he could not see the stern woman, he nodded.

He snapped his head towards her and gave a hard stare for several seconds. Torches were just now starting to be lit around the camp, but the oppressive winter gloom hung heavy in the air like a shroud, obscuring much. The contrast, however, simply made the clarity of the Xaela's gleaming emerald eyes that much more lucid. As soon as he registered the stern woman's query passed, the hesitation vanished: Kasrjin possessed a function and an objective. Everything else would fall into place later. He glanced at the group of aevis. The knights, having been apparently roused by their superiors, formed into an organized shield wall on both sides. As the Dravanians used the close quarters to their advantage, so too did the armoured soldiers. Even so, the force with which the aevis whipped their mace-like tails was more than enough to stagger the formation as even with their fellows behind them and their feet planted in the ground, the impact threatened to split the metal bulwarks apart, and within the tight confines of the battlement, the aevis managed to easily bat away the threat of most weapons. Spears were splintered and their swords lacked the range. "Break the encirclement," Kasrjin rumbled. He withdrew the massive greatsword over his shoulder, the loose harness flipping nearly parallel with his head to allow the weapon into his hands. "Only one opening is needed." Though, the Au Ra wasn't entirely sure of how to do that. The intimidating length of blued steel in his hands would, in theory, be relatively effective compared to the swords and spears of the knights, but another problem remained. With the sheltron formation on either side of the azure rock, it would be needlessly difficult for him to wade his way through in order to enter melee range with the aevis. He glanced at the stern woman again. "I require the warriors to disperse. This is a stalemate. A momentary diversion to distract the dragons is necessary."

It depends almost entirely on the context, and how the player handles their character. "Overpowered" and "underpowered" pretty much boil down to the same thing; people often write the traits first, and the character second. Generally speaking, overpowered characters aren't annoying because of the traits themselves (though in some cases it certainly doesn't help). An overpowered character isn't necessarily annoying to a lot of people because they turn into Mega Odin and Shin-Zantetsuken things willy nilly, but because their traits are more or less written in a way that says "Please respect and admire my character for having this ability". It's essentially a plea for others to find the character interesting without actually engaging in the meaningful interactions that, well, make the character interesting. Underpowered characters are certainly capable of falling into the same trap of being, intentionally or inadvertently, written as "unique character traits" that just happens to have a character attached to it as opposed to a character that just so happens to have some unique traits. It's the difference between designing the chassis before the engine, or vice versa, the engine being the character's personality that drives things forward and the chassis being the "unique" traits or abilities that decorate it. And yes, some people consider it pretty important to have a nice looking chassis, but it's not the pretty chassis that determines whether or not you can travel in the first place. A character's weakness can be played in such a way that is identical to the overpowered character: "Please notice and worry over my character for having this weakness". Underpowered characters can be just as irritating to deal with as overpowered characters. So how do you avoid this? That can be a difficult question to answer, but the short answer is "Don't force anything." As I'm ever so fond of saying, it depends on the context. When introducing your character to other characters, some people are attracted to the pretty chassis and want to interact with that and its implications. Some people don't care about the aesthetics and only want to see how your engine drives things forward. There are some fairly safe things to use. When introducing your character, don't make overt attempts to make their traits relevant. Give it a sentence or two. Less than a paragraph. And if the traits aren't relevant, then don't crowbar them in or try to draw attention to them. Let your engine do the driving--the character--and if other characters on their own notice the pretty chassis--the unique traits--then great, you can roll with it. And don't get bent out of shape if characters don't immediately acknowledge the pretty chassis you put so much work into. Let their interest in your character and their unique traits grow naturally.

When the stern woman had left--Kasrjin, for some reason, could not recall if he had been given her identity in the first place--he was once again left alone with his thoughts, and the pattern he had carved onto the wall. The steel points of his horn ornaments were tarnished and dulled from the usage somewhat, but the stone was easy enough to scratch. Every time his eye flicked over the pattern, it shifted; the colours were extremely faint but visible. Something here within this land resonated with the Correspondence, at least on a superficial level. Yet, why did it feel so different? He did not feel the presence of the Forfeiture in the slightest. The ever-present tugging and redirection that persisted him was absent within these lands. He glanced at the bed beside him. It's not as if the hard stone floor was necessarily comfortable, but the Xaela had found to his dismay that the bed was too soft and, most disconcertingly, too short; an awkward length of his legs were left helplessly dangling over the side, and in any case, it was far more comfortable in general for him to sleep sitting as opposed to lying down, especially given his horns. At least his sword had been returned; he had kept the harness with what meagre belongings he'd had, and the blued steel of the weapon would be a comfort. Kasrjin shifted his position, leaning one arm against his knee, his gaze finally breaking away from the patterns. It was impossible to tell what cycle of the moon it was from the interior of the room, but after a full day of travel, it was more important that he rest now. He would find the information he needed, in time. -- The first thing he heard was a metallic roar. It wasn't the soft chime he was used to. It was the loud, resonant echoing of a massive bell. The earsplitting reverberation could be heard even from within the stony confines of his room. He could almost feel the scales of his horns vibrate from the force of the noise. In the first instant, he lay resting, his body unwilling to rise from its sitting position. In the next instant, the harness was on his back, its bladed occupant comfortably resting within it. The Xaela was an odd sight, especially with his weapon; he was still dressed in the ill-fitting common clothes that Edda had given him the night prior, but it didn't matter. What did matter was that the booming cacophony that could be heard within a building was certainly some kind of alarm. Kasrjin stormed out of the inn, and upon practically tackling the door open was exposed to the frigid night. The snowfall had begun piling around the fortifications of the settlement, and the shine of the moon was barely visible through a thick canopy of relentless clouds, but what first received the Au Ra's attention was not the cold, but the shouting, the screaming...and the steely growls and the thrashing of wings. An Elezen, haphazardly dressed in chainmail and still fumbling to bring his blade out of its sheath, roughly shouldered himself past him. Kasrjin stared at the retreating back of the soldier before running into a loping sprint to chase after him. The Xaela's instinct was not incorrect. Atop the lower section of the battlements, near the rotating azure rock framed in heavy brass, was a group of creatures. Their bodies were covered in soot black plates and scales, thick yet pointed like the head of a spear. The heads of the beasts bore arrays of razor sharp fangs and were framed by spiny frills; narrow, reptilian eyes flickered to and fro. The mace-like tails were whipped around viciously, beating and battering the armoured warriors who attempted to get in range with their weapons. The scaled creatures--a quick head count counted nearly eleven of the beasts--fought with a dangerous intelligence. They were encircled around the brass base of the blue rock. Spear thrust and sword swings were met with a furious slap of the creature's wings, or a furious thrash from another's tail. The soldiers were in disarray; the narrow space of the battlement made it that much harder to manoeuvre with their weapons. The shouting accompanied additional bodies rushing onto the battlement. "Surround the aevis!" "By the Fury, I think they're after the aetheryte!" "How in the hells did they even get inside!?" Every now and then, one of the creatures would pause to aggressively smash the club-like tail into the blue rock. The damage was not completely visible, but small shards of it evaporated into a fine mist before being swallowed by the winter cold. Kasrjin watched the to and fro of combat; the soldiers would attempt to create a formation, but the relatively narrow path of the battlement made options limited. As soon as one of the creatures--the aevis--spotted a cluster, it and several more of its number would leap forward and make a slash of the long talons on its wings and a snapping of fangs. Even if it did no harm, the threat was enough to force the soldiers back. The Au Ra, however, found himself beginning to run, only to stop short. These were dragons. He was considered, even erroneously, to be in association with them. What was the appropriate action in this context? Instinct demanded that he join the fray, but his mind admonished him for the thought. A hand leapt to the handle of his sword, but did not unsheath the weapon. Would he be considered a threat as well? If he were to assist the soldiers, was it not possible that he would be perceived as undermining them? Not only would that possibly be the death of him if they reacted violently, but it might also completely sever Kasrjin from any other contact. Contact that he grudgingly admitted that he needed in order to succeed in locating his objective. The loud cranking of metal could be heard from the wall above him, followed by more shouting. "Fool! You'll destroy the aetheryte if you go blasting them with a Bertha!" Kasrjin, for possibly the first time in his life, found himself faced with an uncertain dilemma. Here was a situation that he was built for. His training had him optimized for combat against men and beasts of all kinds. Though he was lacking in confidence in many things, there was one solid certainty--his ability to fight. And yet, the circumstances had managed to rob him of even that. His wrist twitched, chained by doubt. His hand flexed around the handle of the sword, stricken with the ambiguity of the circumstance. The Xaela was frozen in an odd position; he had stopped mid run and his legs were arranged in a long stride, as if time had stopped him in his tracks. What was the appropriate action?

