#kuzhuk

[shadowssolace]

A cavalcade of characters in continuously cool and couture clothing.

[altanjhungid]

haute couture

“What is magick?”

A familiar silence pervaded the auditorium. Kuzhuk smiles as if on cue; this too was part of the act. Confusion as lubrication.

“Magick is aether plus intent. The interaction of the two is what makes everything from Thaumaturgy to Astrology possible. For a powerful enough magus, intent alone is enough, but for most of us? We require pathways.”

He walks up and down the isles as he speaks, moving his hands about, animated with passion as he starts to shape the metaphor.

“Think of it like... Traveling Coerthas after a heavy snowfall. It takes a brave caravaneer to blaze the trail and carve out the snow for others to follow. But such pioneers do more than show us the way. They give us the confidence we require as well too; the Faith that our efforts will not be wasted which bolsters our morale, reducing travel time, enhancing the profitability of the trip. And the more Faith there is, the deeper the grooves, and the easier the journey.”

He guides their thoughts; makes them picture a snowy field after a blizzard gradually unraveling to normalcy. His words are a spell unto themselves; the magick of communication.

“There are problems that come with sticking to the path however. Shortcuts that we cannot see. Sometimes, bandits lurk over the crest of the hill. They know exactly where to hide; the path informs them too. This is much the same in the realm of aethershaping. Thought terminating cliches arise naturally, deadening your spells. Your magicks weakens when you go through motions rather than truly embracing the ritual. It isn’t enough to invoke, one must call forth the forms from the wellspring within us all.”

And now to bring them home, he tells himself. Give them the inspiration they require to... feel inspired. To fool themselves into thinking that they learned something today.

“Make your spells yours. No man looks as splendid in a mass produced soldier’s uniform as he does in a finely tailored officer’s coat. Status is only part of the trick. Personalization closes the loop.“

***

One by one they filter out of the room until the space that once held two Xaela and countless Hyur and Elezen only holds its darkscaled visitors. Kuzhuk turns his back to the danger, bends over his lectern, and starts to gather his notes in performative obliviousness. The dagger slips from its sheath and he draws a breath into his tight chest then looses it smoothly, “Can I help you?”

[fromtheburn-withlove]

3-3

After a half an hour of deliberation, I picked out the stone that seemed most likely to incapacitate, if not outright kill a man. I debated between the winner and its neighbor, weighing the pros and cons of their uneven edges, fingering their worn facades. When the time came, I flipped my pencil around and began to scrape-scrape-scrape at the edges where the dirt was packed in around them. To my delight, the Doman jail was every bit as much a piece of shit as I suspected and the piles of grime added up in record time. The Empire can conquer a nation, but it hasn’t quite mastered the art of improving it just yet, and what luck for me that they can’t.

I barely slept; the quiet shakka-shakka-shakka like a monk’s mantra that put me into a trance for hours as I worked at the edges, stopping only when I heard the clack of boots on stone in approach. By daylight, half the stone jutted out of its grimy foundation and my pencil still had a respectable amount of life left in it. In came breakfast, an overcooked bowl of rice that frankly tasted like the essence of jack shit given a tangible form, and by lunch I had levered the massive chunk out just in time for the pencil to buckle and split. I’ve always had pretty good luck, relatively speaking.

Just as I was mapping out the guard schedules to plot what would almost certainly be an escape for the ages, a familiar tone sailed through and snagged my attention. Could it be...? The swish of a heavy cape heralded his entrance long before his voice; whoever the fuck he was now, he had a real erection for dramatics. Admittedly, it’s a little charming.

"Oh Kat," he chided low, and I couldn’t help but smirk in spite of myself. What a bastard. "To see you here; it breaks my heart. Truly." He split into a smile of his own, and for a moment I couldn’t tell if I was about to luck out or be out of luck. This one is a weirdo. "Did I not warn you against coming here? If only you'd listened. I told you to head to the Confederacy for a reason, darling. I mean," he drawls, motioning at the bruises on her face, "Just look at you. It's such a damn pity."

The black eye was admittedly not my finest moment, and he must have seen the way I staggered to get up off the floor. With a sweep of his arm, the guards left the room. In mere minutes, I was exiting my cell with a vague sense of disappointment that I never got to try out my hard-earned weapon, but who am I to look a gift jailbreak in the mouth? I hit the outside running, sprinting for the coast.

[altanjhungid]

#20: Bisect

Kuzhuk stares at the entirety of his class while waiting for a response, never once letting his eyes settle on a single student for very long.

“I’ll ask again; what does equidistant mean?” The silence is only interrupted by the squeak of a chair. “What about bisect; what does it mean if a line bisects another line?” Slowly his features narrow and his brow furrows. “No one? Nothing?”

His temper seems to snap and he begins tossing up a flurry of words: “Isosceles, acute, obtuse; rational, transcendental. Normal. Orthogonal, perpendicular. Primitive.” As he rattles off the list in a varying tone, his mood seems to improve. It sounds as though he’s offering a list of his favorite things haphazardly, “Continuous, contiguous, asymmetrical, analytical. Quadratic, quintic, cubic. Linear, polymorphic, conditional, functional, relational?”

