Fastest way to get me to block your FFXIV blog or channel is to crack a tired Balmung sex joke.
When we named ourselves the roleplay server and the average person went, "oh, ROLEPLAY, tee hee," because they've never done a spot of collaborative creative writing in their life and so the word is synonymous with "kinky bedroom scenarios" for them--
When 4chan's /v/ and /vg/ board communities decided to set up shop on Balmung years later precisely because the above phenomenon had landed us a funny scarlet letter and then proceeded to aggrandize that reputation--
When they flocked to Ul'dah because that was THE spot to roleplay, *ACTUALLY* roleplay, I was there Gandalf, I was there when Sultansworn RPers walked the streets and the Brass Blades & Immortal Flames would get into fisticuffs and Ala Mhigans would take leves and the crime lords would plot and scheme in the dark corners of the city years before anyone even LOOKED at Pearl Lane, when they flocked to our roleplay hub and set up camp because to them it was the ERP hub now--
When 2016 rolled around and the Nazis started coming out of the woodwork and Ul'dah shout chat deteriorated and we couldn't stomach some of the heinous shit being said--
When first World Visit and later DC Travel dropped, opening the floodgates because until then you had to create or transfer a character onto the server but now you cpuod just VISIT and now all these years later the Quicksand and adjacent areas are drowning in Wanderers and Travelers and low level alts WHO VASTLY OUTNUMBER LOCALS, now that the sex tourism is here to stay, the Goldshire reputation has been transposed onto this server, and we weren't even at fault--
When even content creators and streamers would get in on the joke, not knowing a damned thing about roleplay in most cases, when they would and continue to amplify a bad yet undeserved reputation for something that, let's be honest, was a perfectly okay activity between consenting adults but then got conflated with gooner culture and therefore we get hit with puritan attitudes--
When server congestion drove incentives to transfer offworld and a sizeable chunk of roleplayers chose to move to Mateus, many of them with no ill will and every good intention of finding a better environment for collaborative writing, but SOME of them due to frictions with other members of the roleplaying community and therefore they resorted to slander, more fuel for the fire, adding to the growing number of voices--
When roleplay is so BADLY misunderstood these days, and venue RP isn't helping, with the average FFXIV player mistaking what goes on in & around the Balmung Quicksand (AFKing, sex pest tells, some genuine ERP, and more things besides) for the collaborative writing we mean when we say "roleplay" (it's not, take my hand, I will show you a better world)--
When an innocent interested party can't even FIND roleplay without hours of effort because forums are gone, social media ain't it, and roleplayers are fragmented across hundreds of private silo'd Discord servers with no visibility on the broader internet--
When all of this shit is true, and when we try to push back, and when no one listens, because it's funnier to point at laugh at the Other (humor is harm, someone once told me, and they're right), when the cycle is endlessly perpetuated by you--
Fuck you.
Fuck your joke.
I don't need to vaguepost and I don't need to throw up callouts. It's common. You know who you are. Take a breath next time and ask yourself if you know what you're talking about. If the post you're about to like and reblog could've made you laugh without resorting to a stereotype at others' expense.
This may seem small and petty, and it is.
But these things scale. The small is often an indicator for the large. You can do better, be better.
Credit where credit is due. FFXIV's latest Variant Dungeon, Merchant's Tale, came out this week in Patch 7.45. There's been a lot of well-deserved criticism levied towards it already, because some of the most prominently marketed aspects of this new release - the gear, some of the bosses, etc. -- have been Orientalist caricatures that are demeaning, racist, and frankly rather disappointing. It's obvious why this is (sex sells and Disney's Aladdin sells; hence the "exotic" belly dancer gear, the blue genie of the lamp, the flying carpets, etc.), and I won't rehash those points here because that isn't the focus of this post.
The point is this: there's been some actual research & work that's gone into Merchant's Tale, and those facets should be recognized and praised and discussed, even as we are justly and rightfully denouncing the aforementioned Orientalism. I'm an Iranian-American; I may not be the best person to speak on this on account of how I am diaspora, but my grasp of Farsi/Persian and my cultural upbringing gives me enough background to recognize the work that Creative Unit 3 did put into this latest release. It's my personal belief that we should be encouraging more and better representation, not less and worse, and until matters & industries & reach improve enough that we can enjoy homegrown representation developed in the countries best suited to represent themselves, we ought to give companies feedback to encourage them to do better (hire natives and first language speakers, do their research, understand what not to do, etc.) rather than to become entirely avoidant ("why bother with representing this culture when we'll only get slammed for it") or, worse, to start disregarding our feedback entirely in favor of what sells best. There's enough good representation in Merchant's Tale that it's worth not losing sight of it, and I'm going to be covering all of those things in this post.
Be warned: spoilers await you.
Finally, before we start: please pray for the people of Iran.
The Framework
The first thing about Merchant's Tale to reckon with is that it isn't current-day Corvos, which is to say that it isn't FFXIV's closest analogue to the Middle East. It's Corvos as depicted by a fictional collection of stories. Sound familiar?