1). I'm not very good at suspension of disbelief and am unreasonably, anally strict on plausibility. Not lore adherence, mind, but plausibility. I'm okay with you being the half-dragon primal son of Bahamut and Ascian reincarnation of Xande if you can convince me with your justification. This means that I will nitpick the hell out of inconsistencies, transitions, and vague explanations or backstories to an unbelievably petty degree, and I can't turn it off. 2). My diction, sentence structure, and general word choices are often repetitive and my vocabulary range really isn't that good, and I'm quite self conscious about this. Thesaurus.com is bookmarked on my browser. 3). I'm more comfortable with simply coming up with general ideas and outlines than I am with translating those ideas into cohesive narratives or actual posts with actual writing in it. I'm more of a scenario writer than a script writer. 4). I will never do open world walk-up RP because I believe there is absolutely no quality control, and if I were to open RP, then I can and will retcon events and people that happen in said open RP if I were to find some of those things distasteful enough to do so. 5). I'm criminally guilty of spending a lot of time editing a post after I've made it. If it's a recap log of live RP, I will spend a decent amount of time editing it. A lot of the time I don't think too much before posting in both forum and live RP, which leads to me editing both endlessly after the fact.

"So shall conviction drain with deviance." -- He stood in front of a mirror. The perfect reflection shimmered with his image. Its face frowned. So he frowned. It raised its hand. So he raised his hand. It pulled out its eye. So he pulled out his eye. This continued for some time before he realised that something about this was backwards. The reflection looked around. And so his head swivelled. The walls weren't right. The cage of moss-caked bricks sped away like vermin revealed by intrusive light. They fled from beneath his feet, from above his head, from besides his arms. The blizzard had returned with hills and drifts of snow. Endless expanses of white dunes stretched beyond perception, sinking and rising like waves in the ocean. The sound of wings beating against the air echoed from beyond the visible horizon, loud and thundering. He took a step forward, and from his print rose smoke as the soil burned and disintegrated beneath his feet. The scent of vitriol invaded his nostrils and his breath quickened as the acrid vapours rose before rapidly coagulating into a heavy miasma that obscured all around it. The cacophony of thrashing membranes grew louder. He knelt down and dug the point of the sword he held into the snow. A painless wound, gashing him from shoulder to waist, appeared as he did so. The laceration seemed to be made by a single savage claw, and as soon as it appeared, it glowed a brilliant crimson. The fog swirled around him, laughing and belching a myriad of colours. The snow began to scream a shrill cry as it melted away beneath him. His vision clouded, and blood began to pour aslant across his eyes. His lungs became leaden. A hand stumbled out to steady himself. He could see himself in the snow. His reflection was there. It fell to its side, eyes open and mouth wide with horror. So, too, did he. An idle lizard emerged from the fog and snow, squeaking curiously before eagerly leaping into the hollow socket of his absent eye. The beating wings were now deafening, drowning all other senses in their turbulance. Wind currents exploded within his skull, rattling every fiber and every bone. The snow lizard burst from within the other socket, and though he now lacked eyes, he could clearly perceive it growing in size from the length of a finger to a mountain. Its roar was terrible, alien, a thousand chords out of harmony. The wings began to burn. His hand reached for his chest. It dove deep, deep into the cavity between the ribs, and took hold of something sharp and rigid, something somber and gray, something eager and calm. The points slashed into his skin. His palms were seared with flames and rainbows, a flow of hot obsidian spewing out of the wound, and he let out a cry as he ripped it from his person. The hills of frost were now alight with flame, burning brilliantly with searing pain. The embers began to coalesce into humanoid shapes as they flickered. Legs and arms sprouted from the inferno, and conflagration began to march in perfect step. They lacked feet or apparel, and yet the steps upon the disintegrating soil now competed with hellish, guttural thundering and the whipping of wings. The whorl of fog grew, and everything it touched was swallowed by an endless void of indescribable colour. A sudden gasp. Something was missing. Something was there. It should have been present. It should not exist. The bell rang. The last chime. His eyes opened. Kasrjin's senses flooded back to him in a crazed torrent. His vision was bombarded with shapes and colours. His ears reverberated with noise. His nostrils were filled with cloying, indescribable scents battling for his mind's acknowledgement. The taste of blood fled his tongue. His hands touched a pile of rough but warm leathers. The first thing he managed to focus on was a pair of steady eyes, both blazing orange in the low light of his immediate environment, bore into him. The Khadai's own sight focused, and some measure of relief washed over him now that the experience had been finished. Sitting next to the prone Au Ra were two more Xaela, a male and a female. The male had a splash of orange face paint marking his face forehead. The female wore a necklace with a thin piece of turquoise and a sprig of mistletoe. "Your warband was heavy, Khadai. You'd best be faster." the male said. He stood up and stretched, grunting as he did so, and jabbed a thumb in another direction before striding off. Kasrjin glanced in the direction he was pointing. His brothers lay prone as well, still within the throes of the Communion. An idle arm or leg occasionally shot out, thrashing in erratic movements. At times there would be other male Xaela, their faces too marred with patches of splotchy orange paint, who would unceremoniously roll them elsewhere so as to spare others their flailing, or hold their limbs down until the movement ceased. The labourers patrolled up and down the rows in robotic strides in the same way a row of fieldhands would patrol rows of wheat for vermin. Some of the males were accompanied by female Xaela, upon which a sharp eye could detect small but clearly visible pieces of turquoise pieces. Every now and then, one of the Au Ra who lay sleeping seemed to awake with a start, and a female would be ready to greet them, only for the dreamer to fall back into their slumber. He was surrounded by walls of gray slate and featureless, steely bedrock; the occasional bit of visible stratum streaked with white and black. The rock freely intermingled with sheets of hardened ice and azure frost, though as his sensation of touch gradually returned, he noted that the cave was remarkably warm and comfortable. The ceiling of the cave was high, but no sunlight shown through. Illumination was brought forth by patterns carved into the ice that glowed a cool white light, and winter gales whistled and howled through unseen orifices. Small puffs of smoke occasionally wafted from the tiny piles of incense that burned in various corners around the ritual cavern, indicating that the Tsenkhai had prepared the location prior to beginning their interpretation. A pile of equipment and personal effects was organised near the exit of the cave. It was not merely weapons and armour, but other pieces as well; hammers, picks, mortars and grinding stones, small knives and so on. It seemed that the warband was not the only group who had been interrupted by the Communion. A pause. He knew where this was, but it was not where he was supposed to be. Kasrjin's confusion must have shown plainly on his face, for the female next to him answered his unspoken questions. "It has been two suns since your warband was found. The Tsenkhai continue to interpret the Correspondence and cannot permit entry." she explained. "This is why you had been brought here." Kasrjin nodded slowly in acknowledgement, his head still groggy from his experience. His arms struggled to support him as he sat up; he had been laying on a crude hide mat, and his joints ached. The female raised a slender arm against his shoulders to help him lean forward, fiery eyes studying him closely. Upon apparently deciding that the Khadai warrior did not require further attendance, she too stood up and strode off to watch for others who may awaken. The Xaela reached a hand towards his chest. He could still feel the presence of the...thing...he pulled out of himself. The odour of the screaming snow occasionally made itself known within his nose, though thankfully the fragrance of the incense had begun to clear the signature of acrid vapour from within his nostrils quite a bit. Numbness had spread through his limbs. Sitting up and leaning forward was a titanic effort all on its own, but even attempting to twitch his feet or raise a hand took far too much effort. It seemed that circumstances dictated that he not move for quite some time. It was only a few minutes of idle thoughts--mostly about his experience--and muffled activity before another male entered the cavern, shrouded by a heavy fur cloak. Stepping softly behind him was a female Xaela that was similarly dressed, yet while the male kept his chin tucked towards his chest so as to hide his features, a brilliant violet glance clearly peered from beneath the hood, glimmering as they spotted their target. The female tapped the male's arm; the male obligingly bent down to almost half of his own height as the female whispered something in his ear. The shrouded male nodded and left, while the female made a beeline for the immobile Khadai. She withdrew the hood to reveal the familiar scruffiness of black dreadlocks tied back in such a way that would keep most if not all hair away from her face. Her oval face, painted the colour of darkened slate, had a severe expression carved into it that did not let up as she knelt at Kasrjin's side, studying his expression with the intense gaze of one who might study a bug trapped beneath a glass. A frustrated sigh escaped tender but tightened lips, as she did not seem to find what she was looking for, yet her expression was still hesitant. "You received the Correspondence," she confirmed, more to herself than to the Khadai. Kasrjin nodded slowly. The cobwebs in his mind had cleared fully by now, and though he still lacked locomotion, he could now think with more clarity. That was what was missing from his experience. It was disturbing, but it was...lacking in coherence. Even moreso than previous iterations. And at the same time, there was an intruder, something present that should not have been. "I had only received a single character," Kasrjin rumbled, the vibration of his vocal chords feeling exceptionally foreign to him as he began to adjust back to the physicality of the material plane. A slight wince caused him to recall the gaping cavity in his chest from the experience. "None of the Tsenkhai have been able to harvest more than one character, and those singular instances are exceptionally rare." the female explained. Tsanai shed the heavy cloak onto the cavern floor and sat cross legged next to Kasrjin, wearing layered robes of leather and white fur, and brushed an idle hand through her unkempt mane. "You should not have received even that much. How long ago was your last interpretation?" Kasrjin frowned, his brow furrowed in thought. "Long enough that Kaarad-El should not possess sufficient recollection of Tsuven. Yet, only a single character? If this limitation affects only Tsenkhai, then..." his voice trailed off in uncertainty. Tsanai sighed again. Absent-mindedly, she grasped the Khadai's hand--still numb from the experience--and pressed the back of it against her forehead for several seconds before releasing it. Her smooth face, normally as expressionless as the glacier itself, had just the slightest creases of consternation on it. "I do not know if this affects others beyond Tsenkhai, but it is irrelevant either way. Three suns so far...and we have managed to collect only a handful." A pause, before she glanced at Kasrjin's emerald gaze with something of a glare. "Are you certain that Kaarad-El has no recollection of Tsuven?" "I am not," Kasrjin admitted. Another frown. "Yet, there should be nothing. Unless--" "--unless Tsuven was somehow included in your Forfeiture?" Tsanai finished the warrior's thought. She drew her knees up to her chin, brooding. "That does not make sense. Tsuven Tsenkhai was erased. Our interpretations did not lack in consistency afterwards. We were certain." She extricated her delicate hands from the heavy gloves and twined the digits together in deep thought. "Yet Kasrjin Khadai received a character of the Correspondence, despite the fact that he should no longer be able to do so." The slender female repeated the gesture of holding the back of Kasrjin's hand against her forehead, though this time she did not release it so readily. "Is it perhaps related to the cipher that was used in the first iteration?" Kasrjin asked. Tsanai--still holding on to his hand--the size of which nearly covered both of hers, such was their difference in size--shook her head, the shambles of sable black hair swaying rhythmically with the movement. "Despite the timing, we did prepare a cipher. A meaningless word that denoted equal parts respect and disdain through sound. Initial reception was...not without problems, but sufficient." She released his hand again, allowing it to fall limply to Kasrjin's side as the warrior adjusted slightly to lean forward more. The pair sat in silence for some time, both consumed by their thoughts, before Tsanai exhaled and stood up. "I am to prepare for the next iteration. Should nothing come of it, the possibility exists that Kaarad-El will remain uninhabitable for some time." Kasrjin grimaced at that. "The black ones--" "Irrelevant, for the moment. The Aljai shall adjust for appropriate distribution." She pursed her lips, and though Kasrjin noticed her trying to hide it, a flicker of worry flashed across the austere female's face. It appeared that Tsanai, too, noticed his glance, for she accelerated her exodus from the cavern. The silhouette of the shrouded male made itself known at the far end of the exit, and the two vanished into the snow. The other Xaela alongside Kasrjin twisted and turned. It was the same as the day they had buried their brothers, the day they felt the tug of the Forfeiture. Something was very wrong.

