Limsa Lominsa was just too damn bright.
Rakka'li scowled at the glare from the safety of Hawker's Alley. The market stretch wasn't terribly busy this afternoon, so it was easy to linger in the shade and find reprieve from the glare of the sun on the waves and the too white stone that was everywhere. It made stepping out into the bright again all the more intolerable.
Squinting and drawing his hood up, Rakka'li stepped into the blinding bright... and nearly jumped out of his skin as a shrill wail tore through the air behind him.
It was a few moments after returning into the comfort of the shade before he could see again, and by that time a small crowd had gathered around the childish wailing.
Curious, he drew to the edge, pushing his hood back and brushing the unruly mane he'd grown from his eyes.
"...cut 'er hand right good. Lass'll need stiches 'er conjury." A Seawolf merchant finished speaking as he approached. The man straightened and looked out over the crowd, eyes meeting Rakka'li's briefly before asking, "Any of ye lot here a physicker or a conjurer?"
His first attempt to be heard was lost in the bustle and the catch of a voice not often used. He cleared his throat and tried again, "M' a conjurer," He called out firmly, lifting his stave for emphasis. The Seawolf spotted him quickly.
"Make way fer him!" The man bellowed, lifting his arms, thick with muscle and good eating to gently push a few oblivious onlookers aside. The man got hold of his shoulder and pulled him, his hood fell back as he was came into the tight circle around the source of wailing.
It was a Keeper maiden, no more than twelve years old, her hand had been sliced from index finger to wrist, deep. There was a bloody tool on the ground nearby the merchant's counter, an awl or some carpentry tool? Rakka'li was no craftsman and had no honest idea. It hardly mattered.
Besides, it was the face of the girl's mother, looking to him hopefully, that pushed any consideration of what the damn tool was straight out of his head. Dark skin and vibrant purple eyes with the same shade of blue as his own, her ears flat with apprehension.
It was like looking at his mother again, and for several quickened, tight heartbeats he thought it was his mother. But no, it wasn't her. He'd seen his mother die.
It was Akkhi Kuhn, his sister, and the shocked expression on her face let him know the recognition had been mutual.
"Rakka'sae? Gods, you're alive!?" She gaped at him.
Rakka'li drew back slightly, his first impulse was to laugh, but he fought it down. She thought he was Rakka'sae! Maybe it was the long hair? Regardless, he knelt down.
"M' Li," he corrected, taking the young girl's bloody hand firmly by the wrist. She'd quieted to subdued sniffling and regarded him with wide purple eyes. Her little face certainly had the look of his kin to it, though her skin and hair was a shade greyer and a touch bluer respectively. She had that awkward gangly build that girls stuck between childhood and womanhood had, all limbs and no shape, but she would be pretty some day.
The cut was deep enough to birth little rivers of crimson that pooled where Rakka'li's fingers wrapped round her wrist tight. He was careful to hold it over the stones so the dripping didn't touch any clothing. Had the tool been left out carelessly for her hand to come down on it hard enough to do this? Or perhaps she'd been playing with something she shouldn't have?
"S' not so bad," he lied gently. Truth is it was bad, she must have come down on it hard, but his conjury would set it right. It was what he did after all.
He left his stave leaning against the counter and went for the greenwood branch at his belt. The aether here didn't feel the same as the Wood, and he always felt as if it were easier to draw through it when he was away. The girl regarded it curiously, though she still sniffled when he turned her hand and held the focus over the wound.
"What's yer name?" He asked, eyes on the wound as he began channelling. The conjury glow lit both their faces, it was the only sort of brightness that didn't cause him to squint.
"Rhun," she murmured, eyes on the wound, awed. It occurred to Rakka'li that she had perhaps never seen conjury in action before. It wasn't a rare power, but it also wasn't as if the world were swarming with Conjurer's.
"Rhun?" He smiled, eyes meeting hers briefly before returning to his work. The two of them were silent a moment as they watched the blood well up from the wound before it closed entirely. He set the greenwood branch at his side. "S' a good name."
Akkhi took her daughter's hand as soon as Rakka'li released it. She wiped the blood away to reveal the smooth, unmarred flesh beneath. Already the crowd was moving on, Limsa Lominsa was no stranger to such powers, and with the danger passed Hawker's alley was back on its way to normal.
Rhun was staring at him with undisguised admiration, her mother's scolding ignored until Akkhi tugged on one of her ears. Rakka'li rose and turned, busying himself with fishing about his person for his handkerchief to clean his bloodied hand. A gentle touch on his shoulder pulled his attention back when he was done.
"Rakka'li? It really is you," Akkhi said the words in a way that was almost like trying to convince herself.
His eyes found Rhun behind her. She stood looking at her healed hand, turning it this way and that before looking up to him and flushing brightly. Rakka'li fixed his gaze back on his sister. Her hair was long and well kept in a style that only city-folk tended to wear, and her clothes were fine, as was Rhun's. She'd gained a few scars on her forehead, cheek, and chin, though they served her well in making her look fierce. Akkhi had raised him as much as the ever-busy Rakka Kuhn had, and her resemblance to their mother unsettled him and made his heart ache.
Overcome, he had to look down, his voice was slightly husky as he spoke, "Good te see ye livin'."
Akkhi threw her arms around him, and just like that he couldn't stop the tears from coming.