Again, he is met with silence. “Ah. Good. Now, I know where to begin!” Kuzhuk walks slowly to the chalkboard and slowly draws a straight line with a dramatic throw of his arm. After a moment, he adds a short base to it with great performative concentration then finishes the very top of the 1 with a flourish.

“Now.“ Kuzhuk says with a click of his tongue, ”Can any of you tell me what this little man is? Some say he’s the loneliest number... Me? I prefer to think of him as the number of people in this room capable of intelligent thought.”

[altanjhungid]

Prompt #28: Attune

Memories flash through his recollection of a time that something was wrong in the composition.

A sense of dread overtakes him. His eyes trace down for the blot, there’s nothing to be seen. Of course; it’s just a memory. A retelling of a time that deep unease settled into his bones and refused to relinquish its hold; an error unnoticed and displayed for the entirety of the world’s amusement.

But life is imperfection; how can one ever be certain?

His eyes move downwards and trace over the varied colors of his coat in search of oddities. Halfway down near the middle button, a single thread has begun to fray.

It should not be.

[altanjhungid]

Prompt #23: Parched

They stand at the threshold, frozen as the temple knight motions to Kuzhuk with a gauntleted hand, “You can talk to him.” His eyes move to the well-dressed Xaela’s horns with purpose, ”He’s one of yours. Maybe you can get him to confess.”

“Maybe I can,” Kuzhuk muses as he reaches for the door to the dungeons. “Is there anything I ought to know before I go in?”

“Not really,” the Elezen says with a shrug as he reaches in to unlock the door. “He’s chained up. Shouldn’t be a danger to you or anyone else, but I can send someone in with you if you’re scared.”

“Oh no, that won’t be necessary,” Kuzhuk says with a shake of his head and a smile. “I’m quite at ease talking with these sorts, and it is exceedingly important they feel comfortable speaking to me.”

“Alright then; best of luck.”

“Thank you,” Kuzhuk says with a bow before pulling back the gate and striding into the sparse dungeon. The bitter cold hits him with a chill that shakes his bones as he walks down the long corridor to the room at the far end. He heaves open the last door between them then strides into the room with a passive expression. “Hello there.”

The prisoner’s gaze shoots up to meet him. As promised, the man is Xaela, but his skin is a deep blue shade of incredible difference to Kuzhuk’s own. His hair is short, messy, and clearly unkempt, and the same could be said of his scales. “Hello...?”

“You should confused,” Kuzhuk murmurs as he stoops down with the bend of his knees, lowering himself to the man’s level without touching the filthy floor. “Are you quite alright?”

“It’s cold...” He murmurs. Nothing covers him but simple prisoner’s attire made of hemp, “I can’t sleep. Shivers are keeping me awake.”

“Yes, yes... I can see that.” Kuzhuk motions at a desk and chair in the corner of the room with an agreeable expression, “Do you mind if I...?”

“No; go ahead.”

“Ah, thank you.” He drags the chair over to before the man and perches on it comfortably. “That’s much better; why are you on the floor anyway when you have furnishings...?”

The prisoner holds up his arms and immediately his chains snag. His hollow gaze meet Kuzhuk’s, saying all that needs to be said.

“Ahhh...” A look of displeasure crosses Kuzhuk’s features and he shakes his head, “Well. I’m sorry about that. Your situation is less than ideal... but... In all fairness, you are accused of murdering eleven people, ritualistically dismembering them, using a blade to slice the flesh into neat, even spheres, then packing their remains into handcrafted miniature coffins left out in the Brume.”

“...there is that...” The man says with a laugh that devolves into a cough, “Didn’t do it though.”

“They never do,” Kuzhuk says with a playful grin, “But you’re an Au Ra that stands accused in Ishgard of all places. They’ll probably execute you either way. You may as well tell me the truth... Lying won’t spare your life. But I can memorialize your story.”

“I didn’t do it,” the prisoner repeats as a weak, mimicry of strength plays out on the man’s defeated features. “I’m innocent.”

“Convince me.” Kuzhuk says with a smile. “If you’re innocent, convince me. Perhaps introductions are in order first? I’m Kuzhuk.”

“Gatai,” he murmurs as his head hangs. “You tribeless too?”

“Something like that.”

“I was Hotgo, But you know what happened to them.”

“I do.”

“So I left the Steppe. Came here eventually... Heard they needed laborers to help rebuild, yeah? So I helped lay bricks, then... This happened.” The prisoner raises his right hand into Kuzhuk’s field a view revealing two missing fingers; index and middle. “How the fuck am I gonna kill someone without all my fingers?”

“I’m sure you could manage it,” Kuzhuk says with a grin, “You’re rather built. Elezen are fragile things... They’re like birds; snapping brittle bones isn’t that hard when you’re a bricklayer.”

“I ain’t no fucking fancy carpenter. I can’t even read.”

“So you say,” Kuzhuk muses, “Why do they think you guilty then?”

“This is Ishgard. If I knew about this place before I came, I would’ve stayed on the fucking Steppe and risked my odds with the Dotharl.” The prisoner presses a mottled hand to his face and sighs, “They’ve been after me since I got here.”