I recommend you put a highly visible signature or a watermark somewhere in a space where it can't be obviously removed while not being obtrusive, such as overlapping with the very top of the hair, on the lower edge of the image along the character's lower body or leg, or embedded in the background. Emphasis mine. I say this very frequently, but I'll reiterate: do not think of your character as a villain. Think of your character as a person, and if they grow into the villain role, then let them. Let it be organic. Your character isn't just a device. Don't be planning their thoughts, actions, or emotions based on the idea of "Well, he's a villain", not unless you're planning on using him as the big bad guy of a DND campaign whose only function is to be massacred by a party of loot-crazed adventurers. And I am not saying your character has to be a hero or morally gray or ambiguous, either. I'm saying that his reasons for acting or thinking certain ways should be justified outside of metaplanning and morality. He doesn't, say, execute POWs because "he's a villain, they do that", he does it because of the lack of personnel and the impracticality of keeping prisoners that have no value. If he's being needlessly cruel, it's not because he's "supposed to be a villain", but because as a character he loves indulging in violence as an intrinsic part of his personality in addition to an upbringing. Write for the character, not for the role. I'm a little hazy on the details. Was this Garlean patrol in the exact immediate area and stumbled on the battlefield literally minutes after his tribe had left? Wouldn't he have bled out by then if he were missing a limb? You might make half an hour tops with rudimentary first aid, but, well...still difficult. Also, if they're just a patrol, were they equipped to carry a crippled Au Ra around for...days? Maybe a week or more? That's still some solid weight of lizard-demon man they're hauling around. If you're referring to Abalathia's Spine, you're misinformed; Abalathia's Spine refers strictly to the mountain range on the continent of Aldenard, where Eorzea is. So, wrong continent. As for the geography, it's not implausible for Dotharl to be prowling around on the continent; the Xaela aren't strictly limited to the western steppes of Othard. Doma is explicitly stated to be on the eastern end of the continent, behind a mountain range if the Raen summary is to be believed. A few other Xaela tribes resides along the eastern coast of the continent or the northeastern mountains. Dotharl being Dotharl, it's reasonable for them to be more or less wandering aimlessly towards the east looking for things to fight, and thus be in the path of Garleans heading east to Doma. While I personally haven't done the magitek augmentation thing for any of my characters, it's reasonable to assume that A). The Garleans have a sufficient mastery of synthetic fabrication to create a rubber, fiber, or celluloid that could replicate at least the appearance of skin on a superficial level (otherwise how the heck do they get those top-heavy airships to fly, sheesh) and that B). synthetic skin wouldn't be modular unless the magitek arm is also capable of transforming or shedding itself in some way.

Moved to Making Connections.

"Accepted in the spirit in which it was conveyed. Be well. All shall be well." -- Screaming gales threatened to fleece the stone from the mountain, and pale knives of frost were helplessly subjected to the whims of the storm. Her heavy cloak valiantly endeavoured to resist the tempest's ardour, the thick furs of the garment rippling like water in the zephyr. A towering silhouette, enveloped by the blizzard, trudged through the thick snow ahead of her, forcing a path through the drifts. A shimmering violet glare peered from under the hood and could see naught but the form of her imposing guide. And yet, though the glacier protested with all its might, she would not be denied. She reached out a hand, guarded by leather, to grasp the shroud of the figure ahead of her. It was impossible to gauge how far they had travelled or for how long, for the meaning of time and distance had evaporated long ago to be replaced with the single-minded determination that forced her to mechanically place one foot in front of the other. Their wordless campaign came to a halt after what seemed to be an eternity when her guide stopped suddenly, nearly causing her to collide with his back. Eager to bark out a word of rebuke despite knowing that the wind would fervently kidnap her words, she peered around her companion's form and was both relieved and agitated to be greeted with the sight of familiar black granite. The snow had obscured much of the elaborate designs carved on to the surface, but it mattered not; simply seeing the texture of the structure ahead of her was enough to trigger the words and patterns that she had spent countless cycles memorizing. She stepped around her guide confidently, unfazed by the drift reaching up to her abdomen and nearly up to her chest, and placed a gloved finger on to the surface of the door. A quiet murmur escaped her lips, and a gloved finger reached out to trace elaborate yet unseen patterns on the polished surface. Suddenly, the pattern that she had duplicated lit in a blazing orange while simultaneously giving way to immense groaning, the granite wall sinking into the ground with a grinding protest. Ungracefully did she and her guide stumble into the sheltering embrace of the structure as the wall gave way, her guide following in stoic silence. With a rasping complaint similar identical to its opening, the black granite wall began to rise from the ground, shutting out the blizzard with resolute denial. An unrestrained gasp of relief escaped from her lips as she bent over with her hands on her knees to briefly catch the breath that had been whipped away from her by the winds. Such respite quickly forfeited itself to her hands impatiently beginning to undo the leather straps that held the cloak of white fur together. She pulled the hood away from her face to reveal a rounded face, splattered with elaborate face paint on smooth skin the shade of dark gray stone, accompanied by lustrous ebony scales that curved into slender horns framing her head. Glimmering violet eyes sparkled in the light with long, unkempt dreadlocks of sable black hair tied near the back of her head. Her slanted eyes seemed permanently fixed in stern disapproval, and a thin mouth was ever ready to crease itself into a frown. The hallway was illuminated in cool, lustrous light. Old but well-maintained stones of polished black granite, identical to the shifting wall that marked the entrance, constructed a wide semi-circular tunnel. An otherworldly glow, constantly shifting in hue and shade, was emitted from fanciful designs on the walls that only existed as twists and curves, generating a comfortable amount of lambency that allowed the pair's surroundings to be visible. The female Xaela swept a hand through her locks to clear them of snow before sweeping her cloak off of her. Removing the heavy cloak revealed thick yet practical robes of tanned hide and argent fur that was worn in two layers and fell loosely around the Xaela's slender form. Her guide wordlessly extended a hand to take the cloak from her as she tilted her head to the taller male, still veiled by his shroud. "Remain until the storm has passed. After, inform your brothers." the female Xaela said softly, though the confined space of the stone hall and the occasional howl of wind caused the amplified echoes to carry deep into the structure. The male merely nodded stoically as the female turned and began to venture into the hallway. The incandescent patterns seemed to grow dimmer and dimmer the further into the tunnel she went, but she had traversed this tunnel often enough that its layout and its doors had become second nature to her. The reticent tapping of her boots on the impossibly smooth floor continued in utter silence, the stone of the floor evaporating into inky blackness until eventually it found itself accompanied by similar sounds, and though she could not see them, the Xaela could sense the others also moving in the other hallways. The faint luminosity of the hallway was naught but a tiny, defiant glimmer behind her, and she had now been completely shrouded in darkness. It was now a void, with nothing but the steps of her fellow Tsenkhai left to accompany her. All she knew in this moment was to place one foot in front of the other, though at this point she could not even be sure if her feet were truly being placed in the right positions to maintain forward movement. The bell. The first chime. Her feet froze. The steps of the Tsenkhai ceased. The bell, again. The second chime. She raised her left hand. The bell, again. The third chime. A curl of the fingers. The sensation that was impossible to adjust to. The runes of impossible patterns boring themselves into her skull, invading her mind. In one second, she felt one hundred thousand years. The patterns stretched. Thoughts became words. Words became sound. Sound became colours, a show of brilliant chromatics that were impossible to describe or imagine. The colour of truthful insincerity. The colour of idiosyncrasies that did not distinguish the personality. The colour of memories that were recalled unbidden. The colour of grief that had failed to harden into regret. And then the colours sang, as they stretched inside her, without her, above her concepts of height. Inflating to the size of tolerance, amplified by the graciousness one felt when an unfamiliar host unwittingly offered exhibited a pleasant melancholy. The sounds were familiar, the notes to the melody the same as they ever were. The bell. The fourth chime. Her eyelids closed. "Paasejhc," she spoke. Her voice was soft and lilting, the voice of a blossom that spurned the bees. It was not a word. It was merely a series of sounds, a series of syllables, imagined on a whim. Pointless in its utterance, insignificant in its absent definition. Meaningless, and therefore more meaningful than anything. "Paasejhc, paasejhc," a cacophony of feminine voices echoed, a chorus of rivers that ended in futility. The bell, the fifth chime. They waited for the colours to speak, yet it only watched in sorrow. All shall be well. Arrange your own betrayal. All shall be well. Mysteries are fire, for the truth burns. All shall be well. It is so, so it is not. All shall be well. Rend yourself. One more scar among many. All shall be well. Her eyes flew open, the violet glimmer replaced by the colours. Flames at her feet, with puffs of sickeningly sweet smoke and mist. She discarded the pages and threw her books upon the pyre. The flames shrunk. She removed the fur and threw her clothing upon the pyre. The flames shrunk. She peeled her skull and threw her skin upon the pyre. The flames shrunk. All shall be well. -- The blizzard had ceased. So, too, did the Khadai. They felt the Forfeiture howling, tugging with all of its might, threatening them that their hearts may leap out of their chest. Kaizhan fell, a silent scream accompanying the thud upon the snow. Kasrjin fell, for the Forfeiture would not accept refusal. All shall be well. -- To Be Continued

