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
"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."