Ibakha heads off for the gates with nary a word, waiting for him. And when Felih arrives, she looks him over, turning his words over in her head.
"Aye. So much a stranger that I know not even your name." She doesn't seem to care, though. "But all who live have a duty. Hospitality must be given to those who travel, and we wanderers in turn must show our gratitude for that hospitality."
Her way of thinking was... strange. She was, in many respects, closer to an animal than a person, wild and savage and free. But in other ways, she was a shining example of what people should be- She stuck close to her ideals, and would never compromise them for anything. But those ideals... Her morality was so far divorced from most people's, that she could easily seem like a monster. Life and death didn't hold the same meaning to the Dotharl, after all.
"You know of me. Do you know why I have done all those deeds that have me hailed as a hero?" Perhaps some explanation would help.
"Ah- mine apologies. I'm Felih Tia," he offers as introduction, feeling his cheeks darken. When he had first approached her, he had only expected a brief chat, a few words- but now it seems that introductions were more than necessary. He idly fiddles with the end of his braid as he listens to her speak, and her logic makes sense- though it is unusual to him, something different from the general mindset of most Eorzeans.
Still, the concept of hospitality and kindness- it's something he appreciates.
"I don't know," Felih says quietly after a moment. "As many of us here might, we had simply imagined you a just soul who sought to right the world's wrongs, to protect those who could not protect themselves."
Ibakha shakes her head. "I am no one so noble. The Primals sought to make me one of their Tempered, so I killed them. The Garleans sought to destroy this land, so I killed them. The Ishgardians sought to tell me where I could and could not wander, so I killed them."
She lets out a sigh, hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "To restrict another's freedom... The world is changing constantly. A sight one sees one day may be gone the next. Those who wish to experience this world must be allowed to do so, for the world they wish to see may be gone tomorrow."
Felih listens, ears up and attentive, and then he nods. She truly is a wanderer- a soul that understands his own, and there is an admiration shining in his eyes as he lowers his ears in deference and bows his head. "You view the world much the same way I do," he says quietly. "It... it's refreshing, to hear someone else share the sentiments. Most here are content to settle, to stay in one place and never stray from safety, but I feel... I feel as if it's a loss, not to see what the world has to offer while you still can."
But now, they are well away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears, and so, he starts to explain his tale.
"There is... a man, a Highlander named Baldric Hightalon, in Ul'dah. A merchant, and he makes much coin in trade of his many wares- but for those who are less scrupulous, he has... other product," Felih explains, and he's bristling, nearly hissing. "People. He captures them, tricks them, drugs them- the low and downtrodden, the lost, the vulnerable- those who cannot defend themselves, those who have nowhere to go, and no one who would notice them gone. Those he does not sell to bidders, he strips of all they have and makes slaves of them elsewhere."
"He's gone and taken these folk- young men and women- and made a pleasure den in the back alleys of the city, deep where only those who stray for such services can find it. 'Tis a popular den, though very few know of its true nature; from the view of an outsider or a patron, the den seems like any other, where the workers all work of their own accord, and have chosen this life. But the truth remains that all of them are bound and owned by a man who could kill them if they disobeyed." He's growling, he can't help himself- but even with the bottled rage, he's still shaking visibly, a deeply instilled terror in his veins.
"He used me, too. Hurt me, just like the others. And on one of the nights he took me home to his manor- as he sometimes did, with those of us he wanted to toy with- and I... I just couldn't take it any longer. While he slept, I escaped my bindings and I set fire to the place," he says. "All his 'contracts'- his deeds of ownership and claim over the den, the land it's on, every person he forced to work there- consumed by the flames. One of his most lucrative businesses is now beyond his grasp, but he survived the flames and he has hunted me since for the riches it has cost him. If I were to step back into Ul'dah..."
His ears pin back as he shakes his head. "...I've had someone from the den keep an eye on things. Those who were trapped have fled to make better lives for themselves, and those who would rather continue the work now do so on their own terms, of their own volition, and keep their own coin. Baldric cannot touch them now- they've hired guards to protect them now that they can use their own earnings as they please, but I know he still waits for the opportunity to take control again- or worse, begin anew elsewhere with new folk he's trapped and lured..."
Ibakha's face stays unmoved, and it would almost be enough to make one think she didn't care for Felih's story. But if one looked closer... Her hands clench until the knuckles turn white. Her tail, narrow and spiked, twitches behind her. And most damningly? The aether begins to swirl around her, black and white and mixing together.
