Sohka could not have been more uncomfortable had she been a fish unceremoniously plucked out of the water. She'd only just arrived in Thanalan from the Azim Steppe a moon ago. One night, only a few suns ago, she'd met a charming, kind gentleman who had introduced himself as a lord of Ishgard. She wasn't certain what all that entailed, but it certainly sounded important with the emphasis he'd put on it. He didn't seem to mind her rugged furs or broken Common, and had invited her to dinner at his home in Ishgard, this very night.
She'd bathed in the river, dried her hair in sunlight and braided it, cleaned her leathers and furs, and had arrived just in time to meet him outside of Ul'dah. There'd been a flash of pleased triumph in his dark eyes that she hadn't been able to discern the reason for, but soon disregarded it, as it hadn't lasted.
They'd teleported to his home in Ishgard, leaving her queasy and dizzy - oh, but she hadn't liked that method of transportation. It had been her first time using that sort of magic and it hadn't agreed with her. Nevertheless, she drew herself up and, arm in his, entered the dining hall... where approximately two dozen other silk-clad guests were seated at the table, all of the staring in utter shocked and cruel delight... right at her.
She'd thought they would be alone. The moment the whispers began, however, she recognized what this had been - a set-up. From the first hello. "Look at her clothing!", "I bet she doesn't even know what a soup spoon is, how barbarous!", "Look how she clings to his arm, it's pitiful!" The whispers began, along with tittering laughter... and to her shame, Sohka - with tears welling up in her eyes - turned and fled. Everywhere she looked, there were more shocked stares, until finally, a kindly young woman took her by the arm and led her to a tavern, paid for a room for her and travel back to Thanalan the next day.
Present day...
She'd never forgotten that lesson. Why she'd dreamt of it now, though, she had no idea. Waking up groggy, still in chains, still on the furs at the feet of the Chaghan, she pondered the dream while trying to orient herself. They had to be close to the Steppe by now, they'd been sailing for days. What she did know was that she'd never run away from anything before then, and would never do so again, even if she happened across the opportunity.
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There was no other word for the silence that lingered between the two of them, amongst tender, slowly exploratory kisses. And yet, were she to close her eyes, she knew his mouth as well as she knew her own. His lips slid across hers, warm and wet, his tongue teasing, tasting, his long hair tickling her bare shoulders, clad only in war paint and cloth straps.
There was nothing awkward about this silence. The little shaman didn't feel the need to fill the void with flirty words or sassy teases, as she normally would have. It had taken them so long to get to this point, but this was right. It felt right. The bridging of their past lives as lovers to the present - not just lovers, but as soul mates.
Khel.
Dear Khel, who had waited half a lifetime to find her again. To find his little Sunspark.
He kissed her throat and she lifted her chin, gathering the strands of his hair at the nape of his neck. She stared at the stars through the little vent-hole at the top of the yurt and thought about how much she loved him, in so little time. Her heart had known what her head hadn't. Her heart had known just how it fit inside his, so perfectly, how her body molded to his, as if she had been made for him.
How could it be that she could love three, so deeply and steadfastly, all so different in their own ways? Strong, brooding Altan, sweet, kind Ganzorig, and now Khel, who had brought memories back to her that she knew in her heart were true of their lives together on the Steppe.
Burying his face in the crook of her neck, he inhaled deeply of her scent. He'd told her no, but what she hadn't realized was that it hadn't been a no. It had been a not yet. This rejoining of bodies and hearts was going to be a soft thing, a sweet and poignant thing, one of coaxing past lives to the surface, one that wouldn't be complete until he knew every inch of her body again, and she of his. It was to be a reawakening.
"I love you," she whispered, barely a breath, gripping his hair to make him look up at her. "I love you."
These words that he'd only heard for the first time in this life moments ago, these words, she wanted to impress upon him. That she, in this life, loved him. He smiled, and it was perfect. Just for her. Just as it always had been, just as it always would be.
[11:00]Sig moved to scoop up the smaller man then, hefting him /right/ up into his arms, and bumping their foreheads together lightly. "You're cute, Ersikins." He told the smaller man, smirking down to him, before he turned, dumping him playfully onto the couch. "Say- … I was supposed to meet that lil' lizzer 'round here, Sohkatani. You didn't happen t'bump inta her on your way here?"
