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Stranger in a Strange Land

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Aya Aya Find all posts by this user Barmaid Posts:2,433 Joined:Jan 2014 Character:Aya Foxheart Linkshell:Friends of Ours Server:Balmung Reputation: 439 RE: Stranger in a Strange Land | #136 01-05-2017, 07:48 PM [Homecoming - Part Five] Just how long had it been.  A couple of years?  But, it felt like a lifetime.  So much then had been uncertain.  Not, "so much", really, but just about everything.  There was only one thing she'd known for sure in those long moments: she would either escape Ishgard, or die trying.  An escape is really what it were.  The Sealed Gates not only protected the city from infiltration, but also kept the working people of the city from fleeing the endless winter that left the stone towers encased in a permanent layer of frost.  It had been a convenient policy: power had never before been so centralized in the hands of the Clericy and their willing accomplices amidst the Houses.  The statutory trade monopolies that resulted from the limited number of passage permits allocated to merchants, only encouraged the concentration of wealth and political influence among the favored few.  While the rest, those whose blood, sweat, and toil kept the city running day-to-day, were offered the tossed down scraps of a whithering economy at the sharpened point of a lancer's spear.  Of course, there was a war on.  The only thing worse than the enemy we knew, was that we could never understand.  The Dravanians, and their Heretic Allies who's machinations and assaults could mean the end of the city itself if not for the Fury's blessing, and the ceaseless toil of her flawed Church and the soldiers they inspired. Such was the lot of Ishgard's Blessed Holy See.  One could wonder why anyone bothered asking why she'd left. Today only a gentle flurry darkened the sky.  It felt strange to regard the Gates of Judgement from this angle: outside looking in.  They were a monumental piece of stonework, nearly as intimidating as the sealed gates that had once locked her in the city.  The last time she had set foot here had been a clear night, during a new moon when the sky was darkened to a pitch black.  Crossing the bridge itself had been the most terrifying ordeal of her life: in her troubled imagination the structure spanned some ten miles or more, every foot patrolled by guardsmen angling to send her off to Witchdrop for a final test of her righteousness as an accused blasphemer.  How she had clung to shadow, and dangled amidst the superstructure that supports the span from below.  There, there was nothing solid between her and the gaping chasm that opened like an inky black maw below.  How the ferocious winter wind had howled and roared around her.  It was as if a hungry beast: ready to consume everything that came its way.  For years that chasm had been believed to be her grave: another foolish would-be fugitive who'd met her judgement.  Her friends and family had thought it her sad fate; her father blamed himself all the while, for having set his daughter upon a path of such desperation. Somehow, she now believed it would be different.  That the years, and the passing circumstances would have softened the emotional power of the lifeless stone structure.  But standing before it now, she know just how wrong she had been.  Her concerns about passing the gates had been overblown: the passport restrictions had become so loose that the mere suspicion of her being an adventurer was enough to earn hand-waved passage.  The cloak and adventurer's kit she wore draped over her head and body had likely been unnecessary, still the better to avoid scrutiny. But having passed beneath the arches she now stood paralyzed before the span.  How she struggled with that first step.  To set foot upon the bridge that had once been the threshold between life and death.  Old life and new.  She tried to remember what it was like to cross as a child, entering the city for the first time: with so much ease and hopefulness.  At last, she had dreamed, a proper home, even family of their own! Now she stood motionless, imagining the faces of Uncle and Aunt, of their children, and other relatives.  She imagined the faces of her brothers, to whom she had been so close, and to whom she now stood so near.  She imagined her mother and father: young, and then old.  She thought of her father: ailing and in bed. Wondering if he would ever see his daughter again.  "That stupid Verad..." she spoke aloud, as if she could really blame the Duskwight's invitation for forcing her return to the city.  Her return home. She leaned forward, drawing a foot along the way.  One foot followed the next.  The wind swept hard across the open span, roaring through the chasm like a hungry beast.  Every moment relived that night of terror.  Every step forward recalled the fear, the frostbite, the brutal, gnawing regret.  She girded herself as she had that lifetime ago:  This was her decision.  She'd come this far. Nothing could stop her. And so, Aya Tharintreu, returned, at last, to her Tower City home. (Screen shot by @kiskiphelone via tumblr, and used with grateful permission!) For Eorzea! - Grand Company Pin-Ups - Aya Foxheart - Tumblr!

