The fire crackled as a tiny hand poked the brush with a stick. The pit cast a soft glow against the figure, the Dunesfolk Koporo Aporo, as he twisted the cap off his flask and took a swig. The evening had turned the sun-baked Thanalan into a quiet, cold place; Koporo nestled into his blanket and rubbed his hands together in front of the fire, sighing. On the other side of the flame, propped up against a rock, there was the shield of the late Natalie McBeef, a gift to him, as was specified in her testament, and now, a companion piece for him this lonely night, there at Fesca's Wash.
His eyes watched the embers of the firepit for a moment, before turning to focus on the shield. He cracked a small smile, briefly, before reverting to a saddened expression. Again, he turned to the flask, downing another ounce or two and giving a knee-jerk shake of the head in response to the drink's potency. For such a little creature, Koporo fancied drinks that would knock most taller beings flat on their ass, cringing and gripping their guts as if they had just plunged a knife into their abdomen. If Koporo had tolerance for anything, it was alcohol, and he found himself trying to find progressively stronger and stronger drinks as his resistance to the previous tiers grew. He thanked the Twelve every day there were madmen out there ever willing to push the boundaries of the strength of their brew, especially considering recent events that were pushing him to his limits. A worse event, a stronger brew. It seemed to be the way of things, as of late, and Koporo was not arguing.
The wind blew, and Natalie's shield slipped ever so slightly to the side. Koporo's upward-pointed ears twitched as his eyes darted. If the shield had anything to say on the matter, it was being rather quiet about it. Then again, it was an inanimate object, was it not? Koporo sighed, placing the flask on the dirt as he lay down on his side, wrapped in his warm blanket. Finally, after minutes of silence, he spoke up:
"...It ain't fair."
He looked down at the dirt, watching as a tiny little beetle made its way past him. "It jus...It ain't fair, what's happenin'."
Koporo gave the shield a good hard look. "It's all gon' t'all Seven Hells an' back since ya went an' left, ya know?" The shield gave no response, as shields are wont to do in a conversation. Still, he continued, "Ya ever once picture in yer career th'people ya done swore t'protect would come t'hate ya'll an' everythin' ya do fer em'? All th'hurtin', all th'sneakin', all th'...Th'gods derned sacrifices ya'll make? Fer them?" Koporo turned his head and picked up his falchion from the ground behind him and began to scan around. His eyes spotted the beetle from before, and with one swift motion he stabbed the dirt in front of it. The beetle jumped back instinctively, poking the obstruction with a feeler, before marching around the large blade. "That th'Citizenry would come t'hate the Sworn?"
The glow of the fire illuminated a sad expression on the Dunesfolk. "An' that o' all people, not even Crofte would know how t'stifle it?" He turned his head back to the shield. "Don' git me wrong, I believe in 'er, an I respect 'er...But she ain't so good at th'false certainty deal. I see right through it, ya know? An' it makes me...Nervous. An' th'worst part is, I know exactly why she ain't so sure."
Koporo lay his head in his hand, giving a long sigh. "I took up th'sword an' shield what fight back 'gainst those who fight wit' their own weapons, righ?" He began to pick himself up off the dirt, finding himself increasingly uncomfortable. "But these folk...They don' fight wit knives, er swords, er spears. Thems fellars fight wit' words. Words what come out their mouths, an' words what wrote on' paper, handed out t'every bleedin' impressionable bastard in th'city. An' ya jus' can't fight words wit' swords."
"They're tearin' us down wit' their gods derned opinions. One by one. None o' us er safe. From th'Captains t'the poor fellars what jus' signed up, they're out t'ruin every single one o' us. An this stupid Editorial has th'gall t'try an play innocent an' act like they jus' wanna rid th'city o'the bad folk in our ranks, righ? What bad folk? I ain't seen no bad folk. An I reckon if'n ya'll weren't six feet under, ya'd be noddin' yer 'ead righ' now." He clenched the balled-up article from the Tonberry's Lantern in his hand and tossed it into the fire, sending a brief plume of flame up into the air. "Worm shite."
He shook his head. "Ya'd know what t'do. Idjit that ya were not bringin' me along t'save yer ass, ya'd still know what t'do fer all o' this. But ya done went off an got yerself killed, now what the hells am I s'posed t'do?" He stared at Natalie's shield, as if expecting an answer. When no words came, he shook his head again, sighing. "Look at me, talkin' t'a derned shield. This is drivin' me crazy, ain't it? Soon I'll be seein' things an' they'll 'ave t'send me back t'what's left o'Mama's Clan."
He chuckled a bit at the thought. "That'll be th'day. Momma, I love ya, but ya'll done lost it, an' ya'll never find it, again. Dammit, now I need 'nother drink..."Â
As he finished off what was left of the flask's contents, he looked at the shield one last time. Placing the flask in his pocket, he realized there was an old song playing in his head, a tune he had learned from a bard in the Forgotten Springs, and one of his first tastes of the Eorzean language. He grabbed the bag of sand affixed to his belt, and emptied its contents over the fire, making sure it was properly starved of air. Pulling the visor affixed to his turban down over his eyes, he lay down on the ground and nestled comfortably into his blanket.Â
"Dust devil swept ya away..." he whispered, as he began to nod off. "What's left o' ya is ash an' urn in this silent...Yaaawn..."