The tale in question also suffers from having countless versions:
One aspect of the story is about as traditional as it gets in folklore. A young man winning the heart and hand of a woman:
If there's any doubt as to what's happening here, the reward for unlocking all thirteen routes of Merchant's Tale is an eye mask that looks like sleepwear. Something you'd wear to bed.
And, of course, there's both the genie and the flying carpet(s) which call to mind Disney's Aladdin, based on Aladdin, a tale that originates in a certain collection of folktales. I'm not including the picture of the genie here, you've all seen it, but we will revisit the carpet later.
FFXIV's Merchant's Tale appears to be based on, or heavily influenced by, One Thousand and One Nights, a collection of mostly Middle Eastern stories. I say mostly because some are mostly inventions added to the collection at later times by Westerners. The prime example of this is Aladdin; look that up if you'd like more details.
The majority of stories found within One Thousand & One Nights aren't very well known in the public zeitgeist, and we can probably attribute a great deal of that to vast gulfs in culture and sensibilities (old vs. modern). The most common and universal aspect of the collection, however, is the framing device: the stories contained in the collection are presented as stories told by Sahrzahd (commonly known as Scheherazade) to her husband the king starting on the night of their marriage. She regales him with these stories throughout the night, and ends mid-tale each time come sunrise; intrigued and possessed by the need to know how each story ends, the king always delays her execution (long story, you can look it up) until the next day.
You could say that these are bedtime stories she tells him, which makes the Comfortable Eye Mask reward rather fitting; by the end of the collection, the king withdraws the planned execution of Sahrzahd, having learned a great deal of wisdom from her stories, and spares her life. This brings the tales to the end and, presumably, a return to normalcy... and a normal sleep schedule. Which again, a fitting parallel for the reward: once you've experienced all the stories within Merchant's Tale, you too get to sleep.
It's a shame that Square Enix appears to have based so much of this content on One Thousand and One Nights. There are less well-known works rife with potential for creative storytelling (Shahnameh is right there, Yoshida) but it's clear that they went this route because it's familiar enough to a general audience and popular enough that it will generate excitement. In short, it's not as risky and more of a sure bet.
This is important context moving forward, though, as we'll see.
Firouzeh: Turquoise in Abundance
One of the things which struck me about Merchant's Tale, as far back as late 2025 when Creative Unit 3 began showing it off, was the abundance of turquoise. You see it everywhere: a sky blue or robin egg blue color which makes everything in the content pop.
For those who aren't aware: turquoise (firouzeh, in Farsi/Spanish) has the English name it does because the French got their pierre turqueise (Turkish Stone) from the Ottomans... who in turn got it from the Persians, who were mining it and using it extensively in many walks of life!
I never thought I'd see so much blue! I immediately got my hopes up that perhaps this meant that the content was geared a little bit more my way than usual, in terms of representation, than I was accustomed to expecting from the hodge-podge Orientalist melting-pot depictions we are accustomed to seeing from the West where all of the various MENA/SWANA cultures get jumbled up together into a nonsensical ball of disappointment. I was not disappointed.
No sooner does the Warrior of Light agree to accompany Y'nazqha the gleaner into this enchanted storybook than we get dropped into this gorgeous room, which is also bluer than I could dare hope or dream of.
Small side: Y'nazqha doesn't get the Story-Lover's gear treatment, but instead gets enchanted into the far more respectable Gemrise set from Dawntrail...
...which unfortunately does not offset Creative Unit 3 choosing to dress the tale's maiden in the oft-criticized Story-spinner's set:
It's not great, folks. There are so many culturally significant and appropriate and BEAUTIFUl dresses, outfits, and more for ladies from across countless cultures that Square Enix could be putting into the game.
Anyway, back to the blue. I ran into an immediate issue with my shaders, which -- to their credit -- Square did warn us about. I made some adjustments later, but you may see some slight differences in tone, hue, and warmth as a result between a number of these pictures. But the big takeaway is this: that interior is GORGEOUS. Somebody did the fuckin' work. In fact, they did so much goddamned work that two details immediately jumped at me.
First: the carpets have tassels and the seats are traditionally low to the floor, as is the furniture. Small asks, often lost in the wash when it comes to video games.
More importantly, however, I found myself asking, "Where is the samovar?" I could see the cup and pot on the table. I could see the kettle on the stove.
And that's when it clicked: the Middle East, Iran/Persia specifically, would not have had samovars at the time that this "ancient folklore" takes place. We only got them fairly recently, within the past few hundred years, from Russia. Square Enix paid enough attention to realize that there shouldn't be a samovar here.
Truly, they paid a good deal of attention throughout. The bazaar which you pass through? Carpets and rugs. Carpets and rugs galore. We're not done with carpets yet. Thankfully, none of these fly. I cannot stress enough just how much my family loves carpets, and all of the Iranians and Iranian-Americans with whom I'm familiar love carpets.
