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Sanguine Storm ♫ Personal Journal

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Red Never Washes Out


Blood runs eternally red.  Who we are is encompassed within that virulent, crimson flow that pulses within every vein.  Yet, there are some things that never wash out, no matter how much we might wish to dilute them.  I am and always will be K’alagreth’s daughter.  He is part of my blood, part of my past — but I refuse to let him have any part in my future.


My father, such as he was, is dead and has been dead since the summer I turned fifteen.  For years, I listened in weeping terror as that pig brutalized my mother more times than I could feasibly count.  He broke her — a proud, fierce Moonkeeper huntress in her own right — and he broke her.  So repulsed and shattered by the situation in which she found herself, my mother retreated to the deepest recesses of her mind and stayed there.


As she lay there on the floor, her skull fractured and the rest of her bruised and beaten with bones broken — something within me was unleashed.  A rage, a fury so potent that it consumed everything that I was or could be.  I only have the dim recollection of grabbing a knife from the kitchen and laying into K’alagreth with a will.  The stab wounds were so numerous that there was often no telling one from another.  His torso was mutilated beyond all recognition.


Yes, journal, I killed my father.  I would do it again, given half the chance, after what he did to my mother.  We left the remnants of K’alagreth’s tribe and I took my mother to Gridania in hopes that the Conjurers there might heal her of her affliction.  However, though their magic set her wounds and her physical body to rights, there was something far beyond their ability to heal that was shattered in her mind.


I should have stayed with her and cared for her, but my rage and my hatred still ran deep.  Instead, I gave her care over to a kindly Hyuran woman in Gridania and took myself out into the world to earn the gil that would pay for Mother’s upkeep.  Yet, still I return home to visit and to bring fresh flowers; hoping against hope that this time that I visit is the time that Mother rouses and we can set our lives aright.


It is, perhaps, a hope in vain but it is all I have left.

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An Axe to Grind


I went out to the Harbingers of Dawn tavern night, but didn’t even make it in the door.  I stopped to inquire that I was in the right place with a Highlander man in the yard and that’s where I ended up spending most of the evening.  He introduced himself only as Alex, but that’s fair since I only introduced myself as Katja.


Yeah, I know, technically by Seeker rules it should be K’atja — hence just Atja — to honor the tribe, but considering the Pig and how much I hate him, I refuse to take anything of his.  It’s bad enough that his blood flows in my veins and I have the name he gave me; I won’t subject myself to his archaic rules that I somehow belong to him.  He’s dead.  So I belong to no one.  I am my own miqo’te.


Anyway, I spoke at length with Alex talking about the various functions of these Harbingers and his role there.  When he told me that he had training as a marauder, I couldn’t believe it.  Not this man in full-plate, looking and speaking like the Free Paladin he claimed to be training as.  So, I called his bluff and bade him go fetch his axe and we’d see just what kind of marauder he was.  Unexpectedly, he went inside and did exactly that.


Another miqo’te came along while Alex was inside, but we spoke only briefly before the Highlander returned, determined to prove himself.  Assuring the miqo’te I was fine, Alex led me away and we traveled by aetheryte to Aleport and onward to Sastasha where the Yellowjackets had claimed there was trouble.  We went through that cavern, clearing out the pirate and sahagin scum.


Most importantly, though, Alex proved his skill with an axe as well as providing me with a well-crafted weapon of my own.  I don’t know where he got it from, but the craftsmanship is finer than anything I’ve ever had in my possession.  I could likely sell it for a fair sum, enough to keep mother comfortable and taken care of for moons, but — I couldn’t do that.  Not in the face of Alex’s hope and gentle honesty.  He genuinely wanted me to succeed as a marauder and to keep myself safe.  I don’t know why he cares though, it isn’t as if he knows me.


Or is it truly bound to the goal to help everyone, as he says?  I don’t know.  I don’t know him well enough to gauge.  Yet, I like to think I’m a good judge of character and I don’t see anything in him yet that I gives me cause to be suspicious.  He’s lived up to his word, so far, so we’ll see if his trend continues.