[11:01]Ersian Kisne huffed a laugh before he was dropped on the couch. He groaned, flopping back against the cushions and sighed. "Sohka?" he asked, frowning. "No, you know, I haven't seen her in a few days. That's weird."
[11:03]Sig nodded to this, frowning to himself in thought, a hand coming up to scratch at his cheek. "Yeah, that's weird as fuck." He mused, before he nodded to himself. "A'ight- I'm gonna go find Ganz, you let your sister know, aye? Let's work out what's up with the lil' cutie, yeah?"
[11:06]Ersian Kisne nods, trying to gather himself and collect his thoughts. "Yeah. Hm." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a linkpearl, tossing it to the Viera. "That's Takitaro's main line. Let me know if she's with Ganz, will you? I'll ask Ruu if she's seen her around."
[11:07]Sig caught the linkpearl with a nod, scooping it up and tucking it into a pouch hanging from the belt he wore. Moving over, he scooped up his coat then, swinging it over his shoulders and buckling it in tight. "I'll let you know." He assured, giving a nod. "She's been having trouble with those Chaghan fuckers, aye? Let's make sure the bean's alright. For her kid's sake if nothing else."
[11:09]Ersian Kisne nodded, the tension in his pants beginning to ease as a bit of worry crept in. "Check with her other mates, too. I think she has, uh… two more? Three? Can't be more than that."
Upon the vast plains of the Azim Steppe, a small footnote in the history of ever-again went unobserved by the world at large. A small gathering of three tribes commenced, the Dotharl, the Chaghan and, overlooking the affair to ensure that it did not turn from a diplomatic event into a hate-fueled battle, the Oronir.
Khaltmaa of the Dotharl lifted her head and closed her eyes, listening to the snap of the flags proudly flown, feeling the warmth of the sun on her face. They had been instructed by the Oronir to limit their delegation to ten, just as the Chaghan had been. Compliance with the order had been reluctant and untrusting; to say that the Dotharl did not get along well with either tribe was to vastly understate the political atmosphere of the day... but the Oronir were, at least for this turn, the rulers of the Steppe. If they were to double-cross either tribe in a peaceful assembly, all of the tribes of the Steppe would rise up against them.
Opening her eyes, she surveyed the field and the forces arrayed before them. The Oronir had brought fifty warriors, clad in bright yellow, some of whom remained on horseback, others relaxing on foot as they watched the proceedings. The Chaghan had brought their allotted ten, dressed in red and black, marks of war drawn in thick greasepaint upon their faces. They were not so calm as the Oronir, pacing and muttering among themselves, holding tightly to their weapons.
All but one. One man stood entirely still, one massive brute of a man, even for their people; one man who the whipping winds didn't seem to touch, who stood in the eye of the storm of tension around them and did not flinch. Terkhembaatar, of the Chaghan, stared Khaltmaa down with a terrible calmness, a sense of inevitability, as if he knew the count of her days.
Khaltmaa repressed a shudder and straightened her shoulders proudly, the small, elder Auri woman striding forth. She planted her feet in the dust of the plains and called forth in a strong voice untouched by the trembling she felt in her hands, hidden in her warkilt.
"Terkhembaatar of the Chaghan, I come here today to make a claim for reason, and for peace. You and your tribemates have pursued my daughter and her mates for the last three moons without cease, sending wave after wave of your brothers to fall before them. This all began because of your tribemate's actions! Your brother in blood chose to slay my son, Sohkatani's brother, in a shameful ambush. He was alone! He was no threat to your tribe or your brother. But your tribe took his head and sent it to me. Is this not a declaration of war? But the Dotharl abided. Sohkatani returned to the Steppes with her mates and slew this man that killed her brother, as was her right. Instead of letting it end there, you and yours have tried many times now to cut them down. End this foolishness."
Khaltmaa fell silent, her heart pounding in her chest. She had fought to be named envoy for these talks, arguing the no other had any more right than she, as it had been her son that had been slain and her daughter that the Chaghan sought to kill now. Standing here, her entire body shaking with rage, fists clenched at her sides, she wondered briefly if another should not have been named to speak. Control, she counselled herself. It was her fury that directed her words, the only emotion that the Chaghan even acknowledged, so far as she knew.
Terkhembaatar did not move for several moments, allowing the wind to carry the last of Khaltmaa's words away. Finally, he took one step towards the tiny, quivering Xaela who stared up at him with so much rage - and the Oronir watching rustled their weapons in warning. Ignoring the taut sound, he fixed his gaze upon her.