We'll touch more on aesthetic as we go, but it's time to discuss another important area in which the team paid attention to detail: language.
Farsi, Also Known as Persian
As it so happened, the first run I experienced with strangers took us down the bazaar and to the Anchorite at Corvos. This is a coastal beach section, and I'm not in a position to comment on the aesthetics here, having never had the opportunity to visit Iran; may I do so within my lifetime, inshallah! What surprised me, however, was the name of the final boss awaiting us at the end of that route.
Darya the Sea-Maid is presented as a mermaid with fairy-like wings, which is delightful enough on its own... but darya is Farsi for "ocean," and Farsi itself is a very poetic language. "Ocean, the Maid of the Sea" might sound repetitive to Western ears, but Darya khedmatkar-i darya has a certain charm to it that I cannot stop thinking about. It's lovely, truly.
Darya being a siren and being so focused on song & dance is also a delight, because song and prayer and our voices and our movement are so important in Iranian and Persian culture (I list both because there is a difference, we won't get into it here; may Iranians not of Persian background forgive me this trespass). We live, enthusiastically, and we enjoy and celebrate living.
While we're here, Darya also touches on faith and on fate. Something to keep in mind for later.
Finishing that first run was important, because Nazqha herself points out that the fiction we're exploring is not at all a one-to-one representation of true history:
We're not done, not by a long shot. Watch this post for more, because I've hit the 30-image limit on this post and there's so much more to cover. Reblogs appreciated, of course, but I do recommend holding them until I've gotten through everything. Please do note that I won't be reblogging or responding to any comments or tags or notes or reblogs until I'm completely finished, which may take several more posts.
"Through scales you go, to the waters below. The Navigator will lead your soul home."
Khira bowed her head in silence, a moment of respect for the departed, before placing a platinum coin over the mouth of the enshrouded figure laying before her. It was the least she could do, given the cruelty of their demise and the unfortunately invasive investigation of those circumstances post-mortem. She beckoned to the robed priestess standing dutifully by the entryway.
"As per the Maelstrom's wishes, the body is to be cremated, so as to be returned to Limsa Lominsa for a burial at sea. Please have a message sent to the Hourglass when all is done, I'll return to collect and settle her debt to Thal."
The priestess nodded in a slow, practiced motion, but did not move until the Keeper Miqo'te crossed the threshold, and only then to close the doors behind her. The Arrzaneth Ossuary was ever secretive about its methods, mundane and magickal. Khira thought little of it as she made her way up the twisting stone steps and out of the Ossuary's crypts, her mind wandering elsewhere.
So many pieces to this puzzle, misshapen and ill fitting.
The night air sent a shiver across her shoulders the moment she stepped out into the quiet streets, a stark opposition to the pungent air of the burial chambers below, heavily laden with oils and incense as they were. The streets of Ul'dah were still, neither wind nor wastrel disturbed the Steps of Nald.
The cause of death was as the broadsheets said, the captain drowned that was certain. But no in her spirits nor at sea. Her body was suffused with water aspected aether to the point of rupturing. No beast of Thanalan has that power, even La Noscean-
Khira stopped dead in her thoughts, her gaze caught by a tattered scroll plastered to the wall of the Coliseum. It depicted a figure in black leathers and red scale, gripping a pair of swords styled as horns set ablaze. 'Slayer of the Inferno'. The lamplight flickered in her eyes, the chance sighting birthing a sudden revelation.
Khira watched from a few fulms away as the sailors and dockworkers of the Silver Bazaar hauled a figure out of the shallows, dragging it up on to the rocky shore. A highlander staggered back as they rolled the body over onto its back, another turned away cursing the leviathan, and the scene was overcome by a general sense of unease and disgust.
"Traders preserve, what's left of you." A Dunesfolk fisherman turned back to Khira, beckoning the Miqo'te over. "Miss, I believe we've found your... ulp... missing woman."
Khira strode towards the quickly dispersing crowd, tossing a hefty, clinking pouch to the Lalafell. The man immediately set about to dividing up the gil to his fellows, the drowned body nearby all but forgotten.
"Your compensation as agreed, more than enough for-" She balked as she approached the corpse, an assault on the sense, wanting to retch. The broadsheets in Limsa a few suns past already reported Captain Doenstyrmwyn drowned in Ul'dah, though without specifics pending an investigation. Since then the body had been 'lost', dumped in the waters off Horizon's Edge for Twelve knows how long and now dragged through rocky shallows. It was to Khira's surprise it was still mostly in one piece.
"Bonus pay to anyone that fetches a cart."
She covered her mouth with a cloth rag as she approached the corpse, gingerly toeing it with her boot. It gave easily, the Thanalan sun already inducing further rot.
Fera aan Silvius limped up the rocky slope through the wind and rain, body aching and broken, fueled only by adrenaline and will. One foot in front of the other, shooting pains through her left every other step. The Rava Viera had trekked malms through the night, practically dragging herself out of Mor Dhona, now lost in the Coerthan wilderness. Each breath came slower than the last, ragged rasps through grit teeth. Survival and freedom were her only goals, and she'd choose freedom if she could only have one. An errant misstep however saw her foot slip against wet stone, body hitting the ground with a crack, stealing what conscious moments she had left.