And with that fury, the fury that will never show up on her face but rather in her soul, makes her laugh. A bitter laugh. Honestly, it's a slightly crazed one. A laugh that has no mirth, that found no humor, but something so unexpected and ridiculous she can't react any other way.
"I see. It seems I may have business with him of my owm, then." Delight and wrath in equal part danced in her eyes. "Ul'dah does not view me as a friend. I would love for nothing more to burn that city to the ground as it begs for its coin to save it. But... If that bastard coward is related to those Blades that stole everything I owned, then I will relish his suffering before I end him."
Felih nearly takes a step back. Nearly. He does, however, feel his tail puff up a little from the murderous aura that begins to surround the woman before him, but he manages to at least resist stepping back. After all, the woman is filled with a righteous rage, even if it is... well, terrifying. The way the aether swirls and forms around her does intrigue him, arcanist's eye studying it with curiosity, but it's quickly distracted by her crazed laugh.
"I, ah... why is it that Ul'dah regards you so...?" he asks after a moment, before his ears pin back. "I know only that he had several Blades paid to look the other way- handsomely so. But I ruined a good portion of his fortune when I set his manor ablaze... perhaps he no longer has as much sway."
He stares down at his feet. "During the day he attends to his trading posts, and is easy enough to find if you know where to look. But in the evenings, at night- he attends to his... black market product. And I've no doubt he would try to reacquire the pleasure den were it not for the way the others have armed and defended themselves against him."
"Aye, I know the Blades. The Blades, more crooked than a levin-struck tree. Made to make up for the over-stretched Flames, but instead a bigger danger to the people than any other." Her expression twists further, becoming full of malice. And as she opens her mouth to respond to Felih's talk about that man... Instead, Felih suddenly is struck by a bout of dizziness.
Ibakha, younger, more innocent, in the Dotharl tribal clothing, trying to approach the Thaumaturge's guild. Though Felih can understand both, it's clear the doorman and Ibakha can't understand each other. Ibakha is pleading for help, lodgings, food, anything- She'd been told in what little she could understand that this was the place for thaumaturgy, and as a thaumaturge herself, brothers and sisters of the same discipline, they could help each other. She could show them thaumaturgy of a foreign land, it would be an equal trade.
The doorkeep becomes more and more impatient, telling her in no uncertain terms to kindly fuck off, because he can't understand a word she's saying, and wonders what kind of voidspawn she must have come from on top of it. The doorkeep eventually calls over passing Blades, and the Blades take her rather roughly to their office.
Once more the language barrier comes into effect. The Blades leer and jeer, but she understands nothing. She once again asks for help, seeking the hospitality all wanderers are meant to be shown, but nothing comes of it. In the end, everything is taken. Her few belongings. Her staff, made of bone and wood and filled with ancient history. Her pack that she'd received from her family. Even her tribal clothes, that which marks her as a Dotharl, her connection to her kin and her home. And a necklace- Made of fang and bone and string, with a small bottle of dirt. Everything is taken from her.
She fights back, of course, but she's outnumbered and out-equipped, especially in a land like Eorzea where the aether sickness is starting to get to her. Weak and ashamed, with nothing to her but her smallclothes, she's forcefully thrown from Ul'dah's gates, screaming and cursing, but without an aetherial focus, even meager fireballs are difficult for her to cast.
As she screams in fury and despair on the roadside, screaming every curse she can, screaming for Ul'dah to burn under its own gods, a Miqo'te man in red walks up from behind her...
Felih feels the ringing in his head that usually precludes one of his many strange visions- things he never quite understood, but only remembered having experienced since he was a kitten. His fingers come to the bridge of his nose as he tries to stave off the throbbing headache, but as usual, the vision is inevitable, and it comes- flooding his senses until he is seeing the world through another's eyes.
He sees, he hears, he feels- he experiences the confusion, the humiliation, the anger, the betrayal- the way Ibakha had come as a stranger, humbly seeking refuge and hospitality, and being completely taken advantage of, thrown out into the desert vulnerable and without anything- not even clothes.
And that man in red- Felih recognizes him, and his heart skips a beat.
When he comes out of the vision, he's dizzy, but he manages to lift his gaze to hers. "That man in red- he helped you, too?"