Aya Aya Find all posts by this user Barmaid Posts:2,433 Joined:Jan 2014 Character:Aya Foxheart Linkshell:Friends of Ours Server:Balmung Reputation: 439 RE: Stranger in a Strange Land | #137 03-16-2017, 05:40 PM (This post was last modified: 03-16-2017, 06:42 PM by Aya.) [Homecoming - Part Six] The final installment of Aya’s return home. It was neither the first, nor the last.  Years ago in the depths of the Tower City: Music! Show Content SpoilerClanaad (anime not band) - Snowfield - always sounds like Ishgard to me. [youtube]o6BgI6IVnQU[/youtube] The hinges squeaked as the worn door cracked open, marking the late-night end of a guilty sojourn. Feet, bared for silence, were too quiet to announce her return.  She pressed the door gently closed—every sign pointed to the success of her deception. She turned toward the stair, but a faint flow of lantern light from the inn's main sitting room, caught her attention.  The room now served as a tavern in the long, harsh days of Ishgard's imposed isolation, and the sign of habitation gave lie to the flickers of her hope. Grimacing, the young girl momentarily halted in her tracks.  There was no easy route of escape.  Maybe the sentry had fallen asleep at watch?  She made a furtive break for the stair, mounting just a few steps before being brought to a sudden halt by the sound of a match strike. Dare not look.  Dare not look.  Dare not...  She turned her eyes hesitantly toward the faint illumination. There she saw through the stair's banister, through the open door to the sitting room, and through to a familiar figure seated in shadowy illumination. With a slow, intentional motion he brought the lit match to the pipe upon his lips.  Watching, it felt an eternity, he lit the bowl, cupping his fingers around it before the embers began to add their own amber to that of the lantern.  She was still - frozen - motionless - trapped. He shook the match out before opening his eyes, directing the full intensity of his harsh blue gaze at his teenage daughter. It was a practiced glare.  Formed over more than a half century of preparation.  No longer did these eyes demand loyalty of retainers, peasants and soldiers.  No more did they lord over battlefields, hunting grounds, and feast halls.  No longer did they dictate with the force of authority and blood.  The forceful personality behind the glare had withered but never wilted.  Ruin had befallen everything he held dear.  Only the family remained, and from them he still demanded loyalty.  That was the insistence of the hardened glare: the iron will that demanded obeisance from the only ones it still governed far from the mountains and forests of Ala Mhigo. He had said nothing, but still her body refused to move.  It was her spirit that flinched: her heart pounded in her ears—her nerves tingled with the touch of fresh panic.  No words were necessary, but he chose to employ them regardless. He slipped the pipe from his lips, his voice low and even, with the burr of his mother tongue.  "We had a visitor yesterday."  She stood, motionless, as under the effect of a terrible magic. "Do you know what he said?"  His tone was rhetorical. "He told us, again, about these so-called 'friends' of yours."  He set the pipe down, freeing her momentarily from the harsh fixation of his gaze. "You remember, I am sure, what I told you before?"  She did.  She needed no reminder. He repeated the commandments for her, his voice rising with authority.  "You will not see those hooligans.  You will not spend time with them.  They will be the ruin of you.  The ruin of us.  You know that your actions reflect upon, and effect this entire family."   He paused to tap the bowl of his pipe upon the table.  "I doubt you will deny that you were with them again tonight..."  She wanted to deny with every fiber of self-preservation, but quickly found herself shaking her head against every better judgement - such was the power of his compulsion. With this answer the man rose like a beast from his throne, his voice roared with the fire of righteous anger, "And yet you defy me!  You defy your mother!  Do you have any regard for you family?"  The question, asked with a furious snarl, permitted no answer. "My -daughter- will not behave like a common harlot.  My -daughter- will not deprave herself with obscenity!"  