-
Her last memories flashed in her unconscious mind, the same scene on repeat. A titanic airship, a piercing roar, a horde of dragons, then explosions all around. Burning wreckage, screams, the bodies of her comrades... her captors. But from ruination, salvation. A hope she thought lost, something to cling to.
-
Fera woke to a whistling chirp in her ear, rousing her from her visions. On reflex she made to move, put herself into a less vulnerable position, only to fall right back to the hay in which she lay, wincing as pain shot through her shoulder. The large chocobo that had been looming over her leapt back, startled as much as she was. Its pale yellow feathers bristled in an attempt at intimidation, but the bird quickly calmed down when no real threat presented itself.
"So Eorzea has the birds too... yellow... not so violent perhaps."
The chocobo flapped its wings and chirped again, before kneeling down to nestle against the Viera. Fera's nose wrinkled at the pungent musk of the creature, but leaned into it as much as she could manage all the same, the warmth welcome.
"Maybe I'll survive this after all..." She thought, briefly, before passing out once more.
The Coffer & Coffin sat empty save for the Moon Keeper Miqo'te sat at the bar, tail idly swinging behind the stool, and the cloaked Hyur behind it. A windstorm raged outside, dirt and sand pelting the building's exterior in a discordant melody.
"How fortunate for you to arrive right before a storm hit miss. I thought my takings done when the usual crowd took their leave early, but you'll keep this place a coffer yet." The man poured a drink for the woman, something dark and slick, closer to oil than alcohol. Her nose wrinkled before it hit the glass.
"Only if your grog doesn't put me in a coffin. Eugh, what is that anyway?"
"I'm not sure, I grabbed the closest bottle from under the bar." He shrugged, smirking. "I didn't think to ask the proprietor about his stock. I also didn't think you were that picky with your drink."
The woman huffed, ears flattening against her head, mumbling under her breath indignantly as she pushed the glass away. The Hyur didn't seem to mind, merely taking up a cloth to polish a glass, as if it was the expected motion for his position.
"Well I can't make you drink it, which means I can't make you pay for it. So much for my take." He sighed with mock exasperation. The woman pinched her nose before pulling a small pouch from her hip, letting it fall to the bar top with the telltale clink of gil.
"I might not be in the market for bottom shelf grog, but maybe you'll lend an ear to the lost and weary?"
She nudged the pouch towards the man, her tone more knowing than questioning. In a single, flowing motion, the man swept the pouch off the counter, pocketing it. Strands of hair, dark with streaks of grey, fell over one side of his face as he had bent over, but they were quickly slicked back into place.
"Oh I'm always happy to listen when people want to talk, so please, speak your mind. What's wearing you down, what have you lost?"
"A woman, sea wolf, trader from Limsa. Or, more accurately, her corpse. Was found in her inn room a couple of suns ago, but the Blades have 'somehow' lost track of her." She rolled her eyes. "Ring a bell?"
The Hyur didn't even so much as shift, still smirking as they polished the same glass.
"Hmm, it stirs a memory. Might have seen a dressed up Roegaydn on her way to a fancy party nearing on a sennight ago. Had another lass doting on her, flashy type, probably more attracted to wealth than the woman herself."
The Miqo'te fell silent as the Hyur spoke, elbows resting atop the bar, balled up fists against her forehead. The howling wind was drowned out by her own thoughts, mind mulling over that simple snippet of information, drawing links and formulating further questions and lines of inquiry.
"Interesting. But what about recently?"
"In the last couple of suns? Can't say I've seen such a woman, or what may remain of her. But if I was looking for the drowned, I'd likely look to the docks."
The woman smiled for the first time since starting her investigations, now that a real lead had presented itself.
"My thanks for time, and the information worth it's weight in gold." She rose from her seat, making to leave as the storm finally began to die down.
"Worth its weight in silver even." He winked, before setting the glass aside and dipping into a low bow.
Narhan kir Mentus paced back and forth impatiently, his sharp steps ringing out over the soft hum of the lab's equipment. He hated waiting, to be kept waiting, but he could hardly demand the whereabouts of a wayward superior officer. The longer the Garlean paced, the more his thin lipped frown turned to a scowl.
"You had been such an ideal test subject, only to bring it all crashing down. And yet they ordered us to recover you." Narhan glared up at a large tube suspended in the centre of the lab, one fist clenched. The tube was filled with a viscous green substance, and suspended amongst countless tubes and cables within hung a humanoid figure, their body seared with burn marks. "At the very least, it seems like you won't be my problem any more."
"That remains to be seen, medicus."
Narhan wheeled around on a heal into a snap salute, body moving with reflexive precision at the rasp of his superior. The scowl had disappeared, his face now stoic, expressionless. "Chief Janus, ser!"