For once, a reasonable question emerged from the stern woman's mouth. "They both withdrew their weapons at little more than a visual prompt. Thus they had no intention, and possibly lacked the capability, of beginning or continuing discourse that may have lead to a non-violent resolution," the Xaela said steadfastly. "Their conversation upon approaching our location made their objective clear--to obtain an item indicative of dragonkind. Therefore, it was reasonable to make the conclusion that they would not overlook my not being Dravanian in favour of completing their objective." "With these factors, I judged that the situation contained a foregone conclusion wherein they would enact violence upon my person for the purpose of obtaining the item they desired. This was incompatible with my own directive. Therefore, I engaged them in combat and removed them as a threat to myself and my companion." From the corner of his eye, Kasrjin saw Edda glance somewhat nervously at the stern woman. While giving his answer, the Au Ra had been steadily emptying the jugs of hot water into the wooden tub. By the time he had finished giving his explanation, the jugs lay empty and the tub had been filled with steaming liquid. Kasrjin rather promptly stepped into the tub, testing the water first before placing his torso within. The Xaela was far too tall for the vessel--his lengthy limbs stuck out rather awkwardly--but the tub contained enough depth for the soothing warmth of the water to cover most of his torso and lower body. He sighed his first sigh of contentment since arriving on the continent. "So you never told them that you were not dragonkin." The stern woman narrowed her eyes. "I approached with my weapon drawn. I first thought you Dravanian. And yet both of us draw breath still without bloodshed. Your conclusion could have been a mistake." Her gaze seemed to flick awkwardly about Kasrjin's form before relaxing somewhat when he sunk into the tub. "My conclusion was the most optimal solution given the circumstances and my capacity as a warrior," Kasrjin asserted. "In addition, it would have been your false assumption, not my response, that would have begun conflict as the assumptions of those two did. The lack of knowledge is dangerous. To take action based on incomplete knowledge is a much greater threat." Kasrjin said those words without the slightest hint of irony. "Part of my assumption still holds. You did kill the two men I was sent to seek out." The stern woman's retorts were coming quicker. "The fault lies with me," Edda interjected. "Had I been awake, no doubt the two could have been reasoned with." The stern woman was about to continue but then paused as Edda spoke. "But you will not be his guide throughout..." she turned to the second female, but froze upon fully acknowledging Kasrjin's response. A deep scowl emerged on her face as she glared at him as he relaxed rather nonchalantly in the bathtub. "I could say you did the same. You did not truly know their nature, you made your assumptions based on what you heard, and how they reacted. Sometimes that is all we are given, what we see, what we believe, and we have to act upon them. And sometimes, our actions turn out to be grievous mistakes." Kasrjin frowned. "Had they not approached with their weapons withdrawn and voiced their intentions to inflict harm, conflict would have been unnecessary." He spoke no more after that, adjusting himself in the tub. The Midlander crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. He said nothing as he prodded his upper incisor again with his tongue. "You may have other similar encounters here in Coerthas and Ishgard. They look upon anything that could be remotely dragonkin with a great deal of suspicion. What will you do if another draws their weapon, mistaking you for Dravanian?", asked the stern woman. Another sigh escaped from the Xaela's lips, this one bordering exasperation. "Should they instigate combat, then I will respond in the manner most efficient in regards to defending myself and those with me." Shimmering emerald eyes glanced at the stern woman almost disdainfully. "I will attempt discourse first, though I lack confidence in the ability of Westerners to comprehend proper communication." The dry remark was accompanied with a slosh as he adjusted his position in the tub again. The Midlander sucked on his teeth. "He don' sound all that convincing." The stern woman returned a hard glare. "Have you considered that your thinking and ours, could be vastly different? It is not comprehension that fails here. It is actual communication. You assumed much from what you observed. And yet you fault me for doing the same. And to you, none of your perceptions hold any error. You walk on foreign soil. To assume that things are how you perceive they should be, is erroneous." Oh, how wonderful it would be to have Tsanai at his side right now. She would at least spare him the ignominy of explaining something so terribly simple. "I am fully aware of our differences," Kasrjin responded in an acerbic tone. "I am foreign. I do not understand, and may forever lack the capacity to understand the incredible inefficiencies of your society. In the situation with the two, I made no assumptions. The actions of the two clearly indicated intent to do harm. There was no lack of information. I acted upon the presence of evidence and made a reasonable conclusion from their actions and statements alone: they would engage in battle with me. I responded." Talking so much was beginning to make him almost physically ill. This conversation was possibly the most words he'd ever spoken within a single time span, and it being about something so...banal...was not helping. "You made no attempt to allow them to stop if they just had been shown that they were mistaken! Perhaps they would have..." The stern woman stopped. Was this truly how the western continent operated? Kasrjin's thoughts were a jumbled mess, ranging from indignation to confusion to bewilderment and back again. There was a clear threat that was both visible and audible. Their actions reflected their intentions to do harm, and their intentions obviously fueled their actions. What did the westerners expect him to do? Had he not had his weapon out, and had the two not blathered instead of completing their objective, he would be dead, and he would not be holding this conversation. Even with the soothing water of the bath, the Xaela found himself with a headache. Let his task be done quickly.

The emphasis above is mine, and please don't think I'm just trying to nitpick, Nero, because in your follow-up comment on the next page, I think that you make a pretty good point. That being said, I think the bolded section is actually not true. It can work like that, but it very often does not. I am mixed-race and live in Texas, where being mixed-race is incredibly common. And yet, everywhere I look, including within my own mixed-race family, the idea of "mingling cultures" and "different races and customs" is an incredibly fraught subject. The racism of my region and, to a degree, my family works obviously and explicitly against us despite the fact that we are surrounded by and even composed of different races and customs, are constantly mingling and ever intermarrying and interbreeding, and are never and have never been in a racially or culturally homogenous environment. I'm not arguing that anyone play a racist or not (much like Sin), and I agree that the aesthetic and much of the presentation of FFXIV belies a great deal of the racial reality presented in the quest flavor text, but I wanted to offer my two gil on the wider subject from a personal (perhaps flawed and anecdotal) perspective. I actually agree with most of your premise: just because different cultures and races are within proximity with each other for an extended period of time doesn't mean that those cultures and races necessarily get along. In fact, it can potentially exacerbate the issue by encouraging ethnic or cultural categorization and divide a community into groups of "us" and "them". And the longer a community is divided in such a way, the easier it is to see such things as tradition and custom (see: Europe at any time before the 21st century). However, it's worth keeping in mind the differences when drawing the parallels. Europe and the United States have extensive histories of continued prejudice, racism, and large scale ethnic conflicts. By contrast, Eorzea has had....a relatively peaceful timeline, at least as far as ethnic or cultural conflicts go. Obviously, a fictional universe that has massive holes in its world building (thanks Square) does not exclude the idea of ethnic conflict, and the lack of evidence does not substitute actual evidence in the slightest. I fully admit this, and this is the part where my argument goes from a rebuttal into pure conjecture. If we take the past thousand years of the Eorzean timeline from 1572 to 500, the number of notable events that may have spawned racial tension can be counted on one hand. In no particular order: the destruction of Sil'dih by Ul'dah, the Autumn War between Gridania and Ala Mhigo, the invasion of Eorzea by Garlemald, Haldrath's taking of the Eye of Nidhogg, and the great migration of Hyur to Eorzea. Note that this is only including conflicts between the spoken races, and excludes dragons, beast races, and others outside of the five (now six) races. Again, I emphasize that the lack of evidence does not substitute actual evidence, but at the same time, in-game dialogue and interactions fail to reflect ethnic conflicts outside of those that are massively obvious (Eorzea vs. Garlemald, spoken vs. beast tribes, Ishgard vs. Dravanians, etc.) The differing races, cultures, and allegiances to different city states do show themselves as rivalries at times, but never at a level that remotely indicates widespread or deep-rooted hostility or resentment. And I'm not saying racism does not exist in Eorzea, but that it's not nearly as commonplace as some people make it out to be. As far as the six spoken races interacting with one another go, racism seems to be the exception, not the rule. Those exceptions are notable, but they're just that--exceptions. Again, most of this is just conjecture with little to back it. But I like to think that after having spent much of recent history cooperating, the city states and by extension the races that dwell in them can get along mostly decently.

