Twinflame

Leaving K'haali with a reassuring smile and a pat on the hand, K'takka retreated back to her skins like a snake backing into a den. Her pallid eyes flickered at K'tahjha, and her hands worked the bright pillow she held to her chest. She hummed sadly and said, "K'tahjha Yohko, hm? I was hoping you would look like your father. There's too much..." the old woman hesitated, and gave a wary look to the other two Elders. She finished, "Too much Haaz in you." Unspoken was that K'tahjha looked very much like the daughter of the other two Elders, K'deiki and K'jhanhi. Actually, she looked just as much like a youthful apparition of K'deiki herself. Light skin and light hair, strange green eyes.

Under her placid eyes, K'takka's small mouth twisted into a strangely sweet smile that sharpened her tattoos to razor lines. "K'haali, dear, than you for working so hard." The old woman moved forward on her thin limbs, holding the pillow in one hand as she inched forward to pry the bag open with her fingernails. She rolled out a stone, that shone in the sparse light, and exhaled, "Ah, is this gold? Treasured by Ul'dahns! Oh, K'haali tell me." Her silver eyes flashed up to the red-haired girl, and her frayed tail moved in truncated curls behind her. "Tell me that it's gold."

. [align=center][/align] [align=center]Year 1569 of the 6th Astral Era[/align] [align=center]Three years before Calamity [/align] The keep in the southern part of the Highlands of Coerthas was a decently pleasant place, this time of year, but that actually meant less about the weather and more about the lul of activity in the Crusades. Most of the knights and dragoons assigned to the keep were present, or nearby on patrols, and they had not had a skirmish of any kind in the past few days. An inquisitor had come and gone, leaving the nobility that ran the keep on high alert and the dragoons in a very serious mood, as they took these things very seriously. Just a knight herself, though a dragoon in training, and not yet grown into the nobility that would require her to pay strict attention to inquisitions, Lyrique Midichant was able to shrug off the staunch air of the crusades. She had a certain air herself, one that was evident in her straight-backed posture, her perfect grooming. The woman was all gleaming red hair and pale skin, blue eyes and red lips smiling. The armor she had to wear was an unsatisfying color, but she wore it as well as could be expected, accessorized with rings and ear-clasps. The armory was near the stories, and near the Chocobo stables, and she loitered near them since she had no duties to see to at present. Her lance hung on her back casually as she made her way down the hallway and then took a hard, sudden turn into the storeroom, where they kept the food. Supplies weren't always good this far out, but the best would be here, and since her father was in charge of the place it was only right if she took them on her whim. Wine in casks did not suit her. They came out tasting earthy and artificially thick to her, and Halone knew the tannins would be closed tight, breathless. No, she wanted corked bottles, which she knew her father kept stashed in the back. She would worry about the morality of this habbit if she had not once found a special case of wine with her name on them, along with a note from her mother praising her good sense. The other knights need not know of her extravagance, but because of her parentage, such things were her privelege. And if she did not take them, what right had she to them in the first place? Lesson learned, the habit had become ritual. Wine and cheese whenever she good, a gesture of manifest destiny over the keep and all in it. Thus it was especially offensive to her when, as she turned to walk towards the back of the room, she thought she heard... breathing? Movement? An interloper. A lesser knight or servant reaching well beyond their station or rights she was sure. Her fingers tightening on her helmet, her pretty red lips dipping into a scowl, she narrowed her green eyes and barked into the room, "Who goes there? Come out!" Shelter from the elements. That was what he had looked for. None of the knights had offered aid or succor when they saw him. Everyone here knew him as a nuisance. Half of them even mistook him as a girl. With a name like U'tania and a scrawny frame, the only thing that gave tell-tale of his boyishness were his gentials and his facial markings; the former of which no one saw and the latter of which no one understood. While it wasn't particularly cold yet, it was particularly windy and the boy known as U'tania had no where to hide from it. He was starving and covered in thick dried on blood. If Halone could only have mercy on him. All he had wanted was to fight in her name, to be a dragoon, was it so much to ask? Was a Miq'ote really so much less than an Elezen? He couldn't understand. He had never understood it. U'tania sat shivering in the back of the food cellar. He hadn't helped himself yet to any food or wine. He was too cold, too shocked to partake in it until his body forced him to. He had eaten in bits and pieces when he stowaway back to Coerthas, and had found himself in the storerooms for the last day. His small body shook somewhat violently. Although he was tall, he was thin and now even thinner than before. Perfectly white hair and pale skin stained with dirt and grim and blood. Soft cries and sobs echoed softly through the cellar, and while most knights had ignored it as the wind, Lyrique had not and called out. U'tania thought he might have recognized her voice, but they were all beginning to sound the same to him. He sat still, shivering and crying in the corner of the very back of the cellar. When she got no immediate response, Lyrique set her helmet on a nearby barrel and loosed her lance from her back. She didn't do this in a thretening or defensive way; she simply set the blunt end of it against the floor, blade over her hit, and held it while looking around and trying to decide what she was hearing. It was no knight, for sure, for none of them would ignore a call like that. One of the servants then? She took small steps towards the voice. "What? Nothing? I can hear you!" It wasn't just breathing, she decided. Was someone crying? It sounded like a girl, but there were no children in the keep. "If you come out I'll show mercy," she said, trying to make this as easy as possible. She wasn't really excited by the idea of walking right up to a strange person alone in the storeroom. Especially two days after an inquisition. Lyrique blinked, and her brow furrowed. The blade of her lance suddenly fell forward, and she growled out, "I'll show you mercy, unless you're an agent of the dragons. Then you're good as skewered!" Should he come out? That was really the question he was