"At ease, senior medicus." Janus croaked. The man before Narhan was an aged Highlander, stooped over in a permanent hunch, draped in a washed out lab coat. His face looked like skin pulled over bare bone, twisted into a crooked grimace of a frown or smile depending on the angle you looked at him. "I'll have your report, in brief."
"Ser!" Narhan relaxed only slightly. It was all he could do not to stare directly into the Chief Medicus's eyes, one almost clouded over, trying instead to focus on the space behind him.
"As you are aware, my staff have been undertaking experiments, in co-operation with the Fourth Legion's Beast Army and Mage detachment, to artificially imbue a subject with bestial aether."
Narhan coughed. There was something unnerving about the old man, intimidating, in spite of his feeble countenance. Janus merely stared, unblinking and expectant.
"We succeeded in finding a suitable candidate among the legion's viera conscripts, Fera aan Silvius. In good health, strong constitution, above average aether capacity... and a wild temperament befitting the project. After our initial experiments bore fruit allowing the bonding of foreign aether to the subject's system, we preceded with the replication of bestial techniques."
Narhan couldn't help but grin. It was only due to his own sleepless nights of research that they had broken through the initial wall of aetheric bonding, gleaning a technique from half ruined records of Allag. The pride quickly faded, his superior's piercing gaze meeting his own for a split second. If Narhan didn't know any better he may have thought Janus dead where he stood, having not moved a muscle. But he did know better.
"Replication was a success. We trialed the aether of many beasts, anything that may seem useful to the empire's needs, and everything was proceeding as planned-"
"Until you decided to trial the aetheric properties of explosive voidkin." Janus's lips barely moved, his statement no more than a raspy exhale. Narhan hesitated a moment before continuing.
"Correct. Though we only supplied her with a minimal amount of bomb aether, we suspect she amplified the effect of the resulting explosion through a combination of innocuous abilities previously trialed. We lost fifty percent of staff, including Chief Medicus Sorros, as well as much stored data due to equipment overload."
Narhan bowed his head. As much pride as he had for the project, it was also his mistake that had led it to this point, having pushed for the trial of voidkin aether over more mundane creatures. Janus gave a shallow nod, before turning to leave, stopping once he reached the door to the lab.
"Senior Medicus Narhan, forthwith both yourself and this project are being transferred to the Fourteenth Legion's Eikonic Research Division. You will provide all remaining documentation, as well as a full written report, to myself. Once the subject is in a state suitable for movement she is to be transported to Ala Mhigo."
"Ser!" Narhan saluted, his face once more blank, void of expression.
4 ponze of fresh morbolvine, peeled and roughly chopped
1 ponze of rolanberries
1 ponze of lingonberries
8 onze of maple sugar
Few are those that look at the malodourous morbol and see the makings of a meal. However, if prepared correctly, the vines make for a filling treat.
Firstly, ensure your morbol vines are fresh. They should be prepared and used within five suns of being cut from the main body. Once acquired, peel away the outer layer of each, as it is tough and not suited for consumption. Once peeled, proceed to roughly chop your vines into bite sized pieces, before setting them in a water filled pot. You want the waterline of the pot to sit just above the top of your vines.
While the vines are left to soak, prepare your berries by removing any leaves or stems. As an aside, while this recipe is written with rolanberries and lingonberries, you may substitute any other kind of berry or fruit to cater to your own personal tastes. You may however need more or less maple sugar, depending on the fruits desired.
Next, place the pot of soaked vines on the stove, bringing the water to boil. You should notice that a substantial amount of the water has been absorbed by the vines, but don't add in any extra. Once the water is at a boil, add in your maple sugar, stirring well to ensure it is completely dissolved. The vines will take some time to soften, so put a lid on the pot and let them stew on their own for a while, stirring every minute.
Once the vines become springy, add in your berries and stir. Put the lid on to let the mix stew for another few minutes, before removing from heat. Let it cool before serving.
- Excerpt from 'Traditions of the Twelveswood: Food of the Forest' by Uhltacia Lhizahla
Sartorie knelt down to pick up the small book that had fallen into dirt. The exterior was simple, leather bound with a bronze clasp to keep it shut, but easy enough for even a child to open. The interior was far more interesting.
"Curious."
The first page was composed of a grid, four down and across, each position stamped with some sort of food or small creature. A couple instead had stickers, though she assumed each was identical to an image beneath it.
"Some sort of journal, recounting heroic feats and escapades. How quaint, if a bit over the top."
The Duskwight flicked through the pages, barely skimming the contents, before reaching the final entry. It described an intent to delve into a ruin and slay the evil witch rumored to dwell within, for the good of Eorzea. She frowned.
"Well isn't that simply... rude. And not at all how things happened."
Sartorie sat the book down, fumbled around for an ink pot and quill, then opened it to the next blank page. "The innocent thaumaturge defended herself from the violent brute that suddenly attacked her, ridding the realm of terrible monster." She smirked, just a little amused with herself.