To further clarify my point, I'm not disputing the irrationality or unaccountable nature of racism and the concept of prejudice as a whole. I think most everyone can agree that such things are inherently a byproduct of the unreasonableness that resides in every human brain. What I am saying is that if you intend to play the "racist" character trait for meaningful drama, having that racism be arbitrary or nonsensical effectively kills that drama and makes it trite and banal. Graeham's prejudice against Garleans example is a specimen of a character trait being substantial in its makeup that can lend itself to compelling conflict. Saying your character hates Lalafells because the Lalafells keep screwing them over on shop prices is barely enough to warrant a footnote in a character's trivia section. Perhaps I'm merely beating the dead horse so vigorously that I'm mistaking its necrotic twitching for signs of life, but my end point remains: it's not unreasonable in the slightest to ask for variety and accurate representation of the setting by playing as a racist or prejudiced character. But if you intend to make that racism or prejudice important in a narrative, then the trait of that racism or prejudice has to be set up in a way that is significant to not only the character, but the audience as well, and Eorzea does not have too many avenues for that besides the aforementioned ethnic conflicts. An Ala Mhigan being racist to Au Ra? A Limsa Lominsan being racist to a Dunesfolk Lalafell? A Gridanian being racist to a Seeker Miqo'te? An Ul'dahn being racist to a Hellsguard? These are things that have to be well-defined beyond Freudian excuse and lame anecdotal evidence to be taken the slightest bit seriously within the setting or at the least, within a narrative. Otherwise, the prejudice seems forcibly shoehorned and awkward and only serves to make the character as a whole less believable.

Racist characters are interesting - especially if they have a good reason to be the way that they are. A soldier who fought against the Garlean invaders and lost his comrades during the Battle of Carteanau is very likely to distrust anyone and anything related to the Garlean Empire. So when that soldier meets a Garlean who happens to be reasonable and morally pure...there's a good deal of room for interesting conflict in my opinion. But it's not just about creating conflict; it's about making conflict that is compelling and believable. The thing with racism and prejudice in Eorzea is that as far as the general population goes, creating a character who is racist for reasons that aren't superficial is rather difficult because the setting emphasizes a mingling of cultures and a certain open-mindedness that comes from being constantly exposed to different races and customs. An Ishgardian might be racist to Au Ra. A Gridanian might be racist to Keepers and Duskwight. Eorzeans in general will be heavily prejudiced against Garleans. Eorzeans might also discriminate against Ala Mhigans, particularly Gridanians and Ul'dahns. Ala Mhigans might be particularly distasteful of Ul'dah. When you get outside of the realm of ethnic and social conflicts--of which Eorzea does not have very many with the notable exceptions above--a character's reasons for being a racist very quickly boils down into an amalgam of Freudian excuses and anecdotes, which are often as easy to dismiss in RP as they are in real life. I'm not against racism and conflict in RP. I am very much against those things being arbitrary, poorly defined, or difficult to justify.

Joining K'nahli above: keep the socio-political commentary out or this thread will get nuked and nuked fast. It's worth noting that Eorzea's already experienced something like this in the form of Ala Mhigan refugees swarming to Ul'dah, and the Syndicate thus kicking most of them out into Stonesthrow or what have you. Limsans and Gridanians wouldn't have as much experience in that...well, experience, but that theme as a whole isn't foreign to Eorzea. I don't particularly agree with your assumption that a region that is historically and culturally known to be a large melting pot of various races and cultures is more inclined towards cultural conservatism. That would be like saying that a region of traditional Amish are okay with smart phones. If anything, I would argue that given the aforementioned melting pot history and most Eorzean societies involving multiple races, the attitude of maintaining rigid cultural identity and a lack of flexibility would be seen as more alien by most common Eorzeans, barring exceptions like Ishgard--which has a culturally homogeneous population in the form of the vast majority of Hyur and Elezen identifying with traditional Ishgardian values--and Gridania being rather intolerant of Duskwights and Keepers. And I'm not particularly sure what you are trying to achieve with your thread title anyway, for there are plenty of player characters that adhere to key principles of traditional conservatism quite comfortably while avoiding the racism or insistence on "keeping to one's own kind". What you're looking for is cultural conservatism, which would be....rather wildly out of place given the aforementioned melting pot history. Many characters already believe in patriotism and regionalism (joining their city-state's grand company and by extension, the Eorzean Alliance, can't be defined as anything except loyal patriotism (unless you're in the Immortal Flames where it is plausible and accepted for characters to be motivated by self-interest), separation of the classes (Ishgard and Ul'dah), the idea of natural law (pretty much any religious character would adhere at least somewhat to the idea), and respect for traditions and cultural customs. Ul'dah has its eternal class warfare and Gridania has rigid adherence to the tenets of the Elementals, and all three city states believe deeply in the identity and maintenance of their regional community. So you're either looking for the wrong thing or you can't seem to find something that's really quite common. TL;DR: Cultural conservatism in Eorzea is the exception, not the rule, unless you're from Gridania or Ishgard.

