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The last time.

There was a very audible clicking sound as he removed the knives from their scabbards up about an ilm before pushing them back down, one at a time.

-CLICK- He stood there in silence, other than the ticking seemingly in time with a watch or clock if there was one. He contemplated his last few weeks of existence. The hope that he felt, how it lifted him up...

-CLICK- The sun was coming up over the city of Kugane and Daichi was mounted atop the hostel building, standing like a gargoyle made from stone. In the distance he could hear the gulls cry, the sounds of little birds flying away from him, having just exited the nests under the rooftop eves.

-CLICK-The former bodyguard turned back asassin tried to map out his next steps. Usually it had been easier than this. Usually he would just find his yakuza family and pick up bounties. He closed his eyes as the scent wafted up and over the building, the cooks had begun their morning rituals and the smells from their stoves and fires tried to bring memories into his head.

-CLICK- He shook his head, not time for that, it's a weakness now... it always had been, and he had been lulled into believing something that just wasn't possible. He felt so stupid, arrogant that somehow his life could have some normalcy in it, a home, a place to settle down... a fami...

-CLICK- He inhaled deeply and blew it out through his nose, his eyes shut tightly. "No. Never again," he tried to console himself, as there was no one left to do it for him. His mother dead, tribe decimated before he was even born, few aqcuaintences that felt more like he was burdening than he had befriended, and his former lov..

-CLICK- ...charge and ward.

He had only been gone a week, and when he returned his keys no longer worked and his stuff was set down with the door man. He was still confused as to what had happened in the time he had been captured and tortured by the Adarkim that found him. She was all that got him though, the pale, sea green eyes….

-CLICK- All he wanted was to come home and find the comfort he had denied himself most of his life.

-CLICK- Now, he wasn't worthy of it. He fought the urge to climb up the walls and into the window, there was no use.

-CLICK- The note was very clear:

Daichi,

Your services are no longer required, you are released of your debt to Archon Miehaux and may seek other employment. Any and all requirements of you have been withdrawn and you may resume your normal business practices.

-Miehaux

-CLICK- He had wondered if he had gone too far, let himself feel too much, let her inside his heart, if it was because they had fallen... well, he fell, anyway. It made him try to plan out what he was going to do with his life now that he had re-evaluated himself and his life goals. He wasn't angry anymore, he didn't want to murder, kill, harm, just for the thrill of it. He just wanted what he thought he had, what he had been promised and then suddenly swiped away...

-CLICK- He closed his eyes again, the smudged face paint had run down his face, exposing more pale, white skin where black used to be. He could feel the softness, hear the essence of her breath, the wind blew along his chin and reminded him of her eyelashes fluttering against him as she blushed. His head tilted upward, and he felt like flying, he reached out for her as she started to pull away, blown by the wind away from him. He took a step, then another, he reached farther, then.....

It was almost sundown when he woke up, buried in the large trash bin, impaled by a broken chair, and a very large lump on his head. He laughed a single chuckle, for what else was he to do? Then the blinding pain came... He was going to have to find a healer, and soon...

#ffxivrp #balmung #daichi avagnar #ffxiv xaela

A Beautiful Sunrise

Daichi sat on the bank of the river, his hands soaked in blood, the remnants of lives that had chosen to be extinguished. His uniform, as protected as it could be with chemicals to prevent staining, was also saturated in the vicera of the former Adarkim warriors he had dispatched only a few moments before. He hadn’t wanted a conflict today, of all days, he had just wanted to remember her, to sit with her for as long as the Qestir would let him in that yurt. A few measely hours… but late was late all the same. She had passed in the night. He was called when her condition had worsened and even with all the effort he could muster, he was still not able to beat time. No one could, but she had for a while.

The hours dragged on as he sat kneeling beside her, cold lavender hand in his pale white ones, staring at her face, peaceful and quiet. There was a scent of sage and incense that wafted about the space. Rituals performed, rites given, words and sentiment uttered and lost to the winds. He had shed no tears, but his face paint was still smudged. The glinting silver of his gaze studied her countenance, how fiery she had been, how full of life… she blazed brighter than any sun, and glowed more purely than even the moon herself. The woman who had crawled through the muck, filth, and blood to birth him in the destroyed hovel that had once been her home. The one who would never give up, the one who gave him and nurtured his own spark.

There had been voices outside the tent, he could hear them loud and clear. Even if it was Reunion, the Adarkim would have their quarry and their satisfaction. No Avagnar could be suffered to live, and when he was done, he would walk outside the gates, and let them have their chance. They were arguing with the silent ones, the fear was still there, a tinge of it in their voices no matter how hard they tried to hide it. They knew of him, his reputation, the myth of the Ghost of the Avagnar, the Banshee in the night, the one they told witches tales to their children about. His face broke for but a second before he placed his serious mask back on, and let her hand go for the last time. She was gone, the vessel was empty and all that was left was a husk. Her spirit had been claimed by the Dusk Mother and she was home in the life stream once again. Her death had been put off into old age, the very people from the tribe who had tried to take if from her were outside right now. If death was what they wanted, death is what they would receive.

Daichi was no stranger to death, he had made a successful business of it. Honed his skills against the westerners, the easterners and in every land between There were a half dozen major political incidents that had no explanation, the pale specter that drifted in where none should be able to enter, dignitaries perished, priests wavered in their faith before choking on their lifeblood, none were safe from the man made of nothing who came from nowhere.

He turned to his right where a severed head had been laying on its side, blood spilling out from the neck, a fat tongue lolling out between bloodied teeth and lips. He reached over to set it upright in the now rising sunlight. Daichi positioned the head so that it could see the morning sun come as he watched it slowly float up from behind the mountains that surrounded the Steppe. “One should be so lucky to witness a sunrise like this one, my friend”, he said with a cheerful tone, one not usual in his cadence of speech, a swathe of sarcasm slapped all over it. He leaned over while cupping his horn with his bloodied hand as if to hear the voices of the dead. “What was that my cousin? Indeed, the sky is very red.” He looked down to his hands, implements of death, the both of them. He rubbed the rusty fluid between forefinger and thumb and grimaced. He felt an immediate desire to be free of this filth. “I guess it’s true what they say about the red sun in the morning, it calls the dead of he damned to Azim.” A wide smile slashed across his blood covered face as he snickered at the dozen dead that lay around him.

He sat there for a few moments and contemplated what to do next. With a sigh, he pushed himself up using only his legs, he went from his seated position to standing and made his way down to the creek where he began to wash his hands. As he watched the red flow off his skin and down stream, he hummed a lullaby his mother sang when he was a child.

Nhaama can you hear me?

Protect me, your light upon my skin

The seekers are coming,

Keep safe my kith and kin.

Hide us in the darkest shadows,

Or we shall tremble in Azim’s light

Our time has come now

To blend, or flee, or fight.

Run brothers and sisters,

To cover of twilight and obscurity

Find your peace, love, life,

But none of these are for me.