trying to decide. Would she show mercy if he did? Or was it just more lies to make him leave? If he had only abandoned the foolishness in the first place maybe he could have... no. That was ridiculous. He could barely fight himself, much less have fended off a Garlean partrol. Or whatever Garlean force took his family. It was lucky he wasn't there in the first place, else he would be slaughtered with the rest. But his luck didn't feel so lucky right now. Part of him almost wished he had been. U'tania grapsed at the small white stone that hung from a cord around his neck. His mother's gem. She said it was very important. And to never loose it. But even the pure white stone was stained in caked on blood. After a few moments of continued quiet crying, U'tania weakly crawled out from his small hiding place and to the edge of the light. He sat, still quietly crying. It took Lyrique several moments to determine what exactly she was seeing, and during this time her lance wavered threateningly before her. When she realized it was a person, and noticed the blood upon him, she flinched back a few steps and pointed the alnce at him once more, very near to him. That was too much blood for a simple injury. That was violence she was seeing upon him. She took a moment to consider summoning more knights. This deep in the storerooms at this time of day, who would hear her if she called? She would have to step into the hall and shout, giving the person more room, easing off on her threatening posture. Did she have some kind of training the covered this? The person was familiar. He was familiar. She knew him. But who...? Not someone who belonged here, but not threatening either. A youth. Lyrique noticed the tail and the ears, and she realized, "You... I know you. ... Ou Taene?" "U'tania..." He corrected pitifully, voice cracking high mid-word. With a loud sniffled he wiped the tears from his face with a forearm, though they were almost immediately replaced by more. Finally he lifted his face and squinted into the light at the Elezen. Prim and proper looking, just like the rest. He couldn't tell them apart with his eyes so blood-shot and puffy, so he didn't even try. He just sat there and sniffled and cried pitifully while awaiting judgement. Lowering her lance, Lyrique wore an expression of bemusement for a moment, and then she slowly muttered, "U'tani. What in the twelve hells... happened to you?" Even the blood being beside the point, she recongized his general state of distress. She couldn't tell if he looked healthy or not, because he had always been short and odd-looking to her. But she definitely recognized the boy she'd thrown stones at last time she'd seen him, and while she was internally disgusted byhis reappearance, the puzzle he presented overwhelmed it all. "U'tania." He corrected again. It had become a habit as the knights and dragoon always got his name wrong. It was habit now to simply say it again whenever it was said wrong. So pretty much everytime he was addressed by name. "They're dead." Was his second response, wiping at the tears across his face again. "I went home... and they're all dead. Mama... papa... my entire village..." Again his voice cracked and he pressed his hands to his face. "Everyone's dead." "... I don't..." she said, her lance hanging in front of her. The look one her face was indeterminant, evidencing surprise and nothing else for certain. She wasn't sure what she should feel, or what she did feel. There was no doubt the boy was telling the truth, judging from hsi tone and demeanor. The truth of his words and the depth of what he was enduring struck her in the gut and seemed to knock her back a step or two. All she'd wanted was some wine. "Stay here," she said, and turned on her heel, putting her lance on hr back as she went to the hallway. Before leaving, she called out an afterhtought, "Make yourself presentable!" Presentable? The word echoed in his head and made his head numb. How could he even do that? He was covered in thick caked on blood and dirt and general grime. It was so thick on him he could feel it over his skin, crackling when he moved. His clothing was the same. But numbly he removed his disgusting shirt and tried to wipe off some of the things covering him. Although he really only managed to move it around before pulling the even worse looking shirt back on and shivering. Lyrique was gone for a period of time that she thought was within the bounds of fashionable, but would likely seem like multiple eternities to poor U'tania. By the enternities later that Lyrique had returned, U'tania had collasped back onto the floor while he shivered. It was so cold, and with the tiny amount of body fat he had left it was hard to stay warm. A shifting in the door and the sound of footsteps growing closer made him lift his head and try to sit up, looking as Lyrique returned. When she did return, she came with two servants, one carrying a bag of first aid supplies and the other carrying a bucket of warm water and a ponge. Lyrique let them enter the storeroom first and followed after. Two knights entered behind her, swords and shields in hand. The daughter of Midichant stood with her legs shoulder-width apart, arms crossed, looking haughty over nothing. "I thought I told you to make yourself presentable. For the next ten minutes, you are in my noble court." One of the knights behind her smirked and gave his companion a sideways look. "I..." U'tania tried to argue but it died in his throat. Instead he looked at Lyrique with zero understanding of what particularly she meant by that. As she watched, the two servants propped U'tania up in a sitting position and began to cut his clothes off his body with scissors, not bothering to ask permission or if he liked the clothes or anything. Not really concerning herself with the modesty of some scrawny, non-Elezen peasant, Lyrique stared straight at the boy's face and said, "Ou'Taene, tell me what happened to your family. Everything. In return, the nobility of Midichant will provide you a meal." U'tania didn't fight back. He really didn't have the strength to. So he just let them do whatever it was they were doing and promptly corrected Lyri again as she said his name wrong for the millionth time. "I came home from Coerthas and I saw bodies everywhere. The forest was drenched in it. I found my father slain by some sort of axe, and my mother was still impaled through the chest by a lance. She was still alive. Some sort of Garlean patrol came through the area and killed them. My sister... mother said she ran away but... they sent other after her. Mother said they were calling them Ala Mihgan rebels but we never even talked to those people... They must have mistook us for someone else... but mother..." U'tania paused to wail loudly as he remembered his mother's last