"You have much to say, Khaltmaa of the Dotharl, but little to offer. Your daughter owes my brothers a debt of blood. In her thirst for vengeance, she slew five, not one. Four lives are owed to the Chaghan. You ask us to end this. This is my offer to you. She has four mates. We will take the lives of these mates but spare your daughter and the infant."
Khaltmaa's heart sank. She hadn't approved of Sohkatani's choice in choosing not one, but multiple mates outside of the Dotharl. Upon meeting two of them, Altan of the Angura, and Ganzorig of the Avagnar, however, she had seen them for honorable warriors who returned her daughter's steadfast love. She'd been unaware of the third and fourth mates, but if she knew her daughter, knew that her heart had been given freely and completely.
The fact remained, however, that none of them were Dotharl. She could not extend Sohkatani's protection to them without officially declaring war between their two tribes. She had no doubt the crafty Chaghan knew this, damn the man. Loathing every word that left her lips, Khaltmaa spoke again, her voice heavy.
"Your terms are accepted by the Dotharl. We will not go to war with the Chaghan over the deaths of Sohkatani's mates, so long as she and the child live."
With that, Terkhembaatar simply nodded and turned away. Khaltmaa followed suit. There was nothing more to say. She had betrayed her daughter to save her life and she knew that Sohkatani would never forgive her, as long as she lived. But she would live, for the sake of her child.
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A few days had passed since Sohka had attended the social gathering at Priarch and had reassured Silvaineaux that she would speak to Edarien about potentially securing Priarch's help with their rather one-sided war with the Chaghan. Being from one of the more hated tribes of the Steppe, she was sure that no other tribe would step forth to aid her, even if an alliance would be beneficial to both tribes - and, as she had expressed to the Baron, she had few friends to call on. Those she did have, she was reluctant to involve - they'd done nothing to incur the Chaghan's wrath and dragging them into the conflict would risk their life and limb.
Asking Priarch for aid was really her last resort. If they could bring a large enough show of force to the next wave of Chaghan that came for them, perhaps they could end the conflict for good.
So it was early one midweek morning that Sohka had seen Sai - her son - bundled up in bed with a snoring Altan and the tiny Xaela woman herself trudging the familiar paths back toward Thanalan. It was still too early to disturb Edarien, so she intended to go and have a bit of breakfast at the Quicksand and while away an hour or two, then head to the Mists where Priarch's headquarters were. Pre-occupied with her troubled thoughts, she barely paid any heed to her surroundings, eyes downcast on the path before her.
The first sign of trouble was the fallen tree.
A felled trunk and branches- One of the few which Thanalan even bore, and it had fallen- …
Or, been cut down, as an inspection of the harshly hewn stump would reveal.
The second, was the scent on the wind. Masculine and thick, it wafted past her nostrils- The aroma of a male in heat. The aroma of a man without control, without limitations, without anyone holding him back or restraining his choices. Heady, thick, laced with blood and earth and fresh-cut wood.
And the third- … The third was the voice.
“Early morning, out all alone, little Steppedaughter.” Came the rumbling intonation of the words from her side, where a quick whirl around would reveal the man.
He carried his axe across his lap- A twin-headed, chunky-bladed Labrys which he hefted up, before turning over to brace it against the ground.
And beyond that, he was big. It was hard to tell with him sitting down as he was- But he looked a good half a fulm taller than even the tallest of her mates, give or take an ilm.
Ebon-black scales glinting in the sun the Xaela moved to rise to his feet then, and- Oh, he was every bit as big as he looked. “The stories didn’t capture even half of how pretty you were- … Or half of how arrogant.” Came the breath from his lips then, as the man with his powerful jaw and forward-facing horns looked down to her, hefting his axe up, and over his shoulder. “They call you Sohkatani of the Dotharl. Don’t they? Born of Wildfire. Slayer of Chaghan.”
A tree down? She paused, fingers reaching out to touch the rough-hewn edges of it. Who would just cut a tree down across the middle of the path and leave it there? Unless...
... her head whipped up as she caught the scent in the air. Definitively masculine and certainly the source of the fallen tree. Novsh. It was a trap, one that she had distractedly walked right into.
Whirling around when she heard the voice from behind her, she narrowed her eyes suspiciously on the enormous, muscle-bound male Xaela. She took a small step back, but that was about as far as she could go, being as the trunk of the fallen tree now pressed to her backside.