He remembers, the night he fled Ul'dah with Baldric's mansion in flames and lighting up the night sky with smoke and embers, how a Miqo'te dressed in red had seen him, young and afraid and helpless, and accompanied him to safety, kept him safe from the wild beasts and wicked bandits of the desert at night.
Ibakha knows the Echo. She can see the signs of it in others. And that means... Hm. That's something she's going to have to file away for later. The Echo does not go to people with meager destinies, to those who will stay hidden in their cities...
"Aye." She smiles for a moment, despite the anger. "X'rhun took me in, and I learned the basics of his craft before I set off on my own path. You know him as well, then?"
In another life, Felih may have been meant for more- a grand destiny laid out in front of him. But perhaps, in this life, Felih never got the chance. Still, the Echo is there, a marker of potential, if nothing else- and it shows him more of what he needs to know.
"X'rhun... he- the night I fled Ul'dah, after escaping my captor... he found me. I was alone and lost and frantic in the desert, and he knew that I was too young, too weak to be out alone in the dangerous desert night- and so, he escorted me away from Ul'dah, to the safety of another city, and helped me make my way. 'Twas only briefly we traveled together, but... I owe him a debt.
I was never able to catch up to him again after that day. I wish I had the opportunity to thank him properly."
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valoirs
no subject
"Aye. So much a stranger that I know not even your name." She doesn't seem to care, though. "But all who live have a duty. Hospitality must be given to those who travel, and we wanderers in turn must show our gratitude for that hospitality."
Her way of thinking was... strange. She was, in many respects, closer to an animal than a person, wild and savage and free. But in other ways, she was a shining example of what people should be- She stuck close to her ideals, and would never compromise them for anything. But those ideals... Her morality was so far divorced from most people's, that she could easily seem like a monster. Life and death didn't hold the same meaning to the Dotharl, after all.
"You know of me. Do you know why I have done all those deeds that have me hailed as a hero?" Perhaps some explanation would help.
no subject
Still, the concept of hospitality and kindness- it's something he appreciates.
"I don't know," Felih says quietly after a moment. "As many of us here might, we had simply imagined you a just soul who sought to right the world's wrongs, to protect those who could not protect themselves."
no subject
She lets out a sigh, hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "To restrict another's freedom... The world is changing constantly. A sight one sees one day may be gone the next. Those who wish to experience this world must be allowed to do so, for the world they wish to see may be gone tomorrow."
no subject
Felih listens, ears up and attentive, and then he nods. She truly is a wanderer- a soul that understands his own, and there is an admiration shining in his eyes as he lowers his ears in deference and bows his head. "You view the world much the same way I do," he says quietly. "It... it's refreshing, to hear someone else share the sentiments. Most here are content to settle, to stay in one place and never stray from safety, but I feel... I feel as if it's a loss, not to see what the world has to offer while you still can."
But now, they are well away from prying eyes and eavesdropping ears, and so, he starts to explain his tale.
"There is... a man, a Highlander named Baldric Hightalon, in Ul'dah. A merchant, and he makes much coin in trade of his many wares- but for those who are less scrupulous, he has... other product," Felih explains, and he's bristling, nearly hissing. "People. He captures them, tricks them, drugs them- the low and downtrodden, the lost, the vulnerable- those who cannot defend themselves, those who have nowhere to go, and no one who would notice them gone. Those he does not sell to bidders, he strips of all they have and makes slaves of them elsewhere."
"He's gone and taken these folk- young men and women- and made a pleasure den in the back alleys of the city, deep where only those who stray for such services can find it. 'Tis a popular den, though very few know of its true nature; from the view of an outsider or a patron, the den seems like any other, where the workers all work of their own accord, and have chosen this life. But the truth remains that all of them are bound and owned by a man who could kill them if they disobeyed." He's growling, he can't help himself- but even with the bottled rage, he's still shaking visibly, a deeply instilled terror in his veins.
"He used me, too. Hurt me, just like the others. And on one of the nights he took me home to his manor- as he sometimes did, with those of us he wanted to toy with- and I... I just couldn't take it any longer. While he slept, I escaped my bindings and I set fire to the place," he says. "All his 'contracts'- his deeds of ownership and claim over the den, the land it's on, every person he forced to work there- consumed by the flames. One of his most lucrative businesses is now beyond his grasp, but he survived the flames and he has hunted me since for the riches it has cost him. If I were to step back into Ul'dah..."
