Gray Morality

Welcome to Gray Morality, a blog dedicated to my FFXIV (and GW2) characters. It's mostly centered on my main, Fakhri Man'tik, but you'll find a lot of entries on Katsuro Wakahisa in the archive (previous main). You may also see a switch to GW2 as I picked up the game recently, after a 10 years hiatus.

A man of dubious morals, a con artist, a blue mage (mesmer) but also an entertainer, a musician and oracle; this man is a weird melting pot. One could easily say a jack-of-all-trades. And indeed he has worked many odd jobs in his life - musician, singer, barman, janitor, waiter, cashier, mascot (don't ask), crier, courier, dock worker, fortuneteller, magician, forest guide - but whatever gets coins in the pouch, right? [FFXIV] You'll mostly find him in Thavnair nowadays, as this is where he works now, being part of Jijivisha. But also because he finally has settled down some, having found that special someone and living with her under the same roof. (@catscratching)

His carrd | https://fakhrimantik.carrd.co GW2 carrd | https://fakhrimantik-gw2.carrd.co

The Blue Oracle | https://blueoracle.carrd.co

The Hríð tribe | https://hrid-tribe.carrd.co

Jijivisha | Elona-centric & Morally gray NA region - RP/PVE community ⸻ "To live, and thrive; for we also are a part of this world." ⸻

⸻ Like a flower in the desert Not everyone is dealt the same hand when brought into this life. Maybe events have pushed you further and further from what some deems to be the 'right path', or perhaps life itself decided to test you at every turn. But you're still there, aren't you? For the glint of profit, or because you're simply too stubborn to let death drag you away. Maybe your voice still needs to be heard; in defense of the weak, of the persecuted, and the ones society has decided to brush under the proverbial rug. Frankly, your reasons are your own... but humor me a moment, will you? What if we could help each other?

⸻ What we’re looking for Thieves, con artists, smugglers, forgers, spies, mercenaries, suppliers, medics, fences… This is far from an exhaustive list and if you believe your skills or your business could be of interest to us, by all means, tell us more. Or are you instead looking for our services? Nobles, merchants, adventurers, civilians; come, have a seat, and let us discuss.

⸻ In a nutshell Jijivisha is a GW2 RP/PVE community in the NA region. We operate primarily in East Coast time (Guild events usually happen between 7 and 10pm EST) and focus on criminal, morally gray and character driven RP, set primarily in Elona and Tyria - though adventure can take us about anywhere. Think of it as a "Robin Hood" archetype organization - a mix of vigilantism, social banditry and anti-hero.

⸻ Need a thorn in your side? We’d love to collaborate if you need an antagonist, as individuals (Fakhri alone can be a pain in the ass) or as an organization. We’re not evil, but we certainly don’t play by the book. Jijivisha’s dealings could become a hindrance for some, or merely an entity to watch closely. Or perhaps we’re after you… the tables can turn after all. Keep in mind we’re more into white collar crime, con artistry, theft, forgery, smuggling, gambling and general intrigue. WE won’t send assassins after you, do refrain from sending any after us ;)

Keep in mind that the guild is in its infancy and, as such, things will be a bit slow in the beginnings (also, I work a fulltime job. Be patient with me and my reply time if you have any inquiries). However, this is a great opportunity for your creativity and ideas to shine, and for you to become a building block of this community! Besides, I’m not looking to build a big community but rather a *quality* one.

GW2 Fakhri (Vabbian heritage showing ❤️)

The note sits, solitary, upon the message board. A letter, its content spilling out of an envelope; an overflow of emotions trapped in ink.

It was extremely rare -actually, scratch that - it was something you’d not expect to see in a hundred years: Fakhri training in the Coil; Yet here he was. Using clones to fight against oneself wasn’t optimal, however, as the subconscious would always control them to not seriously harm the conjurer. Still, for his purposes, they were enough - that is, serving as moving targets that could retaliate. Contrary to popular belief (perhaps), a Mesmer’s clones’ fighting abilities were partly dependent on the caster’s own combat knowledge. As an Asura would say, ‘they come equipped with a basic software but, to be really efficient, they need the addons.’ [No Asura ever said that of clones, probably.] Fakhri's clones clearly operated on more than a ‘basic software’, despite him saying otherwise. 

A life spent running away and avoiding fights, yet being dragged into them despite his best attempts. He had learned to read his opponents, predict their moves, mastered evading techniques - thus he slowly but surely built his combat knowledge. As such, the man was often just a blur, using his Mesmer magic to blink, teleport and shadowstep within the limits of the Coil, ambushing his own clones. If they came at him, they met one of their own, newly materialized, or found the emptiness left after a mirage dissipates. 