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Cool Drink of Water


I stopped off in Ul'dah tonight since I was working for a client in Thanalan and greatly desired a drink to wash half the damn desert from my throat.  I found myself in the Quicksand, beseeching a drink of water from the good Miss Momodi.  Despite the place's ill-repute, I found that no one really bothered me which was something of a relief.  The last thing I needed to do was get into a brawl and get tossed out of the city on my tail.


Drinking the cool water, I took stock of the occupants of the common room.  As you would expect, they were varied and sundry races; tall, short, hideous, beautiful and all points in between.  For myself, I found my eye drawn to another miqo'te sitting down the bar from me.  He was taking tightly-wound cord and coating it in wax.  A curious enough practice, so I thought, at first, he might be a chandler of sorts.  However, this seemed an odd place for such a craftsman to do the work of his trade.


Being who I am, I questioned him about it.and I came to find out that he was a bowyer and hunter of sorts.  A "free spirit" he claimed of himself, having no roots and no real ties to anywhere in particular.  I told him of my own ties to Limsa Lominsa and my work for the Marauder's Guild, hoping that maybe it might lead to work.  He seemed impressed enough with that, but made it a point to tell me that I should be wary of such work and that it didn't lead me into dark places.


I don't think mother would approve if I allowed myself to slip so far.  Bad enough that she, of yet, does not know about what I did to That Pig.  I couldn't bear her further disappointment were she to discover I'd become some kind of miscreant and troublemaker.  No, I assured my fellow miqo'te, I would certainly stay on the straight and narrow.


At some point in our conversation, one of those strange-looking Au Ra people sat down on my other side.  She was a quiet sort, absorbed in her food, drink, and some manner of sketching she was working on.  Upon closer inspection, it was a drawing of the other miqo'te and myself beneath a tree.  I don't know why, but it made me very uncomfortable, so I made my excuses to leave.


Before I departed, my fellow miqo'te introduced himself as the Queen of Cups.  A pseudonym if ever I've heard one, but I allowed him to keep his illusions.  Having no use-name to give him, I simply introduced myself by the only name I had: Katja Armitanis.  He bade me safe travels and, with another unnerved glance at the girl and her drawing, I took myself away.

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Dust & Duskwights


On a whim, I decided to check out this Grindstone fighting tournament that happens just outside of Ul’dah near the end of every week.  I’m not entirely sure what I expected, but the crowd was unbelievable!  Not just the crowd of spectators, but the sheer size of the field of combatants.  It was easily fifteen to twenty fighters, if not more.


The first fight of the night that I spectated was between an Elezen and a Roegadyn.  It was easy to tell right off the bat that the Elezen was nervous, not that I blame him.  The unholy terror that was the mass of scar tissue and immovable muscle that was his opponent is something that might haunt my worst nightmares for a long time to come.  Were I a betting miqo’te, I would’ve wagered against him then and there.  Alas, there don’t seem to be bookies a this event, so I simply watched and enjoyed the show.


As predicted, the Elezen lost to the Roegadyn, but not without putting up a fight.  I turned my attention to watch a Hyur and a fellow miqo’te duke it out, but somewhere near the end, the Elezen from the first fight came over to talk to me!  I have to say, it was unexpected, I didn’t really expect the fighters to notice anyone watching or to care much if we did.  He introduced himself as Grenat and his Elezen companion as Theronault.  I half suspect there’s more to their friendship than meets the eye, given how much Theronault fretted over him.  Not that it bothers me any, but they didn’t make mention of it either.


The three of us watched the remaining bouts together, finding our favorites and cheering them on, even if our chosen miqo’te heroine “Chocolate” lost in the final round to some white-haired hector with a propensity for excessive violence.  Eventually, Grenat and Theronault had to depart, so I watched the Championship bout between the brutal warrioress and a woman named Piper which, sadly, ended with the former winning overall.  A disappointment, but at least I didn’t leave empty-handed.


I had potential new contacts, after all.  And contacts always meant more work.

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