Throughout all of these ordeals--the stern woman diverting into a building with her companion, Edda harassing the red man, and the pair of them being lead into an area that would serve as their lodgings--the Xaela did nothing but follow his guide in complete silence and stare guilelessly at everyone and everything, soaking the information like a sponge. He did not intend to stare, but in his language the word "subtlety" was spelled with six different numbers and a loud scream, and when combined with a general lack of control over his facial expressions, the Au Ra's method of retaining visual data was expressed in hard, steely glares. Random passersby--and there were a few of those, even as night began to fall upon the camp--were subjected to intense gazes that seemed to question why rocks were solid and why doors swung on hinges, along with a few more practical lines of inquisition. With a particular interest, Kasrjin noted the presence of another one of those azure spires of crystal, also framed in brass and rotating gently upon an invisible axis standing at a central location. Its presence eliminated the possibility of it being merely an interesting bauble. From what information he'd received before, this was the territory of a different sovereign state that possessed an identical structure. That meant one of two things; it was either some kind of symbol, or it served a practical function that called for its presence within settlements. He made a mental note to ask as to its purpose at a later time--though he doubted that anyone would be able to elaborate on its connection with the Correspondence, at the least knowing its utility would narrow down many possibilities. Decorating the parapets were more of those odd structures of black steel with wicked spikes emerging at a point. If the Xaela had to guess, those were projectile weapons used against dragons. Kasrjin snorted to himself. The size of the devices implied penetration strength and long range, and yet if the long spike in the centre comprised of one shot, then reloading must have been terribly slow and impractical. One would have to be an exceptionally skilled shot in order for the weapon to be efficient against aerial opponents. Smaller projectiles designed to fire in volleys would work better. The goal wouldn't be to kill dragons, but to force aerial opponents to a lower flight ceiling such that more effective weaponry could be deployed against them. Kasrjin also noted the weaponry that the settlement's warriors possessed. They were modest, simple fare at times, being well-crafted spears and halberds. What was truly impressive to the Xaela was the amount of metal this land seemed to possess, judging by how many small swords were present. Swords were very versatile weapons, but extremely wasteful; spears and axes performed similar functions with less material and simpler techniques that retained effectiveness in a variety of situations. A hand unconsciously reached up to tap the handle of the blade briefly with one finger before recalling the imperative about keeping his sword sheathed. The Erdegai, and even Kasrjin himself, had protested against using so much material on a single weapon when the same amount of metal could have become a score or more spearheads, but now in this land of foreign folk and foreign foes, Kasrjin was grateful to be equipped with the adaptability of the weapon. In any case, if so many of these warriors were equipped with melee weapons, then the dragons either landed often out of necessity, or there were other foes among the dragons that were restricted to land. Either that, or they had used so much metal in crafting armor and swords that they lacked the materiel to supply ammunition. Else, it would have been far more ideal to equip them with weapons like the firelances of the black ones. The soldier in Kasrjin's head was still figuratively marching along when the Xaela came to with Edda thrusting a metal bauble towards him. “You will stay in here. There will be water for a bath and food brought up to you. If you must leave for any reason, I will be in the room next door. Do not wander alone – it would be unsafe.” With that definitive statement, the female invaded the premises of her own lodgings and shut the door with an unceremonious clunk. Thus, the Xaela was left alone in the hallway with naught but the small metal item he'd been left with. He turned to face the door to which he'd been assigned, eyeing it curiously. A receptacle in the door took an item, presumably the bauble. He spent several minutes silently struggling with how the two were supposed to fit together when, after managing to jam the trinket in the receptacle, the door swung open when Kasrjin attempted to pry the small item from the keyhole's grasp. He stared rather dumbfounded at that occurrence. That metal trinket was an extremely impractical way to open a door. By the time the tall Au Ra stepped inside, three of the settlement's inhabitants arrived upstairs. Two were hefting an impressive wooden vessel in tandem, and the third stepped two and fro from the stairs to deliver large metal jugs. This was presumably for the bath. This was, presumably, a common occurrence for the western continent. The concept wasn't foreign, but the Khadai very rarely had time or occasion to spend at the heated pools. It was one of the last things that Kasrjin had done before departing for the western continent, and it seemed like years ago since he had last enjoyed the sensation. The settlement's labourers were simply dressed. One knocked on Edda's door and paused until the door swung open and the wooden vessel was ushered in. After they had emerged, they carried a second wooden vessel into Kasrjin's lodgings. The third labourer deposited several of the sizeable metal jugs into both of the rooms. The Xaela poked one, which was warm to the touch and allegedly filled with hot water. He frowned. Kasrjin wasn't sure he trusted peoples who had such ready access to bathing. When the labourers departed, the Au Ra gingerly stepped into the room before closing the door behind him; his hesitation was not for the room itself, but rather he was still unsure of the proper social conventions. Was this to be considered a private space? He was the only one present, but it was dangerous to make assumptions. Should he ask Edda? But what if that, too, was the improper reaction? Was it possible she would take offence to the inquiry? The room was spinning by the time the myriad questions left his head. Conventions be damned. The room seemed warm enough, and even the blunt Xaela had to admit that given the matted blood that had been collected on the furs in the past few day, his garments required maintenance. He peeled off the leathers and undid the simple straps and buckles and pulled off the rough length of twin that had held his jet black hair in a ponytail. The sword was left on the cot that lay in the corner, the point against the wall but the handle within easy reach should he require it. Though the tunic was quite comfortable, having stripped down Kasrjin felt remarkably light. He flexed his arms and legs, his body clean of any scars or unusual features save for the obsidian scales that marked various parts of it, and shook the mane of hair. To be honest, he'd have much preferred cutting it short, but for reasons that escaped him Tsanai had insisted that maintaining a longer hair length served some nebulous manner of practicality despite it giving an opponent an easy handhold in a grapple, and so the Xaela had kept it. Kasrjin eyed the metal jugs that were left by the door. He would empty their contents later. Now freed of his garments, he took the time to stretch and make sure all of his muscles were in proper working order. It would be foolish to let his guard down, but that did not mean he could not relax.

He frowned and glanced at her quizzically. Though she claimed she was not a soldier, Edda nonetheless gave valuable insight, even if she did not know it. Kasrjin remained silent for a long while to gather his thoughts before speaking. "To fight is to take action with intent to kill," the Xaela rumbled, speaking slowly and deliberately. He was careful in his word choice so as to avoid ambiguity. "There is no violence without the intention of fatal harm. What purpose is there in combat that fails to slay an opponent?" Kasrjin's frown deepened, attempting to process the implications of Edda's advice. The more he thought about it, the more it confused him, and the more it confused him, the greater his need to vocalise it. "If the circumstance has deteriorated to the point of engaging in battle, then to fight and not kill is futile, for violence means all previous discourse has failed. At that point, permanent victory over your foe is the only thing that matters." His emerald eyes were shimmering, his face an unusual expression of meticulous contemplation. It was the most words he had spoken in a single timespan, and the Xaela's confidence in the language seemed unwavering in this moment in sharp contrast to the uncertain wobbles that occasional permeated his sentences. Kasrjin exhaled, staring at the snow-filled horizon. "To fight is to remove an impending threat, and to destroy its potential of becoming a threat in the future. Hesitation brings nothing but regret." He understood something slightly more. It was not his defence of himself that these westerners abhorred, but it was the result. To kill, to remove one's ability to become a threat to one's self and one's peers, was not an idea that seemed very much appreciated for reasons the Au Ra could not begin to fathom. They continued their journey in silence, and Kasrjin refused to speak. By the time an imposing length of stone walls made itself visible, the sun had completed the majority of its exodus across the sky even and only a few rebellious beams of light managed to faintly pierce through the canopy of clouds above them. Kasrjin turned his attention from the female next to him and instead studied the fortifications of the settlement. The ramparts were high, almost absurdly so, and the battlements were studded with intimidating structures armed with harpoons of black spears. Several individuals, armoured in chainmail, stood on the walls. One of them was speaking to another as the trio approached the gates, and this particular one glanced at the group before placing a hand near his mouth and shouting. "Deneith!"

The stern woman's apology went unacknowledged as Kasrjin had begun to pile Edda's belongings together. It was not out of bitterness or anger, but the pragmatic Xaela felt that acknowledging such a statement was as unnecessary as the statement itself. She had expressed apologies--the feeling of regret--presumably for making the assumption that he was Dravanian. She was the second person to do so, and given the horns and the scales, it was an easy assumption to make for one who had never seen an Au Ra. As for "answering every threat with immediate violence", what exactly did she take him for? Edda, too, had looked upon him with apprehension, even fear on their encounter. He frowned as he carefully folded a few clumps of robust cloth. There must have been a misunderstanding, or it was another social principle of the western continent that escaped him. The Xaela was a thinking man, but with the looks being given by those who had encountered him, most must think him--and to a certain extension, other Au Ra--to be some indiscriminate force of nature. The violence was inefficient and meaningless, but necessary given the circumstances. They were situations of self-defence, but then perhaps they were squeamish to such things. It seemed every other facet of this society called to mind another of Tsanai's warnings, and the more he recalled her, the greater his yearning for her guidance was. It seemed that the stern woman realised that waiting for some sentiment of acceptance from him was futile, for she turned away immediately after delivering her statement. It was the first sensible thing she had done thus far. Such were Kasrjin's thoughts. The Au Ra avoided the large bird when he could. Presumably it was similar to a horse, but even if it was, dealing with animals in the way of mounts or beasts of burden was outside of his capacity as a Khadai, and so he did what he could to instead be thorough in collecting Edda's personal effects and placing them in the camp site. His thoughts drifted idly as he then continued his task of collecting the body parts. It would have been better to send an Aljai, perhaps, but then they lacked the requisite skills to survive on their own. Yet, Kasrjin lacked the communication skills of the traders and administrators. Tsanai's justification for the Khadai was sound, but it seemed to the Xaela that he was more likely to be killed by misunderstanding than by the weather or violent foes. By the time his train of thought had come to a halt his task had been finished, and Edda, presumably finished with her discussion, approached him. “She is not entirely wrong, you know,” the female said to him. “As we approach Ishgard, it would be wise of you to keep your head down. The people of Coerthas do not take well to strangers, least of all those with horns and scales.” Edda paused momentarily before speaking again in a hush. “I know not where it is you seek to go, but Coerthas and the surrounding lands are vast. Will you go the city, Ishgard? Or does your destination lie beyond? You need not answer right now – think on it, if you must.” The Xaela stood up and crossed his arms. He was aware, at least now, of his appearance to those of Ishgard. Their conflict of swords and wings brought them to bear against dragons, and his scales and horns would certainly cause issue with those who had not yet familiarized themselves with his kind. A passive approach would be best...though if someone attacked them again, Kasrjin was not certain of the appropriate response. Clearly defending himself brought about nothing but disapproval, leading him to believe that such actions were somehow deplorable. Perhaps the self-preservation instinct was different here. As for her second query, he glanced at her and gathered his thoughts. His objective would require more information, first, to narrow down the search area. Certain items would be needed. A map, a compass, supplies...Kasrjin frowned. The concept of currency was not foreign to him, but like so many other things, dealing with such matters was meant for an Aljai. He was familiar with the idea of bartering--and its massive inefficiency as a system of resource distribution--and thus he would require suitable quantities of items to exchange. After remaining silent for several minutes, he spoke. "Ishgard. I require information, and I wish to..." Kasrjin gestured to the campsite where the corpses were hidden. "...learn to avoid such situations in the future." It was also possible that this larger settlement of Ishgard possessed those who could interpret the Correspondence, which would make it all that much more important to reach. If they were capable of deciphering the last few pieces, it could potentially narrow his search greatly. The Xaela glanced at the female curiously. "Upon arrival, you shall have fulfilled your agreement with me. In what capacity will I engage in combat on your behalf?" He had already asked again, but it was worth another try. "In what manner will you contact me should my abilities be unnecessary in the near future?" Kasrjin frowned again, upon making another realisation. "Will we be accompanied by the stern woman?"