"There, that sounds much better. You won't mind if I take this, will you?" Sartorie turned her gaze to a body laying on the ground nearby, unmoving, armour blackened and burnt. "No, I didn't think you would."
It was a perfect night in Thanalan. The air was slightly cool with nary an errant breeze, the sky was clear and full of stars, even the insects had fallen silent for the upcoming event. The groundskeepers had enthusiastically seen to that. Alexander cut a tall silhouette astride an ornate sandstone podium at the garden's gate, away from the bustle of the estate proper and it's horde of servants.
The Midlander couldn't help but fidget, constantly adjusting his attire. The glove must blend with the cuff, but not be restrained by it. No creases where not necessary. Lapel chain to hang three ilms from the breast pocket. Buttons polished to a sheen, the rabble won't notice but He will. Hair... A few black strands streaked with grey fell over his left eye, an ever present flaw no matter the stylist. Barely acceptable but too late to fix. Thankfully He seems to tolerate it. The guests would be arriving soon, and his role was merely to greet them with the charm and attention each deserved.
He spotted the light of the first carriage a malm away at the main gate. Alexander did a final once over of his suit, adjusting the fit of the gloves and smoothing over the jacket's fabric, the inky blue of the attire almost fading into the night around him. Taking his place at the gate, he opened the jewel adorned guest book to the first page, putting on the requisite smile. This is very much beneath me. I'm being punished, aren't I.
-
As the first carriage arrived at the garden entrance Alexander could already see a trail forming down the path. No time for idle pleasantries it would seem, especially not with our first guest. His train of thought was quickly interrupted as the first pair of guests strode up to the podium, a Hellsguard pair, complexions of stone and sand. Alexander offered a half bow as they approached, holding the pose as he addressed them.
"The East Aldenard Trading Company is honored to have the attendance of Amajina and Sons this night. His Lordship bids you enjoy your fill until the sun shines. Of particular interest to the good sers, we have arranged an exhibition match between one of the Coliseum's rising stars and an Auri warrior from the far east."
The older of the two gave a low, raspy laugh, as if rocks were ground together in his throat. "Your master is trying to show off I see, but my son will take down whichever wins. Come on Zimberk." He beckoned to the younger roegadyn and the two strode onwards towards the mansion, now lit up in extravagant splendour. Brutes. Predictable and useful. No sooner had Alexander raised his head was the next guest striding his way, with a line threatening to form behind them.
-
"Lady Sartorie, what an unexpected pleasure." Witch. Will need to schedule an Ossuary inspection.
"Ser Tobias, ever the picture of health!" I'm surprised his heart didn't give out on the ride over.
"Lord and Lady Sark, we hope the journey from Coerthas was a pleasant one. Ah, and this must be your dear daughter that you spoke of last turn, she takes after you both." There's a bloodlust in those eyes. Will have the menagerie secured.
"Captain Doenstyrmwyn, His Lordship is quite keen to make your acquaintance. Hmm? Yes of course, our records are quite discreet, sudden additional guests are no issue." She's 'very' green, the Monetarists will eat her alive.
-
The line of guests had seemed to stretch for an eternity, but barely two bells had passed before they were all accounted for and enjoying themselves. Alexander allowed himself a moment to breathe and stretch. There was an ache in his left hand, chronic, but the note work didn't help. After composing himself and attending to his outfit, he took up the guest book and strode back towards the estate, banking around towards the provisioner's entrance. Now for the real work to begin. It's going to be a very long night.
"Waengrina Doenstyrmwyn, cap'n o' th' Sahagin's Shriek, an' a downright fearsome shipwright. Was a privateer fer th' Maelstrom up until a few turns back. She'd been runnin' a small shippin' outfit on th'side, reckon she saw the war's end comin' an' made plans t' hang 'er axe up early. Found quite th' profit it turns out. Last any saw of 'er she was on an' airship t' Ul'dah a fortnight ago. "
"I'm guessing she's gone missing then?"
"Dead. Th' Brass Blades found 'er body sprawled on 'er inn room floor three sun's ago. Thankfully th' Flames caught wind an' found it prudent t' send word t' Maelstrom Command."
Khira sat hunched in a Maelstrom office, or at least a broom closet that had been hastily converted into one. It was barebones at most, crates for chairs an a rickety workbench for a desk. Yet however cramped she felt, the looming Roegadyn across from her must have been far worse off. The night before, Khira's office had received an urgent summons to Limsa Lominsa requesting her aid in a delicate matter. She'd considered refusing, a last minute airship to Vylbrand wasn't cheap, and it wasn't as if she didn't have other work to attend to. But a Grand Company favour had value of its own.
"Sergeant Saelzfaeld, your summons implied this was a delicate matter for the Maelstrom but so far it seems like your dead woman got too rich too fast and wandered into a viper's den." She shrugged at the officer. Murder investigations weren't a rare request for someone styling themselves as an investigator, but this sounded like a messy affair rife with mercantile politics. "As I'm sure you must be aware from Maelstrom records, my skills are of a magickal nature. Why go to the trouble to call me all the way here?"