His ears pin back as he shakes his head. "...I've had someone from the den keep an eye on things. Those who were trapped have fled to make better lives for themselves, and those who would rather continue the work now do so on their own terms, of their own volition, and keep their own coin. Baldric cannot touch them now- they've hired guards to protect them now that they can use their own earnings as they please, but I know he still waits for the opportunity to take control again- or worse, begin anew elsewhere with new folk he's trapped and lured..."
no subject
And with that fury, the fury that will never show up on her face but rather in her soul, makes her laugh. A bitter laugh. Honestly, it's a slightly crazed one. A laugh that has no mirth, that found no humor, but something so unexpected and ridiculous she can't react any other way.
"I see. It seems I may have business with him of my owm, then." Delight and wrath in equal part danced in her eyes. "Ul'dah does not view me as a friend. I would love for nothing more to burn that city to the ground as it begs for its coin to save it. But... If that bastard coward is related to those Blades that stole everything I owned, then I will relish his suffering before I end him."
no subject
"I, ah... why is it that Ul'dah regards you so...?" he asks after a moment, before his ears pin back. "I know only that he had several Blades paid to look the other way- handsomely so. But I ruined a good portion of his fortune when I set his manor ablaze... perhaps he no longer has as much sway."
He stares down at his feet. "During the day he attends to his trading posts, and is easy enough to find if you know where to look. But in the evenings, at night- he attends to his... black market product. And I've no doubt he would try to reacquire the pleasure den were it not for the way the others have armed and defended themselves against him."
no subject
Ibakha, younger, more innocent, in the Dotharl tribal clothing, trying to approach the Thaumaturge's guild. Though Felih can understand both, it's clear the doorman and Ibakha can't understand each other. Ibakha is pleading for help, lodgings, food, anything- She'd been told in what little she could understand that this was the place for thaumaturgy, and as a thaumaturge herself, brothers and sisters of the same discipline, they could help each other. She could show them thaumaturgy of a foreign land, it would be an equal trade.
The doorkeep becomes more and more impatient, telling her in no uncertain terms to kindly fuck off, because he can't understand a word she's saying, and wonders what kind of voidspawn she must have come from on top of it. The doorkeep eventually calls over passing Blades, and the Blades take her rather roughly to their office.
Once more the language barrier comes into effect. The Blades leer and jeer, but she understands nothing. She once again asks for help, seeking the hospitality all wanderers are meant to be shown, but nothing comes of it. In the end, everything is taken. Her few belongings. Her staff, made of bone and wood and filled with ancient history. Her pack that she'd received from her family. Even her tribal clothes, that which marks her as a Dotharl, her connection to her kin and her home. And a necklace- Made of fang and bone and string, with a small bottle of dirt. Everything is taken from her.
She fights back, of course, but she's outnumbered and out-equipped, especially in a land like Eorzea where the aether sickness is starting to get to her. Weak and ashamed, with nothing to her but her smallclothes, she's forcefully thrown from Ul'dah's gates, screaming and cursing, but without an aetherial focus, even meager fireballs are difficult for her to cast.
As she screams in fury and despair on the roadside, screaming every curse she can, screaming for Ul'dah to burn under its own gods, a Miqo'te man in red walks up from behind her...
no subject
He sees, he hears, he feels- he experiences the confusion, the humiliation, the anger, the betrayal- the way Ibakha had come as a stranger, humbly seeking refuge and hospitality, and being completely taken advantage of, thrown out into the desert vulnerable and without anything- not even clothes.
And that man in red- Felih recognizes him, and his heart skips a beat.
When he comes out of the vision, he's dizzy, but he manages to lift his gaze to hers. "That man in red- he helped you, too?"
He remembers, the night he fled Ul'dah with Baldric's mansion in flames and lighting up the night sky with smoke and embers, how a Miqo'te dressed in red had seen him, young and afraid and helpless, and accompanied him to safety, kept him safe from the wild beasts and wicked bandits of the desert at night.
no subject
"Aye." She smiles for a moment, despite the anger. "X'rhun took me in, and I learned the basics of his craft before I set off on my own path. You know him as well, then?"
no subject
"X'rhun... he- the night I fled Ul'dah, after escaping my captor... he found me. I was alone and lost and frantic in the desert, and he knew that I was too young, too weak to be out alone in the dangerous desert night- and so, he escorted me away from Ul'dah, to the safety of another city, and helped me make my way. 'Twas only briefly we traveled together, but... I owe him a debt.
I was never able to catch up to him again after that day. I wish I had the opportunity to thank him properly."