Still, she was Dotharl - and Dotharl did not display fear. "I am the one of whom you speak. Sohkatani, Wildfire shaman of the Dotharl tribe, the Undying, most fearless tribe of the Steppe!" she declared boldly in Xaelic, ignoring his compliment... and following insult. "Slayer of the Chaghan, only because the Chaghan will not stop sending warriors to wet my blades."
With that, her two chakram dropped into her small hands and came up before her in a defensive gesture, clearly conveying that if he intended to attack her, she would not go easily.
The man was massive, a fact which only grew more and more apparent as he approached her. His head canting to the side, he cracked the vertebrae in his neck then. One by one in a slow, certain progression.
“Good.” He growled out, then. “Then I have not been led astray by my fool brothers.”
“Though, you’re wrong about one thing.” He uttered out then, as he leant in slowly. “Dotharl feel fear. I’ve seen it in their eyes as I crushed their ribs beneath my boot. Your people may not fear death- … But I have my ways. And with the Will of Karash? My kin know no such thing as fear. Only fury.”
His free hand shot up then, and he grabbed ahold of one of her Chakrams, his grip monstrously tight- Threatening to outright bend the metal as he pushed back, as if to force her right onto her ass, back against that tree trunk she was now backed up against.
And then, he ripped his arm back, aiming to pull that Chakram right out of her hand- If he hadn’t already crumpled it by way of his heavy grip. The man was a monster. Overbearing and overrunning her in a way which none of the other Chaghan had been- Like an oncoming earthquake, crumbling houses in his wake. “And you, little wildfire spark? You have done MUCH to earn my fury.”
"Do not come closer!" Sohka called sharply as he began to approach, but her warning went utterly unheeded, his coming seeming as inevitable as the dawn sun. Brothers? He confirmed her suspicions, then - he was Chaghan... which meant that she was certainly in danger. Where there was one, there were a dozen. Or perhaps this one thought himself able to take her out himself, there was no telling. If there were more, they were well-hidden.
Her bright blue eyes widened as he leaned in and rumbled to her, her teeth gritting in anger at his words. He had slain her kin. She opened her mouth to shoot back a scathing retort, but his hand jerked forward, faster than she had time to react. She stumbled backwards, pressing herself against the tree trunk as her steel chakram crumpled like paper in his grip. And when he yanked it away from her? Her choices were to either hold on and get her shoulder dislocated, or to let it go. Wisely, she chose the latter.
"Your fool tribesmen murdered my brother. Cut him down like a dog in an honorless ambush. I was deserving of my revenge," she spat, clinging to her remaining weapon. Her tail rose behind her, swaying sinuously, dangerously, the bladed tip glinting in the sunlight.
"Go back to your tribe, Chaghan. I have no further quarrel with you and yours." Adjusting her feet minutely, she grounded herself, allowing the solid feel of the earth beneath her feet to infuse her body. Calmly, she gazed at him... then jerked her own hands up, summoning a shield of solid rock to rumble upwards between them, and like a wave, go crashing toward him.
"Honor is a crutch." The reply came so fast, so harsh. A snarl upon his lips as he all but shoved the poor little thing onto her ass. One foot rose, armored and clad in thick leathers, scale and steel- There would be no quick slashes of /that/ limb, not without notable effort. That foot came slamming down, then, planting itself into the tree-trunk with such force as to embed itself an ilm inwards, the wood cracking, splintering around it.
And then, then that shield of rock rose, and for a moment? For a moment it seemed like it would force him back, part them. Right up until his own hand rose, and /caught/ the top of it. His fist curled in, shamanic magics flowing through his own arm, the earth answering his call, answering her own- ... Two opposing requests, two demands, and while it did not summarily respond to his own will over her own, the conflict between them earned something closer to a 'fizzling out', their wills clashing, and the magic simply falling apart between them, the earth stopping where it was.
And when the earth stopped- ... Well, that was when he tightened his grip, and /shoved/ his hand downwards, cracking and ripping through the stone as if it had been as soft as loam.
"Oh no. You don't get to get off that easy." He snarled to her, pushing through, that monstrous, grasping hand reaching for her throat, to catch to it and, if he got ahold, to thrust her back, against that trunk. Aiming to pin her right down in place. "I couldn't give less of a damn what happened to your brother. But you took five lives in place of one. You owe me a debt, Dotharl."