Curiosity peaks with a question, “Have they now...?”

“Yeah. Peeking in my windows at all hours of the night; I couldn’t sleep before the cell. This is nothing new.” Honest tension cascades over the blue-skinned man’s features, ”Following me around... Looking through my trash. I hear them fucking whispering. They’ve been after me since I got here.”

“How long ago was that...?” Kuzhuk asks.

“About a year.”

“A whole year...?”

“Yeah... Started a few weeks after I arrived. I don’t know why, but... Everywhere I go, someone’s looking at me. All different people. Then there’s the fucking spiders. They send spiders into my godsdamned apartment to try to kill me.”

“Spiders...? Is that right...? Well, I’ve certainty never heard of a method so novel.” Kuzhuk’s shoulders shrug and he smiles pleasantly, giving no indication of doubt until punching forth with it suddenly, “But I must confess, it seems a bit... elaborate, for getting rid of one little Xaelan immigrant.”

“That’s what you’d think...” The prisoner says with a shrug that’s punctuated by a rustle of chains, “But they’ve been trying to poison me too.”

“Poison...? How?”

“All the food I order is... wrong. It’s all wrong. Everything is oversalted to hide the shit they’re adding.” The man’s jaw clenches and sets his gaze hard, ”So I’ve had to fucking eat beans. Beans, because they paid the guy at the First Knight to give me rancid meat and hide it in stew.”

“Did you notice anything else...?”

“I noticed everything. You got time? I’ll lay it out. Let me tell you everything. I’m gonna blow your fucking mind.” The prisoners hand shoots out and he motions at the visitor, “Just uh, you got a flask? I’m thirsty. Voice is getting croakey.”

“Ah, yes; certainly.” Kuzhuk reaches beneath his fancy coat, produces a silvery object, and hands it off.

The prisoner immediately pulls off the cap then knocks it back with a sigh... “Alright; let me tell you about this place. I’m gonna pull back the wool they’ve put over your eyes.” He cracks his next and sits up a little straighter, “It all started with the fucking weather. I realized this early on... And it’s the truth: they control the snow.”

[altanjhungid]

#24: Unctuous

When Gatai finished sharing his tale Kuzhuk knew exactly what had happened in the frail man’s miserable life to bring to that point. The sun left the sky and the guards changed shifts while he sat there, politely nodding along, asking questions, and listening closely to every detail.

When it was time to go, he gave the pitiable man one final look before turning to leave, “Keep the flask. When you get out of here -- and you will -- I suggest you to go back to living by yourself in wilderness for a time. You aren’t cut out for life in the big city...”

Distress immediately filtered into the man’s tone, “What do you mean? Weren’t you listening?! They’re -- they planned this! They’ve been... This was the goal from the very beginning.”

“Your thoughts are scattered and paranoid.” Kuzhuk says with a shrug, “Very little of what you’ve said is even remotely rational despite how coherent it seems to you.” He can’t bring himself to turn around and look at the man even as he feels pity for him. Perhaps that is the reason he’s chosen to give him the privacy of his averted gaze. “You may have survived the Dotharl attack on your tribe, but your sense of well-being did not.”

He puts one foot in front of another, but behind him he can hear the man’s increasingly frantic declarations, “What? Are you crazy, this has nothing to do with that. I’m telling you, they’ve been -- oh, I see. You’re in on it, you’re...”

WIth each step the ramblings grow quieter. He’s hit with the smell of the prison complex again on the way out and nearly loses what little is in his stomach on the way to the captain’s office. Upon arrival, the head guard notices him with a shrug, “I stopped watching after awhile. You really went on. Quite the performance though, right? He’s a talker. I’ll give him that.”

“He’s innocent. Do you think a child of the Steppe without any formal training could possibly make such neat boxes to place the bodies in? Given all he’s been through, I doubt he could kill anyone,” Kuzhuk says with a shrug. “You’ll let him go when the next body appears in the Brume, I assume.”

“No he’s not, look -- you’re just letting him get to you. I’ve heard guilty men profess their innocence like that before. It’s nothing special. Even the most mundane man turns into a whole-ass theatre troupe when facing execution.”

“If you kill him, your conscience is going to weigh heavily on you when the next body arrives.” Kuzhuk shrugs and makes to leave upon the realization that he’s not really being listened to, ”I promise. Though I don’t expect you to listen. You’ll carry out your execution tomorrow with a smile on your face, won’t you?”

“You’re damn right I will,” The older man says with a shake of his head, “Say what you will. The guilt’s written all over his face.”

”Simple as things are around here, I can’t expect to shake your confidence. Just do me a favor...?” Kuzhuk says with a tight, angry smile, ”When his body is rotting at the bottom of Witchdrop in a few weeks, I expect you to personally retrieve it and give poor Gatai a proper burial next to your prejudice’s other victims.” He takes a step towards then door then stops to share the last of his thoughts, “Today has been interesting; I met a killer, just not the one I was hoping for. Maybe we can sit down and talk sometime.”

[altanjhungid]

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