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[wanderinglost]

[WELCOME TO THE AZIM STEPPE. perhaps you're there from a different instance timeline, or perhaps not. either way, there's a warrior of light xaela here who is sitting on the edge of the Dawn Throne, legs dangling off the cliff as she looks down over the Dotharl land. She's pretty conflicted! she also is dressed like a weirdo, and barefoot. And there's a rapier at her side, embedded in the ground so she can draw it quickly without it getting in the way while she sits.]

What a right pain this all is... They'll have the next me's head for this.

[Or maybe you're elsewhere! Ibakha the Wanderer can end up anywhere, so go nuts if you have somewhere else you'd rather she be.]

Comments

[thaumewturge]

[Because I haven't reached the Steppe yet...

Have you ever seen a tiny Miqo'te, barely taller than say Alphinaud, cowing a big tall Au Ra male in the middle of the road? No? Well you have now.]

--and I don't care if you are mid-spell, if the healers tell you to get out of the way get out of the Twelvesdamned way! I didn't make this long by not listening to my healers.

[wanderinglost]

[well.

we're also tiny here, but this does get Ibakha's attention.]

What's going on?

[thaumewturge]

[Rhel gestures to her properly chastised student.]

We're from the Thaumaturgy Guild in Ul'dah, and this young man is due to become a full-fledged member soon. That is, of course, if he can be bothered to listen to his teacher and healers telling him not to run headlong into a morbol nest.

[wanderinglost]

[ul'dah. oh, she hates ul'dah. but she can understand the language now, and she hasn't studied there in a while...]

If he seeks death, why not allow it?

[thaumewturge]

Because my job is to make sure they can at least cast a decent fire spell before going off and getting themselves killed.

[She's annoyed, but she isn't actually mad. Moreso worried.]

And I actually know this one's sister. She'd kill me.

[wanderinglost]

[She tilts her head, thinking.]

Is it not his own choice?

[thaumewturge]

Not yet it's not. So long as he is still a student, he doesn't get to be suicidally stupid. He has to earn that right.

[Speaking of, she turns to her student and sends him off to where there is a conjurer waiting.]

[wanderinglost]

You deny him the chance to prove himself.

[why not let him die??? gosh.]

[thaumewturge]

That's what final practicals are for. Can't prove himself if he's dead, can he?

[unshelltered]

[welcome, wanderer, to ... well, to a podunk village that is most easily called "run down" and "out of the way". actually, it's so far out of the way, it's practically the middle of nowhere. the handful of buildings that make up the village are scattered around a half dozen docks, running out into the dark sea. everything is wooden, old, and scarred by sea water, storm, and time. the people are bent backed and ragged, and tend to mind their own damn business. "tend to" - there's a few who stop and stare at anyone new or different.

even though that sign on the largest pier reads FERRY, and the newest (still old) galley ship is harbored and waiting paying customers to take across the open water, there don't appear to be many visitors.

but there is a girl who is very out of place. sitting in an old wheelbarrow, in a tea party length dress in pastel pink lace, with a charm bracelet on each wrist, sits she.

she is also barefoot, and wrinkling her nose at the mud, and I'm tired of writing so stealing your verbal response to hook on]

The next you? Is that so... ? How intriguing. I didn't know anyone could be more than themselves.

[wanderinglost]

You know little, whoever you are.

[She looks this girl over, before taking in the surroundings.]

... I should not have wandered to the sea already. There should still be many malms to go. What manner of strange place is this?

[unshelltered]

Oh, I know.

[why does her face light up when she acknowledges that?]

So I must ask these kinds of questions, see? So that I can learn more.

[nope, she really is delighted by this, sincerely.]

Malm? Hmmm... No, I don't know. It's just the same as it's always been. This little town above the sea's cliffs has always been here. Well, as long as I've come here.

[wanderinglost]

It should not be here.

[Her tail flicks angrily behind her.]

What is this place?

[unshelltered]

But why shouldn't it? It's pleasant here.

[she does not bat an eye, just looks confused and tilts her head]

It's a village. What else? They fish and live their lives.

[wanderinglost]

There are many malms until the ocean. My feet will never lead me astray.

Therefore... I have been moved.

[unshelltered]

Malms again? But in my experience... feet can do that very easily. It's why I am here.

[she waves to indicate her wheelbarrow, dropping her hands to its rusted and sun bleached sides]

Moved here? There isn't anything to find.

[wanderinglost]

My feet will not. I am Ibakha Wanderer, whose feet have touched all the land in the world.

[khansolo]

[Someone else is also peering down over the Dotharl lands, but from much higher up - on top of the building itself, rather than the ground. But his look wasn't a thoughtful one. Beneath the mask of his headdress, his lips curled in disgust. He could hear the girl muttering to herself below, and her words alone marked her as a Dotharl. A Dotharl, walking among Oronir? No wonder she was contemplating being in trouble.

Still, Alaqa was in a piss poor mood. He hadn't particularly wanted to come back to the Steppe after leaving a couple of years ago, but here he was, dragged back on someone else's quest like a cart full of dung sacks on their way to Reunion. If he were in a better mood, he wouldn't have leapt from the top of the building, wouldn't have landed in the shadows near the girl, and wouldn't have attempted to prod a sleeping aurochs.

Too bad Lionnet wasn't there to rein him in.]

For becoming bedfellows enough with the Oronir to not be killed on sight? I should say so.

[wanderinglost]

[She doesn't care at his jump. She doesn't care how close he approaches. She can take care of herself, and if anyone is fool enough to mess with her, she can prove why the Dotharl are so feared.

But at his words, her lips curl in abject disgust.]

Bedfellows? With the Oronir? I'd sooner cut off my own legs.

[khansolo]

[He barks out a laugh, the puff of air that comes with it fluttering the veil for a moment.]

Cutting off your own legs is hardly a warrior's death! Are you so sure you would want to do that? Unless you plan on running into battle on the stubs of your knees.

[wanderinglost]

As you say.

Perhaps I'll settle for yours.

[khansolo]

[There we go.]

You're welcome to try, Dotharl.

[wanderinglost]

[she stands.]

Are you so eager to court death?

[khansolo]

[He doesn't move, doesn't twitch, hands remaining perfectly still at his sides.]

But I already have. And I've won.

[wanderinglost]

Death is patient, fool. Only the Dotharl can escape it.