If this training would serve him in an actual fight - moreso the kind the Covenant seemed to face fairly regularly - only time would tell. It was one thing to dispatch a clone, and another entirely to raise a weapon against a living person. It wasn't cowardice, nor was he such a pacifist that he believed all lives deserved to be preserved. He simply *felt* too much, *saw* too much. 

If…

My birth had been kinder, given love and guidance.

My needs had been fulfilled, wanting for nothing.

The pain of the world had not been mine, shielded from that empathic link.

My dreams had just been dreams, neither an open door nor a portent of things to come or things already passed..

I never had a need to escape, the abuse of substances hardly a temptation. 

Would I have met you, my love? 

The con man was a very patient man; he had to, as a good con takes time. Thorough research on his target, on the environment, on anything of import that had the potential to affect the play, as dealing with unsuspecting actors that had to remain that way was always a risk. Yet even a very patient man had his limits. One of them:  his impatience towards himself. Fakhri had too many things cluttering his mind as of late, could he truly blame himself for the ‘slower-than-usual’ learning of something entirely new? It’d been two months since he started studying and practicing sign language yet the road had been slow. Being unable to practice consistently, paired with a lack of focus, were obviously to blame but, no… he could do better. He WOULD do better. If the average for learning the basics was three months, he’d achieve this milestone in two! It’d been two months already. The milestone hadn’t been reached; at least not with an A+ as top of his class. Maybe there was a lesson, lost somewhere in there. That patience was a virtue he should continue to cultivate, that since he didn’t expect perfection from others thus he shouldn't expect it from himself, that he shouldn’t place the bar so high from the get go, that he should show himself a bit more kindness. Really, the lessons could be many; He ignored them all. 

“Here’s to never see yer fuckin’ face ever again. Take care.” ~ Fakhri  1335 AE

================== +++ ===================

Zephyr of 1339 AE Cantha was… something else. Like stepping into a whole different world, or springing forth into the future, at least as far as New-Kaineng was concerned. Fakhri couldn’t say he disliked it, more like it felt overwhelming. This part of the world had been isolated for so long, humanity had taken a different path towards evolution. What had saved his sanity, however, was the common denominator in every society - its people. Especially the working class and those below, for in every societal hierarchy lies the rich and powerful and those they abuse. One will always find those begging for coins and food in shady streets, those working three jobs to make it through the weeks, the months, the years… and those finding their place in the shades of gray - where Fakhri belonged. It hadn’t taken long, walking that thin line between *right* and *wrong*, to figure out crime syndicates were the true rulers of the capital. Some called themselves Yakuza, in honor of some long forgotten traditions, others had taken different names: cartels, rings, or good ol’ guilds. They were all the same, some with more honor than others, but all ready to fling barely veiled threats to get their protection money. Obviously, Fakhri had to get embroiled with one of those. 

Hagane-kai was a bit on the fringe of tradition, its current leader a man of vision. While they still called themselves Yakuza, Fakhri saw them as a strange marriage of organized crime and secret society. Instead of dealing in smuggling, protection money and racketeering, they dealt in information - that is, the acquiring and selling of said information. A glorified group of spies, thieves and assassins. They owned an opium den in the capital that served as a means to contact them, as well as a few underground gambling dens, even a courtesan house of high reputation. Rumors were abundant, but seldom truth. That much Fakhri realized early on as he tried to dig information on the group.

It was also quite hard to hide from them.

And this was coming from a con man, a master of illusions. Every time he lost them, they’d find him again. Until he was in too deep, ready to call his losses and go back to Kryta-

[November 17th] 

Today marked Fakhri's 45th birthday, and his son's 2nd. Fate had decided he'd be born on the same day as his father, in the wee hours of the morning. Ayaz, their little miracle. How desperately his parents had tried for a child, yet years had trickled by, until they both accepted the harsh reality that no child of their own would ever be conceived. Fakhri was quite certain his many years as a slave to the bottle were to blame - excessive alcohol consumption did have a direct effect on human male fertility. Resigned, they turned their consideration towards adoption… 

He remembered keenly that moment when Seda ‘skipped a month', and then the morning sickness came in. Was it really happening?! The following months had been a mixture of happiness and anxiety; what if something happened? If she miscarried? What if -

Ayaz was born after many hours of labor, both the mother and child in good health despite the ordeal. And the boy would bring so much joy to their lives. 

Fakhri woke up to find an expensive bottle of whisky and a small cake on the side table by the bed; was that a toddler's handprint in the icing? This made him chuckle as he pushed himself to a sitting position. Seda was already up, obviously, and came from the side room with their boy in tow. Trying to get Ayaz to stay quiet a bit longer so papa could rest had probably been a challenge. 