He emphasized the word as if it dripped with venom, while advancing upon the frozen girl with quick and powerful steps. Anger, frustration, worry and fear that had simmered for hours burst forth in a torrent as he gripped at the at the posts of the banister with barely contained rage.  His face, rugged and strong shook with the power of his will.  The sudden show of emotion snapped the spell he had held over her.  She nearly fell backward away from him, flattening momentarily against the wall of the stair as she felt the fullness of dread he instilled. "You understand, don't you?"  He asked, with a hint of pleading in his anger.   "You're the one who doesn't understand!" She shot back with a rising surge of resistance.  "You never have!"  The retort was that of every teenage girl angry at her father.  She nearly leaped down the stairs as she raced for the front door. Their shouting had woken the entire family - the rooms above stirred with commotion. Father turned, indignation burning in his eyes.  "Don't you run from me!" She tore the door open, turning back at him one more time, "Maybe I am no daughter of yours!" she shouted in pure resentment.  That was his line.  He'd used it before, and its impact was all the greater for its return.  He started for the door, but he no longer had the strength of his young self.  His late night vigil had exhausted him.  He grasped at the door frame, bracing.  Out he shouted into the street, watching the vision of his barefoot daughter retreating into the darkness. Not so long ago, Ishgard "He's been feeling stronger, but he still needs his rest."  Mother's voice could be as gentle as a spring breeze.  "He's... well, its been hard, as you know..."  Aya nodded.  She held her mother's hands.  The two of them had not always looked at things the same way: mother always seemed to take father's side.  But, they had shared so much of life together.  They had endured, they had persevered.  No one had taught Aya more, and the two women both understood what it was to be a woman in father's family.  The bad.  The good.  The hard. Aya took a deep breath.  She nodded, and whispered, "Thank you..." The hinges squeaked as the worn door cracked open, marking the welcome end of an arduous sojourn.  She stepped into the room.  It was kept warmer than the others with a well-attended coal fire that cast its illumination on the features of her father reclining in his bed. She took a step toward him, her heeled boots loud against the wooden floor of the chamber.  He turned his head toward her, eyes opening slowly to reveal the blue-eyed gaze that she had not seen for so such a very long time.  She covered the distance between with a few quick steps, kneeling at his side.  His eyes were tired, but shone with an emotion as indescribable as it was indecipherable.  She gazed back, struggling for words.  A thousand times she had rehearsed this reunion: what a waste.  To see him so tired - so defeated.  Her lips hung open, trembling for want of the will to know what to say.  Only one soft word escaped, barely voiced, "Father..."  A faint smile appeared on his lips.  An upward tug upon the corners that showed no sign of resistance.  "Shh..." he replied, while his hand grasped for hers.  Cold fingers wrapped around the tender, softness of his daughter's hand.  She gasped at the touch of his hand: those strong hands... she remembered.  She remembered so very much- tears fell from her cheeks. "I am very tired..." he said, with a weak voice before taking in a deep breath that spoke of immense relief.  She nodded and wrapped her hands around his... Osvald and Aya stepped out from the inn, walking the familiar streets and avenues of their youth, levels below the surface of Ishgard in the depths of the city's base.  "Were you able to talk to him?" He asked with the sort of gentle curiosity he was so capable. She shook her head, forcing her hands into the pockets of her coat, suddenly intimately conscious of feeling her own hands. "I... no, we didn't." Her brother let out a loud sigh of thorough disappointment.  He turned his gaze toward her as they continued to walk, "Aya... I'm so sorry... I really thought that by now..." She interrupted him with the shake of her head, "No.. no... it was good."  She didn't quite smile.  Neither did he.  Everywhere there seemed to be a little relief. (Screen shot by @kiskiphelone, and used with grateful permission!) For Eorzea! - Grand Company Pin-Ups - Aya Foxheart - Tumblr!