shuddering breaths beside him. Her haughtiness wavering into a frown, Lyrique shifted uncomfortably. The servants had began to wash the blood off of U'tania's body and tend to his wounds. He was such a skinny thing that he wasn't even good to look at. Lyrique distracted herself from the boy's wailing by thinking up a few people she'd rather see disrobed and sponge-bathed in a secluded corner of the castle. Well, fate was cruel to her and U'tania both today. Finally, when all she heard was wailing, she said, "Come on, O'taeni. Pull yourself together. That's enough. Were you followed? By Garleans maybe?" "U'tania." It came automatically and quieted down his wailking for a short time. He sniffled and wiped at his eyes, wincing as the other men cleaned and stung him with their process. "I wasn't followed. I made sure." Of this, he was confident. Mostly because he was sure he would already be dead if he had been. "Yeah, you made sure. I'm supposed to trust a Miqo's assurances." As soon as she said this, she threw her palms in the air to halt any possible reply. "That's fine. I said you'd good food, and you'll get food." She took a few steps to a nearby barrel and pulled out a raw popotoe, tossing it to U'tania, "Don't say that Ishgard turned you away when you were in need." The potatoe hit U'tania's head and rolled to the ground where he shakily picked it up and held it. One of the knights laughed. Lyrique waved her hand at the knight, "My father will be penalizing your rations tonight. Laugh more." The poor man did not laugh any more. At least the asshole servant got penalized. U'tania stuck his tongue out at the man before looking back to Lyri. "I did make sure...." he mumbled, before looking back down to the raw potato. Returning to the center of her 'court' and crossing her arms again, Lyrique looked down upon the lowly, dirty Miqo'te sideways. "Why did you come here? You know you aren't welcome here. Or did the whelts from the last time we chased you off heal too quickly to drive our point home?" "I didn't..." U'tania stammered nervously, cringing away from her like she would hit him again. "I have no where to go. Everyone I know is dead. I-i have nothing. I have no one. I didn't... I-i just came here out of instinct... I guess..." "Instincts," Lyrique said, shaking her head, lustrous red hair flickering in the light. "That's ridiculous. You ahve animal instincts. Your instincts tell you to run into caves or trees and eat bugs. That's ridiculous." "They do not!" U'tania protested, looking earnestly at Lyrique. "Why would you say that? I've never done that, nor have I ever felt I had to do that!" She waved this off as unimportant. Around this time the servants stood U'tania up and began to cut off his pants, once again, with perfectly perfunctory poise. Her green eyes continuing to stare at U'tania's, Lyrique began to pace, "What did you think was going to happen? Your sob story was finally going to thaw our frosty hearts and convince us to tolerate you?" "I thought... that my family was dead but Garleans might still be around so I needed to get far away from that place." U'tania answered lamely, shivering again without clothing in the cold. "I always came asking to be a dragoon but... what about another job? Isn't there something I could do to earn food and shelter?" "All those jobs are taken by worthwhile people," Lyrique answered, her tone unmistakable. "I doubt we even have a jobd that's lowly enough for you, and we don't need any more vermin." "Why am I so lowly? I don't understand... what did I ever do to you that you hate me so much...?" U'tania asked, ears pressed to his head. No matter how often they said it was because he was a Miq'ote, he couldn't understand. What did that have to do with anything? Why did they hate him so much? With a sigh, Lyrique muttered, "Nobody hates you, O'danieh. Lowly's just what you are, and the sooner you accept that, the sooner you can begin to leave a perfectly productive, humble life." She paused for a moment, smiling at something, and then began to pace again. "I've been granted the ability to show your mercy, but it is so rare that anyone outside of Ishgard ever warrants mercy. You do understand that, don't you?" "U'tania." His voice was small, but not angry. He was never particularly angry with the Ishguardians. He simply didn't understand them. Still, he looked to Lyrique and shook his head no. "I don't understand..." "Oh, you are absolutely pathetic." She declared, around the time the servants finished cutting his pants off to continue treating wounds on the lower half of his body. Lyrique turned and looked him over, "Pathetic indeed. Well." She turned her back on him and continued to ponder. U'tania looked to the ground. Pathetic... he was. Truely. "I know... but that's why I want to be a Dragoon! I don't want to be pathetic! I want to be strong! Like a dragoon!" He pleaded again, looking up to Lyri with his ears perking up again. "I'm not a Dragoon," she said, looking at him sideways, and this time frowning. "Do you think you're better than me? Or my equal?" With a little chitter of a laugh, she smirked, "Honestly, boy, do you think you even come close?" "I could." U'tania replied defiantly. "I could be as good as you. I just need training!" "Oh, he's so sad," Lyrique shook her head, put a hand to her face as though she couldn't bear it. She held this demeanor for a moment before crossing her hands in front of ehr and smiling at U'tania. "You may, if you wish, exist as the assistant of the most lowly laborers in our stable. That is all you may be, and it is all you will ever be. Or you can leave, but you'll have to give back the popotoe." "I'll stay. And I'll learn! You'll see! I can be just as good as any of you!" U'tania declared defiantly, brows furrowing. It was... he was sure, what his mother would have wanted. To stand against hatred and prove it wrong with doing good. "Mm," Lyrique hummed, unconvinced, but allowing him to be who he was. She turned her back on the boy, and said, "Just don't get your hopes up. And do not forget who showed you this mercy." "I won't! You'll see!" U'tania called back, a little happy in all of his misery. Lyrique waved over her shoulder and looked to the guard whose rations had been cut, saying, "Get him clothes and show him to the stables. Set him up with a pen of his own to sleep in," and touching his shoulder, she said with a pout, "And help yourself to a popotoe you poor, hungry man." Then she swept out of the storeroom with a flourish and declared, "The Lady of the court will hear no more audiences today! Good afternoon!" She would've loved to continue playing the noble lady and torturing the poor Miqo'te, but she had to be on guard duty within minutes, and she'd already abused her father's indulgences too much. [align=center][/align] .