"I am capable of answering such queries myself," Kasrjin interrupted. This female was turning out to be rather idiotic. She had asked if the Xaela had killed their two intruders, when a simple cursory--or even momentary--inspection of the scene would have confirmed it. And now she sought further reasoning from Edda, who was not present or possibly even conscious for the conflict, while simultaneously being displeased at Kasrjin's sarcastic confirmation to such a blitheringly obtuse question. He was aware of what kind of trouble a misunderstanding might bring and that Edda, having been absent, was not necessarily equipped to provide such information. A small part of him twinged with equal parts guilt and annoyance again for having stepped outside of his capacity as a warrior. Nonetheless, the intimidating Au Ra stepped slightly forward ahead of Edda such that he was standing in front of the stern female, who practically had to crane her neck to look up at him. His gaze was cold and severe. If this foolish woman wanted answers, she need only have asked the right questions in the first place instead of seeking confirmation on the obvious. Thinking about it irritated Kasrjin far more than it should have. "I am Khadai of the Xaela. I am not of Dravania. Those two," he made a sweeping gesture to the scene of gore behind them, "had intended hostile action upon us and had their weapons withdrawn. I dispatched them before they could inflict harm. Edda is present to guide me into the region known as Coerthas. In return, I am to serve as..." he paused briefly, seeking the right words. "...one who may or may not be called upon to fight for her, at her leisure." With those blunt and straightforward responses, Kasrjin stepped back behind Edda some ways, slipping the greatsword into the embrace of its harness upon his back. He had no intention of fighting, but he had no intention of remaining in the company of such a stolid woman. Before, he might have simply chalked up the more imbecilic questions as simply western culture, but the female's tone was clearly antagonistic towards both himself and to his guide, and thus he found himself expressing a desire to leave expediently. Though Edda's questions were strange in their vagueness, she was at least reasonably straightforward, and while the purpose of her questions escaped the Xaela at times, they did not feel as superfluous as the stern woman's inquiry of "Did you kill those men that you obviously killed for reasons I do not know but am making judgment on anyway". Kasrjin glanced at Edda. "You stated the remainder of our journey would require a full sun. We lose light in this and conditions may worsen," he said austerely. "I will collect the remainder of your personal belongings, Edda." He paused again. "Carefully." The phrase was added almost as an afterthought. "Finish your discussion, then we must leave." With that, the Xaela sauntered off towards the remains of the campsite to both finish masking the bodies and to perform the aforementioned task of preparing for travel. And if that stern female tried to interfere with either of them, he would kill her.

Kasrjin relaxed considerably when Edda placed herself between him and the other female. At that point, he recognised that he was not required to act in the capacity of intermediary. Given his lack of knowledge on the continent's customs, it would have likely proven disastrous were he expected to act outside of his typical martial capacity for much longer. The Xaela completely relaxed his grip on his sword, allowing it to fall slack and easily rest in one hand as the tip impacted with the ground. The two females were acquainted with one another and did not seem to possess a hostile relationship, thus fighting would be unnecessary. That was good. As they two women spoke briefly, he was careful to take note of the terms he heard. A knight was a senior warrior of sorts. Ishgard was the city before, fighting the dragon nation of Dravanian which was represented by its Horde. This new woman, given her arms and armor, was associated with Ishgard and was thus of a similar party as the two corpses behind him. She, too, seemed to harbor hostile intention towards Kasrjin's person, possibly for the same reason of being a "dragon person". The Au Ra did little to keep the confusion from his face. If he were related to dragons, why did he not possess wings? He shook his head. The new woman flicked her eyes towards him. "You killed them, did you not?" Kasrjin stared at her for several long seconds, the gears in his head almost audibly grinding by attempting to process the absurdity of the question. He looked down at the smatterings of drying blood on his clothing. He looked at the blood contrasting with the blued sheen of the weapon in his hand. He turned and glanced at the haphazard trail of body parts, as he'd been interrupted when carrying the cadavers into the campsite. He made a brief, ridiculous looking gesture of spinning around looking to see if there were any other individuals present. He looked at the stern woman again. "No," he answered flatly. The western continent had a habit of asking exceptionally silly questions, he found. The Xaela hefted his sword a bit. "They tripped and fell on my blade." His expression was deadpan. Ask a stupid question...

Hiding the bodies was a reasonable course of action. These two had arrived without supplies or proper clothing and thus must have been a part of a larger group or settlement. If these individuals had meant to engage in arbitrary violent action, then the other members of their group must be of a similar disposition. It would be wise to avoid the main roads for now as well on the off chance that additional belligerents were met in numbers greater than they could handle. Hiding the cadavers within their former campsite seemed best; it was close to the road but still relatively secluded and somewhat hidden from view. Hopefully carrion would reach the bodies quickly, or at the least the cold and the wind would disguise the decay. Kasrjin scratched his head. This felt like a familiar situation. The Xaela began laboriously carrying the bodies and their formerly attached pieces--after having searched them for anything useful--towards the former camp site when suddenly he and Edda's large bird had synchronized in that moment, for at the distressed chirping of the animal Kasrjin simultaneously craned his head towards the outcropping of rock and stared at it as well, his eyes narrowing. Both of them heard the steps interloper before they saw them. It was soft, very soft, but the telltale shlick of a weapon being retrieved from a scabbard accompanied the deliberate crunch of dirt and frost being disturbed by footsteps. Kasrjin dropped what he was carrying and his hand dashed for his sword, ready to swing, when he felt a small but firm hand attempt to grasp him. Edda had clasped a hold over his sword arm, and it was enough to make him pause. His first reaction was confusion but the next instant he understood the unspoken message, for that had been his intention anyway; now that Edda was awake and in a state to possibly negotiate with these new assailants, violence may be unnecessary. Kasrjin relaxed his grip on the hilt of the sword only somewhat, but his stance was still tense and ready to swing. Emerging from around the outcropping was a female, considerably more austere than the pair the Xaela had cut down just minutes ago. She held a sword and shield in tandem with practised ease. The armor she wore was painted a dark sable and lined with fur; its quality was apparent and well made as opposed to the suits of dingy chainmail that had practically snapped under the strain of the Au Ra's swings. Like the first two, the female held a belligerent stance but did not make the effort to strike first. Kasrjin's muscles tensed, but he curbed his instincts enough to keep the sword still. On the western continent, it seemed that many armed confrontations began with weapons but ended in ways other than a fight. "We do not seek trouble," he rumbled at the interloper, glancing out of the corner of his eye at Edda for guidance. A part of him hoped that the new stranger would not notice the trail of body parts--as he had been interrupted in relocating them--or the chilled splashes of blood behind them leading to the camp site. One could only hope.

Kasrjin gestured towards the pile of featureless gore with his sword. A mild snowfall had begun, peppering the red splotches with white. "When I awoke, I perceived the presence of two individuals approaching this location. When they saw me, they withdrew their weapons and voiced intentions of harm, along with threatening gestures with their weapons. If the conflict had begun on their terms, they would have possessed an advantage. I removed the threat pre-emptively." The Xaela admitted to himself that this was a different circumstance. With the masked Wood Wailers, they had attacked him first. These two individuals, however, had been conversing with one another and had been speaking before attacking. Was it possible that their intention was not to attack at all? Even for the western continent, that kind of social practice seemed completely implausible. He pursed his lips to recall details. "They were speaking of hunting dragons and...collecting tails. One of them pointed at my person and referred to me as part of 'dragon people'. If they did not clearly intend provocation, then their withdrawal of their arms and adoption of combat stances would have been unnecessary." He glanced at Edda's face curiously, noting her expression of severe disapproval and twinges of disgust as her eyes avoided flicking towards the carnage behind the Xaela. "I do not intend violence," Kasrjin added, somewhat as an afterthought. He was doubtful that if he had breached another social convention that this would be enough to placate his guide. "It was the most reasonable option at the time." The warrior had begun idly sloshing patterings of soft snow over the blued steel of the greatsword in an attempt to wipe the blood off as he spoke before glancing up at her again briefly. "What was the appropriate course of action in such a situation?"