Aya Aya Find all posts by this user Barmaid Posts:2,433 Joined:Jan 2014 Character:Aya Foxheart Linkshell:Friends of Ours Server:Balmung Reputation: 439 RE: Stranger in a Strange Land | #138 07-30-2017, 06:52 PM [Bløød and Sand] Music - Show Content Spoiler[youtube]4s3b5OR2YhE[/youtube] What does it mean to be an Ala Mhigan? It's rarely an academic question.  Rather, it seems to cut to the bare bone in a way few others are capable. Big, dumb, trouble, vagrant, lazy. Refugee. Tough, strong, iron-willed.  Dangerous. Every Ala Mhigan to be found in free land has abandoned his homeland in one way or another.  That seems to be the rub.  The salt in the wound.  Its left a mark that doesn't want to rub off.  And every Ala Mhigan know is, whether they'll admit it or not.   Some its never seemed to bother. Minding his shop, the smithy Osvald is as happy and satisfied as he will be.  As Ishgardian as he is Ala Mhigan, he was young enough to adjust, adapt, and start over.  He found his life's calling in a trade.  He'll be happy as long as he practices.  Wherever that may be. To others it meant opportunity; a fresh start without all the strictures of established society. Raubhan, the mighty warrior become General.  Never could he have found such power and influence in the land of his birth. The red-haired Bohanon, wild and free as he roams the streets of Ul'dah ruling the city a block at a time with the gang. But for some it means a past that can never be forgotten.  One to be clung to, and whose recovery brings all other priorities into question. Kael has never forgotten the family estate.  Never relinquished the claim to that which would be his.  Entering middle-age he dreams of abandoning his young Ishgardian family to strive for glory and revenge in the homeland.  To restore honor to their name, and return to their rightful place where their ancestors fought and died. And for others?  It is a duty that demands nothing short of a zealous self-sacrifice.  No greater cause could exist than revenge for the crime inflicted upon the nation and people.  There is no chip too big for their shoulders.  No excuse for a life outside the resistance; for the direction of any effort that is not targeted against the Garlean occupiers. Eva, red-haired and fierce.  She has trained all her life for but one purpose: to return Ala Mhigo to its people.  To expel, and destroy the Garleans.  Prepared to die, there could be no more righteous cause in life. Then, there are those who wish they were like them.   Heji, is her name.  'Hellion' more commonly.  An Ala Mhigan in the classic mold:  tall, powerful, fierce as the wind that batters that highland realm.  She's known on the Sands for her strength and body--for her war cry, and ruggedness.  But there's more to her than that: honed technique, experience, and a certain grace that under girds the ferocity.     She's been a friend of mine for a long time.  We were rivals once upon a time.  When my career was ending, and hers just beginning.  We won't discuss the record.  We don't mention it any more. Vision stirring.  Everything is... I've taken a new student some while back.  And when she asked about unarmed training I knew there was no one better to engage for instruction.  That's when I introduced the Hellion to the Fox.   There was the Hellion, well over six foot of sculpted muscle.  One side of her head shaved. Covered with menacing tattoos.  And the Fox - with her manicured nails, and figure fit for sculpture.   Red. Is that blood? My blood? Its all over the sand... I won't admit to being wrong.  No, there was no better education I could have offered.  The Fox is a quick student, though I'd have never believed it when I first met her.  Neither as dainty nor as foolish as she seems. Numb... numb... bleary... But as the Hellion landed another blow I knew it had gone too far.  An instructor doesn't land a punishing blow against a helpless student.  Not with this sort of viciousness. Not long into this session she'd taken the Fox down with a quick sweep.  It wasn't exactly a fair strike, from a professional with hundreds of bouts worth of experience, against a student focused on learning.  And then she'd shifted gears, using the woman's momentary helplessness to force her into a blind submission with her fist.   ........ "Enough!"  I leapt from the stone where I'd been observing and strode out toward the pair.  "Enough!" I hollered again.  But the woman responded with yet another blow, this one directly to the face. This, you must understand, was strictly against the terms of our employment.  The Fox makes her living with her face, more than anything, and she hadn't wanted to risk her living for this.  Not yet, at least.   Sure, I threatened her about it all the time.  She didn't wear any protection.  It raised the stakes.  Kept her on her toes, as it were.  But my threats were for show.  To make her worry.  To make her work harder.  To keep her on edge.  This was altogether different.  This was punishment. "Damnit, Heji!  Enough already, you know she's the one paying you!" The woman did stop.  In a sense.  She turned her attention to me.  Rage burning in fierce eyes.  "I'd do this for free, old man.  