Rakka'li scowled at the glare from the safety of Hawker's Alley. The market stretch wasn't terribly busy this afternoon, so it was easy to linger in the shade and find reprieve from the glare of the sun on the waves and the too white stone that was everywhere. It made stepping out into the bright again all the more intolerable.
Squinting and drawing his hood up, Rakka'li stepped into the blinding bright... and nearly jumped out of his skin as a shrill wail tore through the air behind him.
It was a few moments after returning into the comfort of the shade before he could see again, and by that time a small crowd had gathered around the childish wailing.
Curious, he drew to the edge, pushing his hood back and brushing the unruly mane he'd grown from his eyes.
"...cut 'er hand right good. Lass'll need stiches 'er conjury." A Seawolf merchant finished speaking as he approached. The man straightened and looked out over the crowd, eyes meeting Rakka'li's briefly before asking, "Any of ye lot here a physicker or a conjurer?"
His first attempt to be heard was lost in the bustle and the catch of a voice not often used. He cleared his throat and tried again, "M' a conjurer," He called out firmly, lifting his stave for emphasis. The Seawolf spotted him quickly.
"Make way fer him!" The man bellowed, lifting his arms, thick with muscle and good eating to gently push a few oblivious onlookers aside. The man got hold of his shoulder and pulled him, his hood fell back as he was came into the tight circle around the source of wailing.
It was a Keeper maiden, no more than twelve years old, her hand had been sliced from index finger to wrist, deep. There was a bloody tool on the ground nearby the merchant's counter, an awl or some carpentry tool? Rakka'li was no craftsman and had no honest idea. It hardly mattered.
Besides, it was the face of the girl's mother, looking to him hopefully, that pushed any consideration of what the damn tool was straight out of his head. Dark skin and vibrant purple eyes with the same shade of blue as his own, her ears flat with apprehension.
It was like looking at his mother again, and for several quickened, tight heartbeats he thought it was his mother. But no, it wasn't her. He'd seen his mother die.
It was Akkhi Kuhn, his sister, and the shocked expression on her face let him know the recognition had been mutual.
"Rakka'sae? Gods, you're alive!?" She gaped at him.
Rakka'li drew back slightly, his first impulse was to laugh, but he fought it down. She thought he was Rakka'sae! Maybe it was the long hair? Regardless, he knelt down.
"M' Li," he corrected, taking the young girl's bloody hand firmly by the wrist. She'd quieted to subdued sniffling and regarded him with wide purple eyes. Her little face certainly had the look of his kin to it, though her skin and hair was a shade greyer and a touch bluer respectively. She had that awkward gangly build that girls stuck between childhood and womanhood had, all limbs and no shape, but she would be pretty some day.
The cut was deep enough to birth little rivers of crimson that pooled where Rakka'li's fingers wrapped round her wrist tight. He was careful to hold it over the stones so the dripping didn't touch any clothing. Had the tool been left out carelessly for her hand to come down on it hard enough to do this? Or perhaps she'd been playing with something she shouldn't have?
"S' not so bad," he lied gently. Truth is it was bad, she must have come down on it hard, but his conjury would set it right. It was what he did after all.
He left his stave leaning against the counter and went for the greenwood branch at his belt. The aether here didn't feel the same as the Wood, and he always felt as if it were easier to draw through it when he was away. The girl regarded it curiously, though she still sniffled when he turned her hand and held the focus over the wound.
"What's yer name?" He asked, eyes on the wound as he began channelling. The conjury glow lit both their faces, it was the only sort of brightness that didn't cause him to squint.
"Rhun," she murmured, eyes on the wound, awed. It occurred to Rakka'li that she had perhaps never seen conjury in action before. It wasn't a rare power, but it also wasn't as if the world were swarming with Conjurer's.
"Rhun?" He smiled, eyes meeting hers briefly before returning to his work. The two of them were silent a moment as they watched the blood well up from the wound before it closed entirely. He set the greenwood branch at his side. "S' a good name."
Akkhi took her daughter's hand as soon as Rakka'li released it. She wiped the blood away to reveal the smooth, unmarred flesh beneath. Already the crowd was moving on, Limsa Lominsa was no stranger to such powers, and with the danger passed Hawker's alley was back on its way to normal.
Rhun was staring at him with undisguised admiration, her mother's scolding ignored until Akkhi tugged on one of her ears. Rakka'li rose and turned, busying himself with fishing about his person for his handkerchief to clean his bloodied hand. A gentle touch on his shoulder pulled his attention back when he was done.
"Rakka'li? It really is you," Akkhi said the words in a way that was almost like trying to convince herself.
His eyes found Rhun behind her. She stood looking at her healed hand, turning it this way and that before looking up to him and flushing brightly. Rakka'li fixed his gaze back on his sister. Her hair was long and well kept in a style that only city-folk tended to wear, and her clothes were fine, as was Rhun's. She'd gained a few scars on her forehead, cheek, and chin, though they served her well in making her look fierce. Akkhi had raised him as much as the ever-busy Rakka Kuhn had, and her resemblance to their mother unsettled him and made his heart ache.
Overcome, he had to look down, his voice was slightly husky as he spoke, "Good te see ye livin'."
Akkhi threw her arms around him, and just like that he couldn't stop the tears from coming.