K'takka's rickety body knotted up upon itself, disappearing into the furs near the back of the room. She held that single, colorful pilled close to her chest and propped her sharp chin upon it. Her tail, crossed over her ankles, was missing patches of fur where horribly scarred flesh could be seen. Her tattered ears hung low on either side of her head. Her gaze was focused on the entrance of the tent, through which K'yohko had left and K'haali had entered. She broke her stare, though, to look at K'luha and say with some announce, "Start at the beginning. Judge for yourself."

The absolutely absurd length of these pages has motivated me to begin placing the RP behind spoiler tags. It's all still going here, but the pages will be mercifully compressed until you open the RP, and even then, it'll just be the part of it you want to read at the time.))

The Elder's tent was opened by a thin hand, long fingernails, bones decorated with dark veins and black splotches. "We know." K'takka's silvery blue eyes shone like dew drops in the light, but her tattoos took on a much more sinister quality, looking like white cracks in her aged flesh. K'takka was not the grandmother that K'luha had been looking for, but she was Yohko's grandmother, and she gave him her graceful, dubious smile, "Thank you for helping her over, K'yohko. Now," her voice hardened, tight with age bitterness, "Both of you. Inside. Bring the others as well." She turned and vanished into the tent, leaving a breath of air that smelt of spices and herbs. Those scents were thick inside the strange brown shadows of the Elders' tent, almost overflowing with tapestries and fetishes, alchemical supplies and visible white curls of smoke from incense. As K'takka hobbled towards a pile of skins and brightly colored pillows from Ul'dah, she muttered to the other Elders, "I don't think they all came back."