Saelzfaeld grimaced as he shifted uncomfortably, the makeshift box seat beneath him creaking under his bulk. "Truth told y' weren't my first pick Miss Lhizahla. At first I'd 'oped to keep this whole affair internal, but circumstances forced me 'and." He fished around under the workbench a moment, pulling out a broadsheet dated the sun prior. The main headline stood out; 'Tempest Trader Drowned in Desert Jewel".
"Wait... drowned? In Uld'dah?" Khira's confusion was as plain as Saelzfaeld's exasperation.
"So it seems, aye. 'ccordin' to th' Blades' released reports, Waengrina was found bloated an' belly up, top floor o' th' 'ourglass, filled t' the gills with salt an' bile." The roegadyn scratched at his neck, almost sheepishly. "Jacke-"
Khira raised a finger, cutting him off. "You should have led with the cause corporal, I would've agreed right away." A hint of a smirk crept across Khira's face subconsciously. Mundane murders among merchants weren't noteworthy, not in Ul'dah. But this was abnormal, which made it interesting, and Khira was nothing if not morbidly curious. "You definitely have my attention, but before I sign on I must know. What's the Maelstrom's stake here? Why does a Grand Company care about the death of a privateer turned profiteer?"
The corporal clenched his jaw, as if he was being forced to give up some grave personal secret. "Yer' right in sayin' Waengrina got rich quick. T' put it simply, she'd been takin' 'er pick of Garlean magitech under th' table while privateerin', used it t' get an edge in on shippin' times an' drive down' market price. Word was she was lookin' t' expand out from coastal work t' continental." He took a breath, staring Khira down "We' care s' much 'cause a right storm is brewin'. Dependin' on th' culprit, this could start a bloody trade war 'tween th' Black Sails. Or worse, 'tween Limsa Lominsa an' Ul'dah."
Sheltering beneath a tree from a particularly scorching Thanalan Sun, just beyond Horizon's Sunset Gate, sat Khira. The pale Miqo'te Keeper squinted through beads of sweat perched on her eyelids, searching the rocky landscape for something, anything... interesting. Sighing, she put her brush and palette down to the ground before wiping her eyes clear with the back of her hand. It was an absolutely average day, with nary a spectacle, just wandering peiste's and... *smack* ...swarms of midges. Khira rubbed her cheek as she slumped back against the tree, pouting at the 'training' she had been given by an obliging tutor.
"I go to the effort of travelling all the way to Sharlayan, trading my knowledge and expertise for arcane tutelage, and that smug JERK of an educator insists on sending me around the world to find 'inspiration' before he'll teach me anything useful." She huffed, nails digging at the dirt beside her in frustration. Khira was already an accomplished arcanist, had been a lecturer herself at Mealvaan's Gate and had even advised the Maelstrom once upon a time. The thought of being treated like a novice stung, all the more when the task at hand seemed so irrelevant to her interest.
-
A few bells passed before the Khira returned to Ul'dah, painting in hand, canvas stained with dust and sweat. She had eventually pushed beyond her frustrations, she knew she would, it was the only way to get the knowledge she was after.
"Where is that insufferable... ah" Wandering through the stall of the Sapphire Avenue Exchange, she spotted her teacher, perusing a stall selling what could only be described as 'colour splashed haphazardly on parchment by a blind coblyn'. Khira was sure he would call them modern or, twelve forbid, 'avant-garde'.
"Ahah! Khira, my wayward pupil, you return! Quickly, quickly, over here." Shushulufa Fafalufa was a slightly rotund, dark haired Dunesfolk Lalafell, who, were it not for the splotches of coloured paint over his clothes, hands and even sometimes face, would easily be mistaken for a barrel of ale from a distance. The man spoke as if he were an expert on all things artistic, though after having visited countless purveyors of paintings with him, she wondered if art might be all he actually knew. "This stall owner was just apprising me of a new movement sweeping through Eorzea, artists painting without thought, letting fate drive their works! isn't it just fascinating! I may have to revise your..."
"Here." Khira interrupted, thrust her own painting into his gesticulating hands. "I've done as you asked, found 'inspiration' in the beauty of the land." The picture itself was barely more than an amateur attempt at landscape art; mottled brown jagged shapes for rocks, green sweeps of the underbrush, a sandy looking road cutting through it all, finished with a spiky orange ball in the centre. A bomb had wandered out of Copperbell.
"O-oh! How... marvelous!" Shushulufa smiled awkwardly, instinctively wanting to find a way to praise the piece while being simultaneously bewildered by its lack of refinement. Khira could only grunt in return, frustrated. She was beginning to think she had been conned into escorting an art dealer around the continent.