Apparently, Kasrjin's haphazard response--and he was all too aware of its inadequate nature, given his poor command of the western continent's language--was enough to satisfy the criteria of the transaction, for that seemed to satiate Edda's curiosity. He watched her curiously as she pulled out a sheet of material and laid it over the bird that accompanied her before stepping forward to bring the lantern closer to him. “If you would like to put it out, you may do so,” she offered. “I am going to rest for the night. We have a full sun’s worth of travel tomorrow, so I suggest you do the same. If we make good time, we should reach Dragonhead by nightfall. You may query me as much as you like tomorrow.” With that, his guide pulled out another peculiar coloured bottle and drank its contents before settling into her personal shelter, leaving the Xaela to his thoughts. He adjusted his position against the rock and sighed again. Now that he thought of it, this was the first moment since his landing upon the western continent that he'd had a chance to meditate. A small part of him still throbbed with a vague feeling of homesickness and for Tsanai's guidance, but Kasrjin knew of the reasons why he had been selected. He'd originally objected, but once Tsanai had explained her reasoning, the Khadai warrior had agreed quite readily. So much of this land was confusing. While the road was still visible in the forest, he'd eavesdropped on travelers in order to build upon his rough foundations of the language, and while he could understand the definitions of some words, that did not necessarily mean that Kasrjin understood the meaning. It was a land of paradoxes; sometimes it was practical and efficient, other times it was circuitous and filled with needless complexities. Diversity flourished for both good and ill, and while lip service was paid often as such, rarely did the individual lend thoughts to their neighbours. The Xaela inhaled deeply, the familiar sting of the frigid air filling his nostrils before he exhaled again, his breath coming forth as a smoky puff. It did not seem that the temperature would drop much lower, meaning that the climate at this altitude was much milder than what was present around Kaarad-El. His emerald eyes, scintillating in the dark, stared at the indignant ember flickering inside the lantern. Already, he was nearing the region containing his objective. The Correspondence could be cryptic, but it was not intentionally vague so much as it was monumentally difficult to interpret the thoughts of the one who used such an esoteric medium to communicate. A conflict of sword and wings. Blood upon the slopes of snow and mountains. The sea of mist shrouds the timeless testament upon which the eternal march shall be impaled. It was needlessly vague and worded in a loquacious fashion that only an Aljai would have bothered with, but then the original ideas conveyed to the Tsenkhai were downright unintelligible; it was only through their efforts that they managed to make the interpretation comprehensible, much less as specific as it was, and even then the interpretation he'd been given numbered out to something around ninety-seven sentences which was remarkably laconic in comparison with past interpretations. Kasrjin was retrospectively grateful that they managed to pick out useful landmarks to narrow down his search, lest he be lost upon the western continent for years to fulfill his task. The Xaela adjusted his sword again to rest against him and pinched the ember of the lantern to douse it before closing his eyes. It was the first time he had rested in the presence--or near presence, at least--of company in...who knew how long. It was an odd sensation, that feeling of security that was provided by the presence of another. As he drifted off, Kasrjin only hoped that he would not awaken with a start. -- He awoke with a start. Kasrjin heard the first sound before opening his eyes; it was too artificial and deliberate to be an animal. The crunching sound of boots stamping onto snow and frozen soil, the aural gradient of dirt collapsing as one's foot made contact with the ground from heel to toe. A shot of adrenaline surged itself through his veins, his eyes widening rapidly and a hand on his sword, though he did not change his posture. A quick glance noted that the sleepy personal settlement that Edda had erected the night before had at some point collapsed, if the bundle of cloth and leather was to be believed. It was likely that she was still slumbering. The Xaela twisted his head to the side; it was still dark. If he had to guess, it was close to dawn, but there was no way of knowing for sure. There was a tingling sensation in his horns as he attempted to focus on the source of the sound. The steps were getting louder, and accompanying them were voices. "...never 'ave told 'em we's were dragon 'unters!" "We ain't been caught yet! And them knights pay a pretty penny fer our kind o' help. Let's just find one o' the little ones an' bring the tail back. The rest of the patrol will take care o' everything else." The first voice was gruff, almost guttural. The second one was of a higher pitch; not quite feminine, but a bit too lilting to be properly masculine. Kasrjin placed both hands on his sword and was now crouching behind the boulder, which was rather difficult given the Au Ra's height. It was unlikely that the pair of voices were a threat, but it was not as if he could risk alerting the pair by awakening Edda to ask for an assessment on the situation. Thus, it would be best to assume a worst case scenario and prepare for hostilities. His grip on the leather-wrapped handle of the greatsword tightened and loosened. "Bloody 'ell, I'm freezin' me jewels off. Can't we 'ave a rest?" "Fine, you big baby. The sun should come up soon anyway, so we can just hide out somewhere before returning to the main group." A pause. "There. That looks like a nice, warm area, doesn't it? An audible shudder and chattering of teeth. "Better 'an out 'ere, definitely." The boot steps were getting louder. Kasrjin's anxiety grew as he was unaware of how to respond. Should he strike first? Should he wait? Should he shout for Edda, or would that provoke an attack? Damn this uncertainty to the hells! The Xaela stood up to his full height and, in one long stride, stepped around the boulder, bringing him face to face with the two intruders. One was a man. He was wide and tall, of a height reaching Kasrjin's chin, with a ruddy complexion and suntanned skin, dressed in chainmail and casually carrying an axe of considerable size. The other...thing...was much shorter, barely reaching up to to the Xaela's shins. It had narrow, elfin features, and would barely qualify as a stepstool in most respectable circumstances. All three froze. They stared. Kasrjin wasn't sure what to say. He would have hardly been surprised if Edda later told him that he should have asked the pair as to the status of their mothers before cutting off their heads. The short man and the gruff man both bounded backwards a step, their weapons coming to hand, though they did not strike immediately. The tall man pointed a meaty finger forward. "Look! One o' 'em dragon peoples!" The Xaela eyed both of them in the same way that a coeurl might eye a pair of jackals looking to steal its kill. "That'll do," said the short man, licking his lips while spinning a pair of knives in elaborate manoeuvres. He flashed a toothy grin before pointing one of the knives at Kasrjin. "We only need one o' the smaller ones--comparatively speaking--anyway for our next moon of pay. He's got a nice tail, so this shouldn't be too ha--" The sentence was interrupted by a pained yelp. In one leaping stride, the Au Ra had bounded forward with a forceful upward swing that promptly sent the small man into a state that was not conducive to intelligible speech, that state being described by most leading experts in the respected field of dismemberment as "missing an arm". He followed up with a wide swing aimed at the gruff man, whose instincts kicked in just in time to deflect the blade with the haft of the axe. The gruff man was clearly taken aback by the savagery with which the greatsword followed his movements, and took a step back for every blow that was sloppily parried. The ring of steel echoed for a short while, though eventually naught was heard but the biting of steel deep into the neck and chest, followed by a gurgle. The short man was still yelling, a frightfully prevalent illness which, in the land of the Xaela, was often cured quite effectively with heavy metal implements forcefully placed into their chest. Thus having prescribed medication and enacted proper medical procedure to cure the short man of his incessant screaming, Kasrjin made another wide swing into the snow to attempt to whip off some of the blood before it froze on the blade. It was certainly not Kasrjin's intention to react violently, but the Xaela felt he made the appropriate judgment call; he, and by extension his companion, were threatened by a pair of armed interlopers who made gestures that implied intentions of inflicting harmful action. Therefore, following principles of self-defence, he made a pre-emptive strike in order to minimize the chances of damage befalling Edda and himself. The adrenaline began to wear away from his body as the Au Ra began to look for something to wipe his sword with. The entire encounter took roughly fifteen seconds, though it felt like five minutes. He could not help but frown at the dismembered bodies. The short man was neatly separated into several pieces that were, remarkably, larger than when they had been put together into a single being, and the tall man had a wide gash extending from the side of his neck into the chest cavity. The blood rapidly began to pool in the dirt. Even so, he could not help but feel rather pleased. Not because of the violence, no; such fighting was woefully inefficient. The Xaela was lacking in enough knowledge about customs and practices to be comfortable with any other option he might have had, especially with the gestures the pair were making towards him. But that did not mean that the brief spurt of exercise would have to go to waste, and Kasrjin felt that his muscles were rather refreshed from exerting themselves so early. Though, this theme of interlopers stumbling upon him and ending up in pieces was hopefully not a common occurrence past this point. The Xaela winced imagining Tsanai's glare of furious indignation. Maybe the snow would hide the blood?

Kasrjin pursed his lips, considering the words available at his command to describe it. Was she asking for a description of the geography? His people who lived there? Was she asking about Kaarad-El or the region that surrounded it? Oddly, the Xaela felt that it was inappropriate to ask Edda to be more specific in her questioning. Tsanai had described that sensation as "manners"--verbal courtesies wherein one's conversation partner is indirectly praised or somehow accommodated through the omission or addition of certain phrases and changes in one's tone and inflection. Edda, too, had mentioned the word "manners" as something that was necessary when adhering to the western continent's social conventions. He found the idea to be terribly impractical. Nonetheless, if he was to adjust to a degree adequate enough to carry out the interactions that would bear him the needed information, it would do to have some practise, starting with not requesting that Edda be more direct in her questioning. A roulette spun in Kasrjin's mind, and arbitrarily he decided to describe the geography of the area. "It is a...cold place. Filled with many mountains, atop a glacier." It was truly a titanic effort calling forth the words that would adequately describe it. Kasrjin found that the western continent's language had far too many variables; the possibilities with which one could say a phrase had so many permutations and alterations that could be applied that it was nearly impossible for him to consistently decide what words to use. "There is tundra, with hills and plains of snow. The sun's appearances are short." A crease of his brow. "The northwest sea is cold, with floating ice. It can be very cold." The Xaela tried to think of as many scenes as possible that he could see. "There are southern forests with tall green trees. And dry steppes." Kasrjin exhaled, his ordeal done with. The language was surely something one got used to with practice, but elaborate eloquence was not a concept very much appreciated or utilized by the Khadai, though he frowned again. According to the principles of an equal transaction, he had more questions to answer, which would surely be a challenge.