((This post makes references to this thread, though it takes place immediately after K'ile abandons K'luha and K'tahjha in Thanalan in the other one.)) Thanalan was a lot closer to home than Girdania, and it felt strange to be thinking that, because he'd gotten so used to thinking that Ul'dah existed in a whole other world. But now that he'd been further, Ul'dah and Thanalan didn't feel so far away. No matter how big or small the world got, though, it was always empty. Bleak. Night here wasn't as dark as it had been in the shroud, but he supposed he'd fallen off the carriage again anyway. This time he'd done it on purpose, and he'd left K'luha and K'tahjha behind on purpose. The image of the carriage getting away from him a few nights past recalled itself to his mind, and he spat it out into the dirt. The carriage was invisible to him now, lost in the night. K'luha's shouting had almost stopped him. Almost. He hadn't wanted to leave her like that, sad and in pain, but if she had proven anything it was that he wasn't capable of giving her what she needed. Even if he had become Nunh and let her have what she thought she wanted from him, it wouldn't solve a single problem in her broken person. He didn't know what he'd expected. Problems like that, deep personal fractures, could never be repaired. Only endured. Somewhere in this desert, the infant body of K'luha's first child was buried. Nothing could change that. In Ul'dah, K'luha's other child absconded herself from the tribe. That could not be taken back, could it? Damn it all to every hell and back. K'ile stretched his arms over his head and paced in the darkness. He just needed a few hours to figure himself out, and then he would apologize to her. Luha needed someone to be mad at anyway, someone tangible, and he could at least let her be mad at him. "Can we talk about K'yohko?" What? K'ile turned to the luminescent, glowing Nunh floating behind him. "Twelve damn this shit!" The man's glowing lips smiled, "I know he's your nephew but he's-" "No. Shit. No." K'ile pointed at the Nunh and turned away, fleeing again. "No." When he stopped running, he was in Gridania, by the waterfall in the back. He'd followed a familiar scent here, muddled by pollen and damp earth. The mask man he'd found, crouching by the water, washing leaves, had been a thick collage of smells that did not make any sense. They were misshapen and impossible, as bizarre as if the man were flickering with strange colors and lights. "You've got a strange smell to you, you know that?" K'ile had said to the man, staring at the hunch of his mud-colored shoulders and leaf-orange hair. The man looked up at him. The mask moved, hands gestured, but no voice came. K'ile felt his body and throat move to reply, but didn't hear the words. They didn't matter. He'd made small-talk with the man, while he'd sorted through the scents that clung to the man. Among them was an ancient smell, one he'd followed all the way to Cartenau and back. It had been so long since he'd felt it so strongly, but even here it was only an echo, and he couldn't remember clearly enough. Was it real, or was he wrong, or was it an illusion from the odd mix of scents? It was so strange and complicated, and he hadn't smelt it in so long. He heard the mask man say, "You always talk so round about? Maybe that's why you're 'lost'." Again, K'ile felt himself moving to answer, but didn't here himself. Screw this. K'ile decided the smell might be what he thought it was, and thought was good enough for him. So what if he assumed he was right? It was the smell of blood, of family, which had once wrapped K'thalen and K'airos, K'airi and K'piru. What did it matter? The masked man hadn't done more than remind him of Thalen, and nobody knew better than K'ile how his brother had died and been burned away. What should he do about it? Kile turned away from the mask man and walked off. He threw his hands over his head and shouted "Bah!" as he went. Surprisingly he set foot in Ul'dah. The place was empty of a people, a strange and otherworldly absence. The Quicksand was full of chairs and half-eaten food, but there wasn't a single person there, not a single sound. A millions different scents mingled here, though, and he closed his eyes to sort through them. Lots of them were obviously unimportant: food and animals, potions and perfumes. There was layer upon layer of strangers who stank of dirt, sweat and rust. Beneath those, he found the scent of K'ailia, of K'luha, of K'haali. Beneath all of them, was the ancient smell of family. It was strong, and once he noticed it, it overwhelmed everything else in his mind and became unmistakable. How had he missed it before? It was so much stronger than memory, than even the strange smell of the masked man that had reminded him of this smell. So dense and vibrant was Ul'dah that he had missed it, but now he was sure, that there was someone in Ul'dah. Someone, though he could only guess who. K'aijeen. K'airi. K'piru. Someone. Alive. In Ul'dah. * * * K'ile forced himself awake, noting the brightening of the sky, the nearing of dawn. His first thought was that he needed to go to Ul'dah immediately. Nothing else mattered. Tahj would take care of K'luha, and she would get them back to the tribe just fine. Assuming K'luha didn't drop everything and go looking for him, which... He would tell the cariage driver that he had gone ahead to Drybone. K'luha wouldn't look for him immediately, and by the time she realized he'd given them the slip, they would have no leads to search for him. It might be cold, but K'luha just needed to find someone else to be mad at for a little while. K'ile didn't question for a moment that he needed to return to Ul'dah immediately. It was a foregone conclusion, just like the need to conceal it. K'luha did not understand his feelings. She didn't understand how empty the world was, even the tribe was, to him. She would just want to fill that emptiness herself, which was impossible. By the time dawn struck, K'ile was in full run, miles ahead of the carriage, and he wouldn't stop when he got to Drybone. He needed to get to Ul'dah. He might even rent a chocobo. Or steal one.