Its what this bitch deserves!" For Twelve's sake.  There's not enough gil in Lolorito's vaults for this. "What the hells are you on about, woman!?  Get off her already!" By now Lunk had started up too.  The big guy was always a little slow to get on his feet.  I knew I might need the reinforcement. "Thinking she should just dance around the desert, looking pretty for all these gods-damned money-bags while we're fighting;  DYING! for our homeland!" The Hellion had raised her voice to a shout.  Just short of the war cry that had made her famous.   I raised my oaken stick - what sort of weapon is that against a mistress of the unarmed arts you might ask? Lets not discuss the record of our past matches, okay? - and then I slammed it into the ground as hard as I could.   That finally startled her into jumping to her feet. What was... that... sound... why can't I see? This was just fantastic, really.  Why am I always surrounded by Ala Mhigans with all the damned chips on their shoulders?  Everywhere I go it seems to be Ala Mhigans everywhere, and not a one of them seems to have any sense! "What sort of stupid shit is this?" I asked, incredulous.  "Why aren't you out at Baelsar's Wall if its so important to you?" With that she took a mighty swing my way.  I won't say that it was unexpected. Well, not entirely.  The breeze that brushed against my cheek told me everything I had to know about her earnestness. "My brother just died up there, you son of a bitch!" Well.  This didn't seem like it was going to end well.  Where the hell was Lunk any... the sound of his mailed fist smashing into the Hellion gave me some joy, I'll freely admit. I... can... For a moment she sprawled onto the ground, and the big fella recoiled at what he'd done.  It wasn't his style to gang up on someone, especially not a woman. The Hellion spit blood.  She'd have it no other way.  Rising to her feet she wiped her forearm along her lips.  "Oh so now you want to fight, huh, fuck head?  Going to defend your fairy princess, is that it?"  She snarled.  It wasn't a pleasant look, that one. "You know, there's one thing you just don't seem to understand."  I said, as calmly as I could muster.  "Oh, what's that old man?" she glared at me.  I rested on my oaken stick.  "She may look a might weak.  But she likes nothing more than being underestimated. And..." "She's a spoiled bitch..." "She doesn't give up," I finished. "... just a bitch who's forgotten where she came! And I'm going to fuckin' give her a reminder she'll never forget!"  The Hellion turned to look for the princess.  But she never quite found her.   The form of the kick was, I must say, perfect.  She'd been taking her lessons well.  The snap of her lower leg was directed precisely into tho back of the Hellion's knee.  The larger woman crumpled in a surprised instant. But its not the initial strike that is the most important.  The Hellion always stresses this.  First you disrupt balance.  You create the opening that allows you to get inside their defenses.  Once inside it was the next move that was the most important.  It must be aimed for victory, whatever the goal of the bout.  From a pin, to a deathblow.  It really didn't matter what the end result was, this was always the moment to strike for it.  The lesson always seemed to sit well with the Fox.  She'd told me once upon a time she'd lived among Wolves, and they taught her the same lesson.  I had an inkling of what she meant. As the Hellions back touched the sand her assailant had already pounced.  Her entire body was in the air.  One arm locked the other in place.  It was a fore-arm drop, aimed to the momentarily helpless woman's throat.  With her full weigh behind it, it could have been the end.  A crushed wind pipe and a painful death. The strike was pulled at the last moment.  Instead the Fox locked her arm around the woman's neck.  As the Hellion struggled against the sleep-hold a terrifying grin took hold of her curled lips. "So.. she has fight in her..." she rasped before passing out.   We walked back toward the city in some silence.  Lunk helped the Fox along, with that gentle concern of his.  The price for the day's lesson had been steep.  No poultice would handle this.  No mere cosmetic could disguise the punishment suffered by her usually smiling features.  We'd thrown her cloak over her as best we could.  Not that anyone likely would have recognized her in this state. "You're going to need a healer..." I suggested, hoping she already knew of one to visit. "I know who..." she replied.  And off we went. For some, to be Ala Mhigan is little more than an accident of fate.  To others, it is the very meaning of life itself.  But none who bear that name can fail to consider its importance.  To them.  To others.   What of the Fox?  Politics where never her game, as much a I could gather.  She cares about people.  A smile means more to her than an army.  A satisfied life: in Ishgard, in Ul'dah, in Ala Mhigo, more than any ancient banner or name.  The future more than history.   That's my take, at least.  But maybe you should just try asking her. For Eorzea! - Grand Company Pin-Ups - Aya Foxheart - Tumblr!

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