The “Happy birthday, love.” from Seda was nearly drowned by a resounding “Papa!” as Ayaz threw himself towards his father. Used to navigate around an energetic toddler, Seda still managed to steal a kiss from her husband before Ayaz attempted to climb onto the bed.

“Happy birthday to ya as well, little man. Come here, I want my birthday hug.” The hug soon turned into a hug pile as a rat joined in, followed by Seda, arms encircling her boys. An endearing picture. 

“It's friggin' early but -” It wasn't that early, the clock already passed nine. “- I got a birthday song for ya.” His guitar was swiftly brought to him by his wife, always eager to hear Fakhri play or sing. Ayaz plopped his bum on the bed, eyes wide and smile even wider, as the first notes rang in their small inn room. 

The song was an old one, something Fakhri's grandfather used to sing on his grandson's birthday. It had roots in Elona, part of the lyrics in Common and part in the Elonian tongue. It spoke of a desire to protect, to love and to always be there by his side. 

I've brought expensive gifts, however

I've brought the gift of love as well

I'll be with you in every moment

I've come as your shadow

Not a single wave of pain will be able to touch you

Any trouble that tries to come will return back to where it came from

Needless to say, Ayaz was too young to understand any of it. The song had a catchy beat, however, and this the toddler seemed to appreciate as the song was followed by excited clapping. The smile Fakhri gave back was beaming, a simple and pure joy that brought tears to his eyes. Tears he would never be ashamed to shed for those he loved so dearly.

He tried to forget, he really did. That's why alcohol became a problem, little by little. Drugs also, on occasion. Did it work? 

… Not really. 

As soon as his body got rid of whatever substance he'd ingested, the haze would lift, leaving him alone to face whatever memories had managed to bore into his mind. Cursed to remember, to see and ‘live’ through nightmares not of his own making. Even as time trickled by, even when he thought he'd outran them, they were there…

Just there.

At the corner of his (mind) eye.

Ready to pounce. 

A predator.

The haze returns and with it the foreboding feeling of a prey being stalked is pushed aside. A bottle hits the table with a dull thump, a hand still clasped around it. He's not ready to face the memories. To remember. 

Fakhri walked within a world of man-made miracles that functioned on greed - anything was possible, for a price. Coins could see a rival lose everything, be exposed and humiliated, or be outright killed. And for a bit more coins, the body disposed of in a clean and untraceable manner. Secrets could be kept, or bought. Alliances could be made, or destroyed. People could manipulate, or be manipulated.

As a confidence man, he was keenly aware of the price tag attached to everything. However, unlike many in this walk of life, he also knew their real value. In other words, it was the domain of emotions. Many saw this as a weakness, an unnecessary burden. Maybe it was if you were in the business of assassinations. Even for a con man it was debatable, as they were manipulators yet not necessarily big on empathy - quite the opposite, actually. 

Fakhri could argue that he didn't choose the life of a criminal, the life chose him but… that would be a lie. He chose this, wholeheartedly, knowing full well he'd be working against traits of his personality that would make this path an arduous one. Hyper-empathy in a con artist was laughable and counterproductive. How many tried to dissuade him? How many saw him as soft and too good for this kind of job? Too many. He lost count, after a while. Did it really matter? Not really. 

Actually… he welcomed it. Let them have a false perception of him, let them think of him as far less capable than he truly was. Let them remain blind to his true goals.

Let them join the ‘too many’.

Sometimes life was a straight path - although it seldom was - and oftentimes it was full of twists and turns, of ups and downs, of backing up before going forward. Some would say if you got lost on that path, no worries, life would find a way so you'd find your way again. They lied. Some would remain lost forever. Unless someone happened upon that path, acting as a guide. That someone could be anyone, really. Even a rat. 

With a flair for the dramatic, perhaps, the first time said rat intervened in mortal’s affairs was to offer the choice of life or death to one specific human.; A seer. Maybe this was the singular important aspect of said human, or maybe there was more. Regardless, the choice was given, but that was all there was. The will to act upon it was entirely up to this human. 

The human chose life. 

For whatever obscure or divine reason, the rat remained by His Human’s side afterwards. Maybe the seer saw the threads intertwined, maybe he understood - even if he denied it - that the rat acted as a guiding light, preventing the human from going the wrong way, from getting lost amidst all those threads, tangled inside them despite his best efforts. The rat kept him on the right path. 

Was there even a wrong path?  

The rat offered life or death; the human chose life.

The rat offered peace or madness; the human chose peace.

The rat offered love or solitude; the human chose love.

The rat offered a challenge… the human took it, faltered, hesitated… 

He walked back the way he came…

.

.

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