"It is far simpler to force a river through a mountain than to change the nature of a soul." Her great aunt's aged 'wisdom' repeated in Khira's mind as her gaze wandered about the snow laden village. It had been only a sun since the pale Miqo'te Keeper arrived with her young charge, but she was already questioning the trip. The weather along the way had been foul, fouler than usual for northern Xelphatol at least, and they had been ambushed by strange fiends in the storm. Were it not for the timely aid from the local Miqo'te Seeker tribe patrolling nearby, Khira feared they may not have made it. Another blow to her pride, and a stark reminder that adventuring and parenting don't mix.
"K-kay!" A voice stammered out, breaking Khira out of her thoughts before they could spiral. Nearby, sat on a rock, clutching a book and surrounded by a gang of inquisitive young seeker children, was her charge, Clyde. He was a scrawny hyuran boy, about 7 or 8, with tanned skin and a mess of hair as white as the surrounding snow. Clyde was shy around strangers at the best of times, even other children, and it was no surprise that the sudden attention had him in a panic. More children still began to crowd around the boy, curiosity compelling them to investigate the newcomer in their remote village. Clyde could only look down at the gathering and then back up to Khira, unsure how to navigate the situation, and let out a confused squeak as one of the Seeker children tugged at his book. He gripped it tighter and pulled it up to his chest in response, the air around the book hissing as it left the child's fingers.
"Clyde!" Khira leapt to her feet, tense, her ears twitching at the small but unmistakable shift of aether around the boy. "You're okay, just take a breath, they're just trying to make friends, alright?" Her voice was calm but her eyes belayed a hint of worry. Clyde was barely a child when he started showing signs of being influenced by a dark magick, a power he could not control. And when this power orphaned the boy it fell to Khira to take him in, to teach him control, and kindness, for his own sake. But she could not help but worry that, no matter what she did, it might not be enough. That the darkness the boy harboured could not be overcome.
"What should I..." The boy cried out once more, looking to his guardian for direction, arms crossed over his book now as if to protect it at all costs.
"Why don't don't you read them a story, from your book!"
The Seeker children's' ears all seemed to perk up at the mention of a story, their eyes alight as they regarded Clyde now with rapt attention. Clyde looked down to the book secure in his arms, as if the boy had been struck with an obvious epiphany, and took a deep breath as he had been taught. "O-okay, yes. Uhh... the Adventures of Boko and Mog!"
The crowd sat themselves in the snow around Clyde like an audience around a stage as he began to read his favourite tale. Khira relaxed and a smile crept across her lips as she watched, almost feeling a little proud. They had a long road ahead of them, undoubtedly with many an obstacle, but maybe things would turn out okay.
It has been a long time since i've looked at this blog let alone thought about writing anything in it, but I've been itching to get back into roleplaying and writing in general. That said, I'm hella rusty and overly critical of my own work. So to try and practice/shake off the rust/get over myself, I'm going to try and participate in FFxivWrite2024, to try and challenge myself and just get back into it. If I write even 5 entries during the month I'll be happy but lets see what happens!
“And so, the pages of this final chapter turn, the long-awaited end of this tale finally approaching. All the preparations have been made, all that’s left is to wait… and pray that all goes as it should.”
Khira shivered as she mused to herself, forever at odds with the natural chill of the icy wastes of Xelphatol. The Keeper woman shook her head and rose from the hard ground beneath her, gazing once more around the ancient cavern she found herself in, known simply to her as The Crucible. Her skin tingled, a sensory reaction to the aether in the air, its unnatural nature only amplified by an underlying twist of something… wicked. She had spent numerous bells studying the place now in tandem with Zaphir, and although she felt she now had a far greater understanding of the place, it still left her feeling uneasy. Pulling her heavy coat tighter, she wandered away from her resting spot, albeit without a specific destination in mind. She just seemed to think better while pacing.
“For all the headway we made with our research, I still feel as if we’ve only scratched the surface of this place. Of the power the sleeps here. Figures that the Nymians of all peoples had to be the creators, always making things so obtuse and esoteric. Still… I think we found enough in the short term to serve our purposes.”
She stared out towards the exit path, sighing. Her colleague had since left to participate in the final confrontation with X’zarann, along with many more of her friends. A part of her yearned to be there with them, to aid them in that shared fight, but she knew better. She ultimately elected to stay behind at The Crucible, continuing her own study of it. They had found answers in their research, but as is often the case they also brought on even more questions. The biggest surprise to Khira was that the fiend that was Starlight had somehow tampered with the place, though she still wasn’t sure to what ends.
“Hrrmph. It all leads back to you doesn’t it. A spectre that haunts this tribe, even after your… hmm...”
Her words trailed off with her thoughts, back to her workshop. She had contemplated bringing the living sword with her, to keep watch over it in case something happened, but decided against it. In the event that her paranoia bore fruit, this was the last place she wanted to bring that cursed weapon. Instead she’d had it locked away in her workshop in Vylbrand.
Her steps slowed as her thoughts drew back to the present, the sound of her own footfalls echoing about the cavern becoming apparent to her.
“All that’s left to do now is wait. Wait for the call signalling victory… or defeat…”