In the distance, she could hear the sound of hooves- Not Chocobo talons. That could only mean one thing, more Steppe warriors. More Chaghan, most likely. She was surrounded, more likely than not.
"And you've what, four mates? Three and a dog? That seems a fitting payment to me." As his men rode closer, he moved to heft Sohkatani up, into the air, lifting her skyward- She still had that bladed tail, and her chakram, and he was almost half-amused at the thought of how she might try to use them. "You and your brat can live, but I'll be taking the heads of each of the men you love."
Sohka staggered back hard against the tree trunk, her feet slipping out from under her and landing hard on her ass. Flinching as he planted his foot against the tree hard enough to nearly break through it, she watched the wall of earth rise...
... only for despair to write over her expression as the elements responded to his call as well as her own. To be as massive and musclebound as he was and also have mastery over shamanistic magic? That was simply unfair.
He shoved his hand down, breaking the wall of stone apart as easily as if it had been made of fine sand, and she raised her hands to shield herself from the falling rocks and bits of debris that rained down on her, blinking rapidly to clear the dust from her eyes - only to find her throat grabbed, thick, terrifyingly strong fingers coiling around that slender column.
Squirming and raking her claws over his hand in a bid to get free, she coughed, gasping for breath. "I owe you nothing, Chaghan," she hissed, her voice strained from the grip on her throat. When she heard the hoofbeats, though, a thrill of panic raced through her. Out-muscled, out-maneuvered and out-numbered, it didn't appear she'd be getting out of this. At least, not easily.
And then he spoke again, and her blood ran cold. Unbidden, the horrifying sight of him smashing in Altan's, Ganz's, Khel's, Naran's heads in came to her mind. No... no, she had to get free - she had to warn them that this was a trap to get them to come for her, as she knew they would.
She opened her mouth to speak, but then she was being lifted by her throat and abruptly, she had no air. Kicking ineffectually, she desperately clawed at his hand, tail lashing wildly behind her. No, no, no! This couldn't be the way this ended!
Simply unfair was exactly the term for it. It was unfair. It was monstrous. This man. This beast. This horrifying brute.
He was a monster.
A towering mass of muscle, magic and mounting fury which she could almost taste.
It almost would have been arousing, had he not been who he was.
"You do not get to decide what you owe me. Dotharl." He snarled to her as his grip tightened in, and- ... He wasn't letting up. That grip, that hold. Curling in around her windpipe, constricting it-
He was strangling her.
"There it is." He breathed out then, even as her vision started to blur, a smile visible to her eyes. "That fear.."
And that. That reminder. That she, a Dotharl, felt fear, was his gift to her as her consciousness began to drift away.
And when it returned? It was not to the warm sands of Thanalan, but to the rocking of a boat underneath her, and the tight wrap of ropes to her skin, gripping so invasively as she was bound, hog-tied, and left upon a pile of furs.
Sohka swallowed against that tightening grip, adrenaline and panic running cold through her. Her head pounded, her lungs screamed with the need to breath, but he wasn't letting up. Her lips parted and she tried to gasp in even the tiniest sip of precious oxygen, but his grip was too tight. She kicked and she clawed as she swung from the brute's grip; blood dripped from the back of his hand from her nails, but he didn't even seem to feel it.
Fear? Oh yes, she felt it. But it wasn't fear for herself. She wasn't afraid to die, not even like this, if it would save her mates. She knew it would not, though - and that was where her fear came in. Fear for their lives, not her own.
Darkness began to hover at the edges of her blurred vision and her limbs felt heavy, all the sudden. She gave a few more desperate kicks... and then everything went black.
She had no idea how long she was out, but it had to have been for a considerable amount of time, if they were already on a ship. Her eyes fluttered open and she immediately closed them again against the glare of the sun. Her lungs ached, her head throbbed in pain. Being strangled into unconsciousness was not a pleasant way to go, but at least she was still alive. At least she still had a chance.
Squirming, she tried to move her tail, to use the sharp edge of it to saw the ropes that bound her. If she could get free... well, hopefully they were still close to shore.
(Collaboration between Ganz Avagnar and myself. With mentions of @houserosaire and @thedarknesssings)
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You are the Willing Hero. The Willing Hero is the adventurous sort who will immediately jump at the call to adventure. The Willing Hero is brave, bold, and swashbuckling. He views adventure and danger as great fun.
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This was unsurprising. xD Thanks for the tag, @auburn-stallion!