((This coincides with some of the other RP I've been posting in this thread, starting with the departure from Gridania after picking up Tahj)) Night in the Shroud was cold, and K'luha's body upon him was warm, but K'ile Tia just couldn't hold her all night. As soon as he fell asleep, he gently placed her on the bench that ran along one side of the carriage, letting his hands linger on her a moment. She exuded an air of tormented warmth, of metal heated and bent so that it was on the verge of tearing apart. K'ile's skin was warm where she had lain against him, his chest and shoulders, the feeling of her lips on his face. He watched her sleeping, thought it looked pained, and wondered what kind of person it would take for K'luha to let herself be weak. It certainly was not K'ile Tia, and though he thought he might be able to be Nunh for her, he wondered if it would help her at all. She wanted that, and he did not. Did anyone really need it? K'ile stood and looked briefly at K'tahjha, who slept on the opposite bench. The girl was the spitting image of her grandmother, K'thajon, K'piru's sister. K'tahjha was K'thalen Nunh's grandchild. His brothers blood had been deluded in her by the patronage of K'yohko Nunh, but K'ile had thought he liked the girl anyway. She was smart and witty, clever, smiled easily, loved K'luha within moments of meeting her. There wasn't very much of K'yohko in the girl, and there were so many beautiful things. If K'ile were to become Nunh, he would not have a child like that. He would not be so lucky. He would not be a good father. The Tia walked to the tail end of the carriage and sat with his feet and tail hanging off. The Chocobo that followed the carriage, Rhiki, gave him a blink and clicked its beak at him, so K'ile shared a knowing look and smirk with it. Yeah, the bird had no idea, but that was fine. He reached out and poked its beak, and the thing squawked. "Quiet, Rhiki," K'ile chided. "Everyone's asleep." * * * His dreams were getting disturbing in ways he would never admit to. Rhiki stood on the moon and let out a vengeful yell, and K'ile shouted up through the Shroud's dark boughs, "Rhiki, get down from there! Do you have any idea what Tahj will do if she catches you up there?" "Oh, let him be," the phantasm said, shining bright white in the center of the road. The specter was a man, blond-haired, with ears and tail perfectly groomed. His eyes were blue, but a softer blue than that which ran in K'ile's family, and his thin lips smiled. "He's an old Chocobo. Let him have his fun." K'ile pointed at the phantasm, "Stop following me, Fect. I've told you a hundred times: I don't want to be one of your women!" The Tia turned and began to walk down the path away from Gridania. The carriage that K'luha and K'tahjha rode on seemed to be getting further and further away from him. The glowing phantasm floated alongside him, reclined, stretching to display its perfectly muscled body. "You're such a tease, K'ile. You're just teasing me. You'll give in. A tribe with nothing but Tias and Nunh? Women are irrational. Who wants them?" The glowing man unleashed an animalistic purring sound, "The Purr tribe is your true home." K'ile was ignoring the phantasm. He was no good at lucid dreaming. Knowing that one was dreaming was supposed to put one in control of it, but K'ile's dream-self was too stupid to take control. Even when he thought of it, he didn't act on it. The luminescent, floating Nunh gave him a small smile. "When you finally give in and join my tribe, our coupling will be exquisite." "Ugh," K'ile reached up and lay a hand over his ear. Then after a moment, he cast a glare at the man, "How's a tribe without women supposed to work anyway? How do you have children?" "Oh, it's great!" The man smiled hysterically, "For Tias that are into it, I ahve a special spell where we cut of your penis and then you grow a va-" "NOPE!" K'ile broke into a run. Laughing lightly, the phantasm stopped, floating in place a moment as he called, "Run all you want! It just makes you more beautiful in the eyes of Purr'fect Nunh!" The Tia came to a stop and reached for his lance, which found his hand almost on its own. "Okay. What if I just do this?" He spun and threw the lance overhead, aim perfect, directly into the phantasm's chest. K'ile's chest burst open, tatter bits of lungs handing from hsi rib cage. he couldn't scream. He fell to his knees and listened to the gore of muscle, heart, fluid, splattering to the dark earth beneath him. He could feel air rush inside the open cavity, hot air, burning him. His eyes were alight with fire, and when he looked up, he saw the phantasm writhing on the road, the light about him turned red. The man's perfect flesh was turning black and burning. The forest around him had turned to stone, black and greay. Above him, the moon was on fire, and Rhiki had turned to bones and cinder upon it, yet he still stood and cried silently in fury. "Small." The road echoed from behind him. K'ile spun, looking, and saw the carriage that contained K'luha and K'tahjha had caught fire as well. In between them, though, was a dark specter. Something inky and bestial, translucent skin, and he could see the bones inside of its body, the pumping, brown organs. Its great claws tore at the ground, and its maw opened. It hissed at him, "How could you?" "What did you see?" K'ile heard himself say, his tone grave. The thing laughed, and then belowed, "K'ILE!" and pounced at him. * * * K'ile awakened with his face in the dirt and the unmistakable feeling of a chocobo's beak pulling on his tail. He stirred slowly, looking around, and found himself still in the shroud. In the middle of the road. His tail ached, and he realized that he was moving. K'tahjha's chocobo was dragging him down the road. "Rhiki," K'ile groaned. "Please stop." The Chocobo continued. With a sigh, K'ile lay there and watch the dirt sliding away from his face. He must've dozed off and fallen off the carriage. He wasn't sure which was more humiliating: being dragged down the path by a chocobo, or having nightmares about some supernatural, perfect Nunh that wanted to turn him into a woman. ((More posts coming))

Taking K'piru by either shoulder, K'ile knelt in front of her once more. At this point it felt like almost ritual supplicationg. Before K'luha had entered, he'd thought that, maybe, he had almost convinced K'piru that they were going to be alright. If her greatest concern were K'yohko's accusations, and those meant nothing, then K'ile would be able to hold onto her. But now the Shaman seemed disturbed by K'luha and K'ailia, their selfish panic and pain impressing themselves on the woman. "They're going to be fine," he said. "They'll pull through, just like you and I will. You can take your time, rest, don't worry. I'll be here to take care of everything."

K'ile Tia truly could not have had less concern for the suffering of K'luha and her daughter. It did not escape that this was a twisted and callous sentiment. At other times in his life, he had known great sympathy for them, and been very protective of K'luha, because he knew that the woman had already suffered a great deal of loss. But K'luha had K'yohko, and K'ailia had K'yohko, and if he wasn't taking care of them, then what was K'ile to do? He had K'piru to worry about, and nobody but him could do for her what was needed. Ignoring the woman's protests, K'ile uttered a simple, "Go back to K'yohko and the others. They will help you." And with that, he turned away from them, seeking out K'piru in the darkness. He found her retreated, recoiled, far away, and moved to approach her.

