Night over the Mist -Â
The waves lapped up against the shore of the Mist. Chakha sat on the beach, staring out at the ocean. In her hands, was a piece of driftwood she was in the process of carving with a knife. She reflected on her past few moons, what a strange journey it had been.Â
She looked down at a letter from her Mistress, on it was a rather flowery apology. She tilted her head as she thought of the diminative girl. They were about the same age, although their relationship had been that of a master and servant. However, she did enjoy her summers with the girl and mayhap, she was a friend… if she deserved any aside from ajaa. She placed the letter inside her well-worn poncho, something she clung too from her past days. Mayhap it would be the perfect occasion to change, while stalking the markets of Hawker’s Alley, she observed a particular set of interesting objects. Objects… she mused as she adjusted the driftwood in her hands. The round head of the figure took shape and her eyes narrowed as she concentrated on the details. The wind blew past her head, lifting her dark-blue hair up as it caressed her light skin. If she spent more time out here, she may become as tanned as ajaa.
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Behind the mansion, a loose formation of rocks could be seen. However, Chakha deftly moved about the rubble, carefully clearing away some rocks until a small opening could be seen. She was fortunate to find this small cave, located behind a large mansion of a FC known as the Fabled Few. She smiled innocently as she beheld the objects arranged neatly inside; a large damaged doll vaguely in the shape of a lalafell sat in the midst of a cacophony of weird “objectsâ€. Numerous straw dolls with parchment written in Doman (translated as ZANZAN!) decorated the walls of the small shrine, a nail hammered into the midst of each one.
On the ground, laid a mat of wool that had been badly treated, inscribed with various badly-drawn images of a lalafell in a a variety of robes, each undergoing some form of imagined torment. Better drawn reliefs are etched all over the ceiling, the paint infused with some form of aether-infused glow. There is a painting of what appears to be a oliphant trampling some sort of small person, while in another painting, a herd of antelope seem to be violently goring a similarly small figure.Â
Leafs of parchment also saturated the small cave, each with various written curses in Garlean, Hingashian, Allagan, Eorzean Common and various dialects, such as Doman. The writing appears to be a random assortment of rants and diatribes against a individual, although the chaotic writing makes it difficult to ascertain if these documents were assaulting a person or a demon-from-the-seven-hells; however a universal association among these documents is “Z Y,†as inscribed and defined in the aforementioned respective languages.Â
With a glee approaching that of a miqo'te dancer getting paid, she carefully placed the newly carved figure of a male lalafell into a slightly-glowing magitek stasis pod... filled with predatory spiders in suspended animation. A Hingashi curse, she recalled from one of her trainers. This pod now formed the centerpiece of her shrine of 'Dislike'.
She had promised ajaa that she wouldn’t try to kill the little demon, but she did say she didn’t need to ‘like’ him. This cave is a testament to her ‘dislike’ of the little demon. His deceptive tears amidst his assaults, like he was plotting something devious for every action taken. She will never underestimate anyone, not again; after that first event with the Hellfist. She cannot kill him, but she can wait… surely ajaa would tired of him in time. She giggled lightly as the night wore on.Â
The waves lapped up against the shore of the Mist. Chakha sat on the beach, staring out at the ocean. In her hands, was a piece of driftwood she was in the process of carving with a knife. She reflected on her past few moons, what a strange journey it had been.Â
She looked down at a letter from her Mistress, on it was a rather flowery apology. She tilted her head as she thought of the diminative girl. They were about the same age, although their relationship had been that of a master and servant. However, she did enjoy her summers with the girl and mayhap, she was a friend… if she deserved any aside from ajaa. She placed the letter inside her well-worn poncho, something she clung too from her past days. Mayhap it would be the perfect occasion to change, while stalking the markets of Hawker’s Alley, she observed a particular set of interesting objects. Objects… she mused as she adjusted the driftwood in her hands. The round head of the figure took shape and her eyes narrowed as she concentrated on the details. The wind blew past her head, lifting her dark-blue hair up as it caressed her light skin. If she spent more time out here, she may become as tanned as ajaa.
---------
Behind the mansion, a loose formation of rocks could be seen. However, Chakha deftly moved about the rubble, carefully clearing away some rocks until a small opening could be seen. She was fortunate to find this small cave, located behind a large mansion of a FC known as the Fabled Few. She smiled innocently as she beheld the objects arranged neatly inside; a large damaged doll vaguely in the shape of a lalafell sat in the midst of a cacophony of weird “objectsâ€. Numerous straw dolls with parchment written in Doman (translated as ZANZAN!) decorated the walls of the small shrine, a nail hammered into the midst of each one.
On the ground, laid a mat of wool that had been badly treated, inscribed with various badly-drawn images of a lalafell in a a variety of robes, each undergoing some form of imagined torment. Better drawn reliefs are etched all over the ceiling, the paint infused with some form of aether-infused glow. There is a painting of what appears to be a oliphant trampling some sort of small person, while in another painting, a herd of antelope seem to be violently goring a similarly small figure.Â
Leafs of parchment also saturated the small cave, each with various written curses in Garlean, Hingashian, Allagan, Eorzean Common and various dialects, such as Doman. The writing appears to be a random assortment of rants and diatribes against a individual, although the chaotic writing makes it difficult to ascertain if these documents were assaulting a person or a demon-from-the-seven-hells; however a universal association among these documents is “Z Y,†as inscribed and defined in the aforementioned respective languages.Â
With a glee approaching that of a miqo'te dancer getting paid, she carefully placed the newly carved figure of a male lalafell into a slightly-glowing magitek stasis pod... filled with predatory spiders in suspended animation. A Hingashi curse, she recalled from one of her trainers. This pod now formed the centerpiece of her shrine of 'Dislike'.
She had promised ajaa that she wouldn’t try to kill the little demon, but she did say she didn’t need to ‘like’ him. This cave is a testament to her ‘dislike’ of the little demon. His deceptive tears amidst his assaults, like he was plotting something devious for every action taken. She will never underestimate anyone, not again; after that first event with the Hellfist. She cannot kill him, but she can wait… surely ajaa would tired of him in time. She giggled lightly as the night wore on.Â