[youtube]VYffGOMCcMQ[/youtube]
"...Horizon."
His eyes watched the embers of the firepit for a moment, before turning to focus on the shield. He cracked a small smile, briefly, before reverting to a saddened expression. Again, he turned to the flask, downing another ounce or two and giving a knee-jerk shake of the head in response to the drink's potency. For such a little creature, Koporo fancied drinks that would knock most taller beings flat on their ass, cringing and gripping their guts as if they had just plunged a knife into their abdomen. If Koporo had tolerance for anything, it was alcohol, and he found himself trying to find progressively stronger and stronger drinks as his resistance to the previous tiers grew. He thanked the Twelve every day there were madmen out there ever willing to push the boundaries of the strength of their brew, especially considering recent events that were pushing him to his limits. A worse event, a stronger brew. It seemed to be the way of things, as of late, and Koporo was not arguing.
The wind blew, and Natalie's shield slipped ever so slightly to the side. Koporo's upward-pointed ears twitched as his eyes darted. If the shield had anything to say on the matter, it was being rather quiet about it. Then again, it was an inanimate object, was it not? Koporo sighed, placing the flask on the dirt as he lay down on his side, wrapped in his warm blanket. Finally, after minutes of silence, he spoke up:
"...It ain't fair."
He looked down at the dirt, watching as a tiny little beetle made its way past him. "It jus...It ain't fair, what's happenin'."
Koporo gave the shield a good hard look. "It's all gon' t'all Seven Hells an' back since ya went an' left, ya know?" The shield gave no response, as shields are wont to do in a conversation. Still, he continued, "Ya ever once picture in yer career th'people ya done swore t'protect would come t'hate ya'll an' everythin' ya do fer em'? All th'hurtin', all th'sneakin', all th'...Th'gods derned sacrifices ya'll make? Fer them?" Koporo turned his head and picked up his falchion from the ground behind him and began to scan around. His eyes spotted the beetle from before, and with one swift motion he stabbed the dirt in front of it. The beetle jumped back instinctively, poking the obstruction with a feeler, before marching around the large blade. "That th'Citizenry would come t'hate the Sworn?"
The glow of the fire illuminated a sad expression on the Dunesfolk. "An' that o' all people, not even Crofte would know how t'stifle it?" He turned his head back to the shield. "Don' git me wrong, I believe in 'er, an I respect 'er...But she ain't so good at th'false certainty deal. I see right through it, ya know? An' it makes me...Nervous. An' th'worst part is, I know exactly why she ain't so sure."
Koporo lay his head in his hand, giving a long sigh. "I took up th'sword an' shield what fight back 'gainst those who fight wit' their own weapons, righ?" He began to pick himself up off the dirt, finding himself increasingly uncomfortable. "But these folk...They don' fight wit knives, er swords, er spears. Thems fellars fight wit' words. Words what come out their mouths, an' words what wrote on' paper, handed out t'every bleedin' impressionable bastard in th'city. An' ya jus' can't fight words wit' swords."
"They're tearin' us down wit' their gods derned opinions. One by one. None o' us er safe. From th'Captains t'the poor fellars what jus' signed up, they're out t'ruin every single one o' us. An this stupid Editorial has th'gall t'try an play innocent an' act like they jus' wanna rid th'city o'the bad folk in our ranks, righ? What bad folk? I ain't seen no bad folk. An I reckon if'n ya'll weren't six feet under, ya'd be noddin' yer 'ead righ' now." He clenched the balled-up article from the Tonberry's Lantern in his hand and tossed it into the fire, sending a brief plume of flame up into the air. "Worm shite."
He shook his head. "Ya'd know what t'do. Idjit that ya were not bringin' me along t'save yer ass, ya'd still know what t'do fer all o' this. But ya done went off an got yerself killed, now what the hells am I s'posed t'do?" He stared at Natalie's shield, as if expecting an answer. When no words came, he shook his head again, sighing. "Look at me, talkin' t'a derned shield. This is drivin' me crazy, ain't it? Soon I'll be seein' things an' they'll 'ave t'send me back t'what's left o'Mama's Clan."
He chuckled a bit at the thought. "That'll be th'day. Momma, I love ya, but ya'll done lost it, an' ya'll never find it, again. Dammit, now I need 'nother drink..."Â
As he finished off what was left of the flask's contents, he looked at the shield one last time. Placing the flask in his pocket, he realized there was an old song playing in his head, a tune he had learned from a bard in the Forgotten Springs, and one of his first tastes of the Eorzean language. He grabbed the bag of sand affixed to his belt, and emptied its contents over the fire, making sure it was properly starved of air. Pulling the visor affixed to his turban down over his eyes, he lay down on the ground and nestled comfortably into his blanket.Â
"Dust devil swept ya away..." he whispered, as he began to nod off. "What's left o' ya is ash an' urn in this silent...Yaaawn..."
[youtube]VYffGOMCcMQ[/youtube]
"...Horizon."
![[Image: 4bNK0mE.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/4bNK0mE.gif)
![[Image: LSpawDK.gif]](http://i.imgur.com/LSpawDK.gif)