I K'luha looked any more tired than K'ile did, it was because he was wearing his exhaustion well. And that might be the case. He barely eaten or slept since Cartenau, pouring himself wholly into returning home to be with K'piru, and then into taking care of her. He needed to be stronger than she was. Strong enough to convince her that he could hold her together. K'ile did not miss K'ailia's presence either. He could see and hear her clearly enough, but even more, he could smell the burns on her body. Turning from K'luha, he moved towards where K'piru had retreated and pulled K'ailia away from her by one arm. This was not the kindest of gestures, but he didn't hurt her, either. He moved the child so she was closer to the light, more visible, and away from K'piru. "Your daughter is here, K'luha," he spoke impatiently. At any other time he might've been kinder, but he couldn't be sure that K'yohko wasn't two steps behind K'luha. Or that K'luha wouldn't tell K'yohko where he had hidden K'piru as soon as she got the chance. "She's not that hurt and she's old enough to know better than to wander around alone."

Belatedly, the Duskwight thought it would be good to disappear while the unearthed man was looking away, but by the time he had that thought, the masked man was already looking back towards him. So instead, he just smiled and nodded, "I'm easy to track down. Just walk into the Shroud and lose your way, hopelessly. That's the best way to find me."

((K'ile is more astute than people give him credit for! He commits all kinds of things to his diary he'd never admit to!))

With a dubious groan, the Duskwight muttered, "The Shroud is authoritarian. Those who do not follow its wishes, forfeit their lives. Your life is against it wishes, so tell me where there leaves you." Gridania was half-days' walk from where they had begun, and it was past noon when they were within sight of the roads that would lead to it. The Duskwight took the unearthed man to the road, but stopped there, his keen ears able to pick out the movements and voices of distant Woodwailers in the direction of the city. He said, "The people who dwell in Gridania do the bidding of the Shroud, but as long as they do not realize that the forest desires your death, they should be agreeable. Do not hint to anyone that you might be a victim of the Woodwrath. Ask for no aid that you do not need direly." Still standing off the wood, amonth the boughs, the Duskwight finished by saying, "I will not enter Gridania. I am not welcome there."

As the unearthed man finished speaking, he would find himself face-to-face with the Duskwight. The ancient body was in his path, bent low, placing those silver eyes right where they could look into the holes in the man's mask. "I just told you," the weary voice said, "Do not touch the trees!" The unearthed man's leaf was in the Duskwight's fingers, having been so smoothly and quickly ripped from that muddy hand that the motion almost had not even happened. Standing away again, the Duskwight tore the leaf to bits. He spoke with a lecturing tone, "Do not overlook that the forest is conspiring to kill you. It cannot see you as long as you wear the mask, but if you put your skin to wood and leaf, it just might feel you." He began to slip backwards through the trees, old steps plodding but smooth. "I'd rather not have to save your life again."

With one hand on her wrist still, K'ile placed his other open K'piru's shoulder, and at these two points he clutched at and very slightly shook the woman. "K'yohko is a liar!" he hissed. "He's a coward. He's wrong! He'll be sorry when his senses return. You've done nothing wrong." None of this was fair. Not the loss, and not the wounds, and not the accusations. It was... "Don't worry about him," the Tia said, his voice begging. "You still have the tribe, and you have me. You have a family still. I'll even challenge Yohko to be Nunh, if you need me to! If it... helps... if it's..." The tent was torn open, and a gust of death and grief washed in and wrapped the Tia and the shaman. There was the compartively subtle sound of shouting, and movement, the feeling of thrown sand against his skin, a flash of morning light over his shoulders to light up K'piru's thin frame for an instant. An unfamiliar body collided with his back, but he recognized her scent: one of K'yohko's women. He flinched away from her, his motion as though trying to protect K'piru from this very non-threatening entrance, and moved one hand to push her off of him. "K'luha! What!"

Releasing one of K'piru's wrists to lay his hand on her head, he said, "I know it burned here. It's not fair. We were supposed to be protecting you, but... We were just..." He shook his head and bent forward, breathed the air he shared with the woman. Looking down at her disheveled hair, watching the sweat catch the light at the base of her ears, K'ile managed to whisper. "I'm sorry. If I'd known. I would've never left. I would've never let anyone leave. I'm not... I'm back. I'm here. I'm going to be here for you. This will never happen again. You'll never lose anything again. I promise."

((Thanks a lot! ^^ ))

He approached K'piru, and set aside the items he'd brought. A canteen of warm water. Dried meats, hunted days ago. Pitiful offerings. His answer to her question would be no better, he knew. He would give her whatever she needed, but it wasn't as much as he felt she deserved. They all deserved better, but her especially. K'ile dropped to his knees in front of her, and reached out to touch her, laying a hand across her wrists, pulling them nearer to him. Trying to connect with her. "It wasn't fair," he said, and the simple, childish honesty of it was chill in the air. His tail shivered. "It wasn't anything anyone could fight. Magic. They broke the sky itself. Everything was on fire. The sky, the earth, our bodies. My eyes were on fire, and I saw vicious light breaking the ground. Everything... fell..." He stopped. The nightmare overwhlemed his words. He couldn't speak the sight of Thalen's body burning, of all the bodies burning around him. Proud voices crying out as though the screams were being squeezed from their lungs. K'ile averted his eyes from K'piru, looked at the red stones on the bracelets he wore.

