MyrDoodles

A campfire, nearly burnt out and left to the cold to smolder till it was naught but ash and charcoal. That was all Nomin found when she finally arrived at the destination that had been suggested to her by some of the local guards stationed about Dragonhead. It was not what she had hoped for, not with the task asked of her to find the fugitive at large.

Fwump!

The sound of something falling to the ground close by had alerted Nomin, and she quickly turned toward the source. A man, clad in obsidian black armor, had leapt from a nearby ledge and landed on the ground with practiced poise. Of course, the one thing that Nomin noticed above everything else was the lance he wielded.

"That Ishgard would resort to sending coin-starved adventurers after me… I know not whether to laugh or feel insulted." The armored man rose to his feet before spinning his lance forward and pointing it at Nomin. Of course, such a sight caused her to furrow her brow and adjust her stance so that she might be quick to draw upon her bow and arrows.

His words indicated the truth of the matter. He really was the one she had been looking for as requested by Alberic: Estinien Wyrmblood.

Before anything could happen, however, a brilliant light shined forth. It was blinding enough to where Nomin instead shielded her eyes from the sudden shine. On the other hand, it seemed Estinien was more surprised by the fact that whatever it was shined at all.

"Th-The Eye! It rouses…for another!?"

When the light had faded, the two were left standing there. Though Nomin could not see Estinien’s expression from behind his helm, there seemed to be this sense of irritation as he mounted his lance upon his back once more.

“Preposterous…” That all but confirmed his irritation.

“Our paths shall cross again. You can be sure of it.” After this declaration, Estinien braced himself before leaping high into the air and onto the mountainside. Nomin watched after him, her expression changing from her own form of annoyance to being simply impressed with the jump made.

After he had disappeared completely from sight, Nomin’s expression fell to a contemplative frown as she folded her arms over her chest. She had almost forgotten about the biting cold of the land at that moment.

Just how soon would they cross paths again when it had already been such a wild goose chase just to find him the first time?

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A fortnight had passed, and Nomin continued her time in Coerthas, helping where she could. Be it at the request of Haruchefant, the Scions, or other people that required aid, Nomin did her best to remain able and willing to see to the tasks that needed doing. It was only by Haurchefant’s elated stories and praise of her that people began more readily accepting her help.

Despite everything else she did in the way of training or helping others, that interaction lingered in the back of Nomin’s mind. It was enough to keep her on her toes on most days, and up at night at the worst. Was she to expect him in unexpected places? Just when and where would she and Estinien cross paths again?

Sat by a fire and nursing a mug of hot cider, Nomin had been staring intently into the flames when she was pulled from her mindless staring.

It started with the crunch of snow before she realized the clinking of chainmail. When Nomin looked, it was Ser Alberic who approached her. He wore a warm expression on his face as he took a seat next to her, his eyes drifting to the enclosed fire in its dome of stone.

“It is pleasing to see how readily the dragon stirs within you. You show great potential, Nomin -- a potential that may well prove the difference between victory and defeat,” Alberic spoke after a time. When Nomin glanced over at him, her eyes tired, he continued. “Estinien is no ordinary dragoon. Even when set against the legendary Azures of ages past, the man is considered second to none. Such is his prowess, in fact, that the day he was chosen by the Eye, it was proclaimed that Haldrath the Dragonseye had been reborn.”

Nomin gave a silent snort into her mug.

Now why did that sound familiar?

‘Broken Scale…she fights with the strength of Chakha herself! Were she Dotharl, I would believe her to be the very reincarnation!’

“I mean not to disparage your skills, Nomin, but to pursue Estinien in your current state would be tantamount to suicide.”

“And what do you know of my skills, Ser Alberic?” The noisome ire and vitriol of summers past alongside the Jhungid stirred in Nomin’s chest and stomach as she took another sip from her mug. She hoped the warmth of it would wash away the feeling, but it only made it worse. Those memories bled with new ones as more words left her mouth.

“Do you know the trials I’ve faced before coming here from the Far East?”

Obsession. Every routine. Every movement. Every tactic. Every strength. Every flaw. Observed and noted to break free of the shackles the Jhungid bound her and others with.

“Or do you speak thusly because I am not of these lands and am in fact spat on by the very Ishgardians Estinien himself fled from?”

‘Look at her…horns and tail…and scales, besides! Dragonspawn, I’m sure of it. Best not to consort or be seen with the likes of her.’

“Because you hear the same whispers -- albeit perhaps spoken more plainly? That I am a heretic or dragonspawn?”

‘Vile heretic! Begone with you! I’d rather die than be helped by your hands!’

Alberic fell silent, a finger tapping on the bench as he thought about his next words.

“I merely wish you to be on equal footing when, not if, you face Estinien.” Alberic’s tone had softened as he readjusted the focus in which he spoke. “But you are right in that I know not of the trials and tribulations you have faced before coming to Eorzea. You have my apologies for insinuating otherwise.”

The two of them sat in silence. Nomin continued to sup upon her cider, and Alberic kept his gaze upon the flames that burned.

“Though I remain ignorant…” Alberic started. “Perhaps I have an inkling as to why the Eye took a shine to you. Even if you may not want to learn the way of the Dragoon -- I suppose it matters little at the end of the day. If you are chosen by the Eye, so be it. None of us can change that. At least allow me to aid in showing you what to prepare for.”

Nomin turned her head only slightly to glance at Alberic. Letting out a sigh that clouded into steam in the Coerthan cold, she gave a shallow nod.

“It would be foolish of me not to accept that,” Nomin replied.

“If you would humor me, then,” Alberic shifted on the seat before reaching over and tossing a loose piece of firewood into the pit. “It is only fitting that you are edified regarding our origins as Azure Dragoon.”

Summers had come and passed, Nomin had become a prize of sorts among the Jhungid. Not to be won, but to be dominated in combat should anyone be able to do it. A trainee of ten and five summers at this point, she had diligently trained. Under the beating sun, and under the chill of night, she had trained, she had endured.

‘Broken Scale’ had become just as much her moniker as it was used as an insult, much to her disdain. Whether it was for the unsightly striations on her scales, or the fact that she got up and was willing to break bones when it came to fighting the pureblood Jhungid trainees. Especially when it came to the pureblood Jhungid trainees.

Mimicry will only get you so far. You must adjust for yourself.

Nomin held the words in her mind, desperately clinging onto them.

A reminder.

A reminder as to why she fought, why she pushed onward.

Nomin still saw Esenaij in her memories. Heard his voice. His plea for her safety.

Run!

Fight after fight after fight. Each one a lesson, each one rife with as much observation as it was quick movements. A dance of combat that was carefully practiced, honed, and striving for perfection.

Each time in the ring: obsession. Obsession would snake its way around her mind, wrapping and coiling itself like a snake. Ingraining their roots like purbol vines. Just as toxic, too. Every punch, every kick, laced with roiling venom that only wished to poison her captors and would-be dominators.

In her time being trained as a warrior, Nomin had been recognized. Every time she was questioned about what drove her, she would feed them her lies.

Practiced.

Honed.

Striving for perfection.

“I wish only to see the Jhungid to victory so that we may triumph over the Kharlu. What use is a warrior that isn’t willing to be savage in their methods?”

Curb that impatience.

Time and Nomin’s false dedication soon saw her gifted with a steed. A dun horse with a coat that reminded her of the beach sand, and markings that were the color of scorched earth. She accepted this prize. He was a prize for her patience, and a new advantage to a plan having long been stewing.

“I will free the other tribes.”

It was a promise Nomin intended to keep.