He could give her anything she needed, but he couldn't give her Nunh and daughters back. It was too late for that. "I'm sorry," he said. "I already did everything I could, but, they aren't..." He couldn't finish. But he was sure that she was going to be okay, because she had survived this long, and he would take care of her. The Tia held onto the woman, and watched her shiver. He watched the pallid skin, burned and dirty, dappled with salty sweat. He watched the way her blood-shot eyes shifted on her face, her ears twitched. He watched her fingers and her shoulders, the way her tail writhed like a sick worm in the sand. * * * Hours had passed before he had carried her back to camp. K'piru still wasn't moving under her own power, but she hadn't objected when he'd sought to move her either. They couldn't hide forever from K'yohko, and the tribe was still home, was still family. K'ile had found a fallen tent and hoisted it up, secured it in place. It hung as a broad, tattered triangle of skin, small and dark. But it was shadow against the rising sun, and the walls gave privacy. It was enough. K'ile left K'piru there, and returned an hour later with scavenged water and food. As he stepped form the morning into the shadow of the tent, lit only by the pink light leaking through tattered holes in the shelter, K'ile Tia stopped and let his weakness pull at him another moment. He carried water and food, but partook of neither. He did not for a moment give thought to his injuries. None of these comforts were for himself. K'piru's scent had filled the tent in his absence. The stink of death and fire still leaked in to a significant degree, and it clung as well to the shaman he'd left in the dark. Still the fear and sadness wrapped about her. But it was K'piru, and her smell was familiar and comforting, sisterly, dear blood preserved when all else had drained away. "I have food and water, K'iru," he said, moving into the dark, towards the shaman, "Have you slept? Are you... alright?"

The Tia leaned close to K'piru, so close that he could feel her breathing. He could've smelt her misery malms away, but here, he could feel it. The emotion pulled at him, and he wished he could share it, but he could not. "You don't need to do anything," he said to the woman, "Not a thing. You can stay here as long as you want. I'm not going to leave. K'piru." He put one hand on the woman's face, "I'm here. I will do whatever I can. Anything you need, lay that on me."

"I tried to find the girl last night," the Duskwight said, looking off into the forest. "After I left you here. I thought that I had heard her calling out. But perhaps the Shroud was just trying to confuse me. Oschon did not bring me to her, so it seems the Wanderer would have me focus my attention here." He turned slowly, his old, hunched form swinging around and his feet moving a small distance forward. "With that mask, you will be welcome in Gridania. Come, it is not far. Though," he let out a chuckle, "I will take a very long time getting there. Night like this past one do leave me quite rigid in the morning." He leaned against a tree for balance as he walked, and after a moment, he added, "Oh! And do not touch the trees for now. Just in case."

Rising with K'piru in his hands, K'ile turned to look at K'yohko. His expression had lost a great deal of the fury, though it still lay in his eyes. He wasn't sure he'd done the right thing in striking K'yohko, but what else could he have done? He couldn't just let the man speak to K'piru like that. K'yoohko could make all the accusations he wanted against K'ile himself, but K'piru? No. No. That kind of cowardice bred in insects, not in men. But in of all the lies that K'yohko spoke, there were some lines of truth. Do you know that, K'yohko so-called Nunh? If only you had seen how K'thalen died, you would know just how right you could be, and how wrong. But you won't know, K'yohko. You will never know, for you have no wisdom, and your thoughts do not reach to such places. You do not understand what it is to feel, to love, to desire, to endure. You do not understand, K'yohko, because you do not truly love anyone enough. K'ile didn't say these things to K'yohko. He just watched the man bleed. And then he watched the man turn away. Squeezing K'piru tightly, he said, "Forget everything he said, K'piru. I'm going to take care of you. Just... Trust me. I'll do everything I can." he took the woman and carried her away. He might have gone back to camp, but what was there except for death and corpses, and K'yohko and his accusations? Like the tribe seemed to have done when the fire rained down, K'ile took shelter in the cliffs, only this time no fire would follow them there. He found a secluded place, and he put K'piru down, held her up, tried to get her to look at him. He said, "K'piru, do you understand yet? It's alright that you want to fall apart, because I'm here. And you can take as long as you need. I promised Thalen I'd take care of you, and I will. I promise you that, too."

K'yohko was lucky that K'ile had too much self-control. The man should have been broken by then, but K'ile was too wise to kill him, as much as he wanted to. He wasn't about to give the man the honor. "Arrogant and blind, K'yohko," K'ile said. "That's all you are. The word 'truth' has no meaning on your lips, and your mother would be ashamed. You desecrate her corpse by using it as a tool for this infantile fit." The Tia still shook, his hands in fists. The bracelets on his hands clattered rhythmically as he breathed in and out. He hissed, "I've given you more than you deserved. If you have even a modicum of respect for this tribe, for your mother, left, then you'll leave her, and I, alone." He turned his back on K'yohko, knowing full well the man would continue to speak. The Nunh was rumored to know the value of silence, but even if he had once, he had now reverted into a child. K'yohko Nunh, crying in the sand, cursing and shouting and crying. He would not be able to resist, now that K'ile had turned his back, declaring anew his accusations. K'ile ran to where he saw K'piru in the sand. K'yohko could not long steal his attention from the woman. She deserved his every breath, now. He dropped to his knees over her, and bent down, and said to her, "K'yohko is just sad. He is wrong. He's just being a child. Come with me. You don't need this." He didn't wait for her to stand. He put his arms on her to try and lift her up. She didn't need to take a single step if she didn't want to. He would carry her.